“Whatever.” I look around the hotel room and see if I can make my next statement more believable. “So, why the hotel room?”
“Oh, Doug and Lily were having family in for the holiday and since I was going to be leaving soon anyway, I just decided to get a hotel room.”
I’m not sure if Oli’s a good liar or not. I knew the truth before I asked so I can’t say for sure.
“Well, lucky us.” I roll on top of him and yank his tie that’s hanging in a loose knot around his neck. “I like you in a tie. I’m thinking for my next birthday, just a tie and boots … in public, of course.”
“Are you trying to get me arrested?”
“Oh, Oli …” I work the buttons of his shirt. “You’re such an enigma, all stuffy and we’re-not-having-sex-in-public one minute and the next you’re screwing me in an alley or bending me over your desk and spanking me. I think you’re a bad boy by nature and a bore by nurture.”
“A bore?” He slides his hands under my shirt and unfastens my bra.
“Yes, you grew up with money and manners—boring.”
He laughs while sitting up and pulling off my shirt. “I guess I’ll have to try and be less of a bore.” Bending down he sucks in my nipple and bites it, hard!
Chapter Thirty-Three
Broken
Oliver
Vivian coming all this way to see me is the best gift ever. When we’re together the world is perfect again. It doesn’t matter that we’re not with our families, or that we wake up in a hotel room on Christmas morning. She’s all I need.
“So since I fly out tomorrow are we staying in bed all day?” Vivian asks as she feeds me an orange wedge, part of our Christmas morning room service in bed.
“It’s where we’ve been for the past two days. Works for me.” I smirk, sucking the juice off her finger.
“What time will you arrive in Boston on Friday?”
I “accidentally” drop a dollop of Greek yogurt on her nipple. She rolls her eyes as I clean it up with just my tongue. “Five Boston time.”
“So you’ll make it for rehearsal dinner?”
“I should unless I get delayed.”
She nods and stares at me with lines of tension along her face, as if she’s trying to figure something out.
“Are you going to see Caroline today?”
Her question blindsides me. “No.”
I feel her judgmental eyes on me, so I focus on the toast I’m buttering to perfection.
“You can. I’ll be fine here by myself for a while.”
“No need.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
I shrug wishing she’d drop it. “It’s been a little while.”
“So she’s doing better?”
“She’s in a mental hospital with a family history of depression and doped up on a million meds. It’s only going to get so good, Vivian.” I close my eyes and sigh. “I’m sorry …” I detest the unnerving feeling of anger that overpowers my resistance.
She rests her comforting hand on mine. I open my eyes and look at her. I hate lying to her. I hate Caroline for putting me in this position. Why can’t she just get better and let me go or stop fucking failing at her pathetic suicide attempts. “I haven’t seen her since Thanksgiving.”
“Why?”
What the hell?
“What do you mean why? I just told you I haven’t seen her since Thanksgiving and your reaction is why?”
Vivian’s eyes widen as my volume escalates.
“You should be shocked or angry, but you’re not. You knew didn’t you?”
“Oli—”
“Don’t Oli me, Vivian. You knew, didn’t you?”
She shakes her head.
“Who told you? Did Caroline’s parents call you? Did my mom find out? She told you, didn’t she?”
She continues to shake her head.
“Tell me!” I swat the tray of food off the bed sending the plates and glasses crashing against the wall and floor. Vivian cups her hand over her mouth as tears … fucking pity tears fall from her eyes.
“Why? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me to come home?”
“You weren’t ready.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I stand, slip on my pants, and pace the floor, rubbing my throbbing temples. “Ready for what?” My voice breaks.
She kneels on the bed, pulling the sheet up to her chest. “Ready to deal with your past. Oli … you kept the pillow that was used to …” She can’t say it. Of course she can’t. It’s too morbid.
I shake my head. It feels like the whole fucking world is caving in on me. What did I do? I’m the victim. She killed Melanie and left me with nothing. Why does everyone think I’m the one with the problem? I hate her … she’s turning everyone I love against me, making me seem like the crazy one.
“She killed her, not me.”
“Oliver—”
“No, she killed her. I was working …” I shake my head. “I wasn’t there.”
“Oliver—”
“She did it. She took everything from me. God … I hate her so much!”
“Oliver, stop!”
I hold out my hand to keep her from touching me. “No. Why is this happening? Why is everyone blaming me?”
“Oliver, please …” I hear Vivian’s sobs, but I don’t feel her. I don’t feel anything.
“What does that mean?” I squeeze my eyes closed. “Tell me! What does that mean?” I open my eyes and Vivian is reaching for her phone. No fucking way. She’s not calling anyone, not until she tells me. I grab her phone and throw it into the wall shattering her screen. She’s shaking like a leaf. What’s her problem? No one’s making her feel crazy. No one’s telling her to deal with her past.
“Oli—”
I grab her shoulders and shake her. “My wife suffocated my baby girl with a fucking pillow! That’s my past, I can’t change it! So would you please Tell. Me. What the fuck do you mean, Deal. With. My. Past? How in God’s name do I do that?”
She cries.
I see it, but I refuse to hear it.
She pleads for me to let go.
I don’t.
And then she wrecks me with two simple words.
“Forgive her.”
I release her and stumble backwards. It feels like she shot me in the heart.
“It’s not h-her f-fault. She was s-sick.” She sobs.
I stare at familiar eyes, but I don’t really see her. A voice … I hear her voice, but I feel numb, completely numb.
Vivian
I think I broke him. Oliver’s experienced the unimaginable in his life, but I’ve never thought of him as broken—until now. His eyes are on me, but his gaze goes through me. I want to crawl to him and hold him in my arms, but I’m scared. He’s shown me a side I’ve never seen before, and I’m not sure he recognizes me or even himself right now.
I move with caution to the edge of the bed and ease onto the floor, keeping the sheet wrapped around me. He’s several feet away, slumped against the wall. “You said it yourself, Oli—less than point one percent. It was a tragedy. That’s all it was … an awful tragedy.”
His whole body is stone-cold still and void of all emotion. I wish I could have a tiny glimpse into his mind right now. I wipe my eyes and wait. I don’t want this wrenching moment to be our first Christmas together, but time is running out. Oliver is getting ready to leave Portland with the same hatred and resentment he’s had for years. The crippling emotions that have held him hostage since that fatal night are threatening to steal the rest of his life.
Hating someone does that to you. It’s a virus that infiltrates your life and takes hold of everyone that matters to you, then it rips them away one at a time until you’re all alone, empty, and dead inside. Hatred breeds resentment and murders happiness. It’s opportunistic and will suck the life out of you until you’re nothing but an empty shell.