Page 48 of Knot My Band: Part Two
“Great,” I manage, though my palms are sweaty, and my limbs are shaky. A part of me was hoping she would back out so I could avoid this, but that’s not Oli.
With a quick toss of the covers, Oli springs from her bed, her movements charged with an energy that’s pure Oli Hart. She grabs her clothes—a pair of ripped jeans and a vintage band tee and slips them on with ease before adding her black wig.
When we get out to the central portion of the bus, my pack is sitting around, half-dressed in sweats. They all know where I’m taking Oli.
I watch Oli tuck a strand of rose gold hair behind her ear, the band tee hugging her form just right. She’s all vibrant energy as Aiden approaches her, the softness in his brown eyes belying his shy nature. “I’ll miss you, sunshine,” he murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. It’s a tender moment that squeezes something in my chest.
Chase wraps an arm around Oli’s shoulders, pulling her into a hug that lifts her feet off the ground. “Protect our star, Dax,” he says, his voice carrying the playful edge we’ve come to expect, but there’s also genuine concern. The kind that reminds me how much they all rely on me not to screw this up.
And then there’s Jack. He tilts Oli’s chin up and plants a kiss on her lips. “If you need us, just call, okay?” he tells her, winking at me over her head in a silent message that I better keep her safe. He hesitates before adding, “And take care of Dax.”
I grab the coffee in the to-go cup I made for Oli this morning. It’s just another way I’m trying to care for her and make up formy past. When I hand it to Oli, she smiles and takes a sip before humming in satisfaction.
“Thanks, Dax, it’s perfect,” she says before taking another sip.
“Good, then, let’s go.”
My heart hammers against my ribs as I lead her outside to the waiting car. Two security team members are riding in a different car behind us. I asked them for space.
The ride starts quietly, the engine’s hum filling the silence between us. I grip the steering wheel till my knuckles turn white, trying to steady the tremor in my hands. The closer we get to our destination, the tighter the coil of anxiety winds inside me.
‘It’s just a cemetery,’ I tell myself. But it’s not just any cemetery—it’s where part of me died along with my mom. Would Oli understand why I’m bringing her to a place so steeped in pain? I glance at her, and she’s watching the passing scenery, unaware of the battle raging inside me.
“Hey, you okay?” Her voice cuts through the tension, and I nod, swallowing hard.
“Yeah, just… thinking about stuff.” It’s an understatement, but I’m not ready to lay it all out yet.
“Anything you want to talk about?” There’s an earnest curiosity in her tone that makes me want to spill everything. But not yet. Soon.
“Later,” I promise, both to her and to myself. This is it—another step toward forgiveness, toward healing. I hope she sees it that way, too.
“Okay, Dax.” She leans back in her seat, her gaze softening. “I’m here whenever you’re ready.”
The gravity of her words settles in the space between us, heavy with significance. Today is a big day. A chance to show her a piece of my soul I’ve kept hidden away. As we drive on, the vibration of the tires on asphalt is like a drumbeat to myfraying nerves, but having Oli beside me—her presence alone is a soothing balm.
“Thanks, Oli,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. Yet she hears me, as she always does, and offers a smile that might be enough to see me through this.
We pull into the cemetery, and I cut the engine. Heavy silence follows, pressing in around us like a shroud. Oli turns to me, her jade eyes wide with curiosity.
“A cemetery?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice barely audible. “There’s someone I want you to see.”
As we leave the car, the subtle crunch of gravel underfoot echoes through the quiet. The air is cool, carrying a perfume of freshly cut grass and earth. Leaves rustle gently in the breeze.
She grabs my hand, silently letting me gather the strength to keep going.
I lead the way, but my footsteps are hesitant despite my determination to move forward. Her grip is soft yet firm. It’s grounding, a lifeline amidst the swirling doubts that threaten to drag me down.
I haven’t been back here since the day I was put in foster care.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Her voice is gentle.
“More than okay,” I reply, squeezing her hand in reassurance—for her or me, I’m not sure.
Her thumb brushes over the back of my hand, a wordless promise of support.
“Whatever it is, Dax, I’m here with you,” she says, her voice imbued with a strength that belies her petite frame.
