Page 73 of Oliver
"Oliver." My fingers brushed his jawline, trying to ground him.
He shook his head. "I don't even know where to start. How to fix this. It's all gone."
My heart fractured for him. He was still just that boy who carried the weight of the world without ever asking for it. Then, at the outskirts of my mind, a memory trembled awake, vague at first. Even as it sharpened, it took me a few seconds to realize why it had emerged.
"Maybe talk to the church?" I suggested.
Oliver frowned. "Why would I talk to the church? I'm agnostic, Zahra, religion isn't going to help here."
"What? No, that's not what I meant." I shook my head. "I saw the deed to your grandparents' house in the church records while I was there for wedding planning stuff."
Oliver's breath stilled. "The church owns the house?"
"I don't think so." I tried to force myself to remember the details I'd glimpsed. "There was a name, an LLC, but I can't remember what it was."
No response. I looked up to find Oliver staring at me. The color was drained from his face. He wasn’t breathing.
"Oliver?" I asked softly. "Talk to me. Tell me what I can do to help."
His gaze shifted to my face, but he seemed to be looking right through me, lost in whatever revelation had just struck him.
"I..." He seemed to struggle with his words, then looked away. "I need to sleep it off."
Just like that, the door closed. Whatever brief connection we'd forged, whatever trust had been building, vanished behind his carefully constructed walls.
I felt something crack inside me. Disappointment. Maybe even anger.
I'd let him kiss me. I'd let him in. I'd fought for him.
And still, he wouldn't trust me.
Maybe he never would.
Twenty-Two
OLIVER
Sunlight slicedthrough the curtains like a laser, targeting my pounding skull with sadistic precision. I groaned, rolling away from the brightness, only to find the other side of the bed empty. Cool sheets. No lingering warmth. No Zahra.
My mouth tasted like I’d eaten ashes, and the night’s events were scattered in my brain in fragments: the county records office, the bar, Ryan, Zahra pressed against the door, and something about going to church.
That last bit struck me as odd. What was Zahra telling me about the church last night that it had lingered in my mind through the alcohol fumes and regret?
And then her words filtered through the fog. I sat up too fast, wincing as my brain sloshed against my skull.
The LLC. The missing link.
Zahra had seen something in those church records, something important. And I’d shut her out. Again.
Judging by the untouched pillow, she hadn’t slept here.
Fuck.
I staggered to the shower, bracing against the icy water as I tried to form a plan. There had to be a way to access those files.
Dressed, still nursing my headache, I pulled out my laptop and ignored Emmet’s missed calls.
Later.
