Page 92 of Oliver
I could feel her behind me, standing just inside the door like she didn't want to come any closer.
Something’s wrong.
No. She was stressed. The wedding was around the corner, Ryan was escalating, and our dynamic had shifted into new territory.
But the thought pulsed like a quasar—persistent, radiating unwanted energy that no amount of mental shielding could block.
No!
I was overthinking it, nothing more.
I held on to that illusion, staring at the skyline, grounding myself in the glow of streetlights, and the hum of distant traffic.
Each moment of silence stretched longer than the last, the tension building like a star system approaching critical mass, moments from collapsing into a black hole.
One more second.
And then?—
"We need to talk."
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head, because of course. Of course, this was happening now.
"Yeah, we do." My voice was rough, tired.
But before I could get a single damn word out—before I could tell her about my mother, about what I was up against, about how I didn't care about any of it if it meant losing her—she was already talking.
"I'll start." Her voice was clipped, professional. Distant.
"Okay," I said slowly, turning to face her.
She wouldn't meet my eyes.
"My parents will be at the wedding, so I won't need a buffer anymore."
I blinked. The words didn't make sense in my head, didn't fit inside the reality where only a few hours ago she was looking at me like I was an inseparable part of her. Where I let her tear through every boundary and barrier I ever had, and trusted that she wouldn’t crush me again.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing’s wrong," she continued, not answering my question. It was a rehearsed speech, I realized. This was well thought out. "I just don’t need?—"
A pause. A hesitation. A crack.
"Don't need what?" I asked, the squeeze in my chest unbearable. "Me?"
She still wouldn't look at me.
Still.
Time stood still.
My lungs, my heart, my brain. Everything stopped except for one word echoing through my head over and over again.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
"Your services."
Her words slammed into me like a sledgehammer, and all at once my entire body jolted back to action.
