Page 51 of The Oscar Escape
“What do you think I’m running from?”
She lifted her chin. “From me.”
She wasn’t wrong. He was running from her, but he was also running from himself. From the little boy who’d known something was wrong with his mother but didn’t say anything. He ran from the child who’d noticed her taking pain relievers to fight a headache that wouldn’t go away. He’d seen her rub her eyes and blame her blurred vision on exhaustion. Before she died, she was burning the candle at both ends, preparing to dust off her chef’s hat and launch a catering business. She’d even named it after his October twenty-third birthday, calling it 1023 Catering. Still, he’d known something was off with his mom—something beyond fatigue. He’d felt it. He’d always been intuitive like that. That sixth sense was how he’d known to check on Aria in the piano practice room. A foreboding tingle down his spine had made him cancel plans with Phoebe and Sebastian. The sensation had forced him to sprint to the music building. He’d gotten to her in time, and he’d done it again yesterday in Boston. But what if he wasn’t there the next time? What if he failed her like he’d failed his mother? Could he trust himself to be there whenever she crept too close to the flame?
He pinned her to the table. Barely a breath separated their lips. “Does it look like I’m running from you now?”
“I’m not some girl you need to save, Oscar. Go find another wounded bird to rescue,” she rasped and pushed him away. She whipped around and headed toward a door on the other side of the room. She flung it open, revealing a staircase cast in the same golden glow. And she was off.
That had to be the way up to the lighthouse beacon, and he was right on her heels. He charged ahead of her and blocked her path. “There aren’t any other wounded birds.”
She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. Defiance burned in her eyes.
He caged her in. He was so close he could feel her breath against his chin. “There are no other girls. There’s you—since I was a kid—it’s always been you, Aria.”
Her bottom lip trembled. “Then why did you look at me with such disgust after you kissed me? Why did you drop out of college and disappear? Why did you shut me out? You don’t give a damn about me,” she snapped, fighting tears. She elbowed out of his embrace and continued up the spiral staircase.
With each step, it was as if she were turning the dial on a stove’s burner, increasing the intensity of the flame. Round and round they went. Their footsteps echoed through the rocky cylinder as they neared the beacon.
With a few steps left to climb, she stopped and pressed her hand against the curved wall as if she needed the structure’s support. “What happened after that kiss, Oscar? I thought that kiss meant you wanted me,” she said, her voice cracking as she looked away.
It killed him to hear the pain in her tone. He stared at her back, at her wet chestnut locks with hints of auburn. The color had always captivated him. Between the darkness of her hair and the light creaminess of the sweater, even soaked and seething, her beauty was undeniable. All he wanted to do was stop fighting, gather her into his arms, and lose himself. He resisted the temptation to reach out, remove the cap, and twist the saturated strands around his fist.
First, he had to admit the truth.
“I did want you that night, Aria. I still do.”
She turned and was at eye level with him, thanks to their position on the stairs. A sad smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “When I think about that kiss, I feel like I’m floating. And then I remember your expression.” She glanced away and swallowed hard. “It’s like a punch to the gut. You were disgusted with me.”
“No,” he whispered, cupping her cheek and forcing her to look at him. “I was furious with myself. I wanted you. But I couldn’t trust myself to be what you needed.”
“Why would you think that?”
He shook his head as guilt tightened like a vise around his heart.
“Talk to me, Oscar. I need to understand.”
“It was because of something I heard when I was with you in the hospital a few days before our birthdays.”
“Back in college?”
“Yeah,” he released a shaky breath. “I don’t know if you remember, but when I brought you to the hospital, there was a patient in the ER next to you. One of those blue curtains separated the treatment areas.”
“I don’t remember a lot about that night.”
“It makes sense. You were coming in and out of consciousness when they were giving you IV fluids. I was sitting there by your side, watching over you. I could hear the doctor talking with a patient’s family—well, the patient’s husband and young son. I could see their feet and the outline of their bodies on the curtain.”
“How did you know it was the patient’s son and husband?”
“From how the doctor addressed them.”
“What was so significant about this other patient and her family?” she pressed.
“The mother. She’d had an aneurysm that ruptured in the car on the way to the hospital.”
Aria gasped. “Oh, Oscar.”
As if the scene had happened not years but seconds ago, he could hear their hushed voices coming from the other side of the sheer curtain. “They were headed to the hospital to get help. She’d complained of headaches and double vision for a couple of days. She’d blamed it on being stressed at work. That’s what the kid—the boy—told the doctor. He and his dad insisted she get checked at the hospital. The doctor said she might not have made it if they’d waited any longer. He told the boy that he saved his mom’s life.” His throat thickened with emotion. “My mom had the same symptoms. I knew she wasn’t okay.”
