Barely even friends, p.27
Barely Even Friends, page 27
Two Months Later
Change was something I knew how to adapt to, even if my chest had a gaping hole in it that wouldn’t allow me to pick up a romance novel. I had purged my life of Oliver, blocking any mention of him, instructing Bl8z3 to do the same. The gaping hole in my chest would fill, with time. That’s what I kept telling myself, even as it seemed to grow bigger by the day.
I’d wake up in bed, still searching for his warmth; come home ready to tell him about my day; pick up my phone to text him, but never hit “Send.” I refused to get in the way of his relationship with his sisters. This was what he had wanted.
I was fine.
Work was fine. Ms. Roth had offered me a position at the Bib on the spot. My opinion was valued, as I witnessed how much creativity and research went into each decision. It was everything I had dreamed about and more.
Things with Sebastian and Finn were fine. We hung out on the regular, as I third-wheeled, refusing any suggestion for a double date.
I’d finally moved out of Dad’s place and had an apartment of my own, though I was too busy to decorate beyond a couch and bed. Nothing adorned the walls; my photos were still at the estate, and I just couldn’t do it. It felt wrong to make another home after his.
I was fine, things were fine. Fine, fine, fine.
It was silly, the thing that broke me. It had been accidental—I hadn’t listened to Taylor Swift in two months, but there was Lord of the Rings ready to be streamed. My finger stumbled on the trackpad of my laptop, the movie resuming right when Gandalf shouted that the monster shall not pass.
I crumpled into my couch.
“Bl8z3?” I cleared my throat.
“Yes, Ms. Price?” The response was instantaneous.
“Is there, uh, any news about Oliver or his family?”
It gave off a technical chirp, almost a laugh. “I’ll send it to your email now.”
There were articles upon articles. Oliver reuniting with his family, speculation he would be named his grandfather’s successor. Traveling with his sisters. Grace had gotten the recognition she had earned for the Japan deal.
And then came the announcement that he’d been named vice president of Philanthropic Endeavors, a position created entirely for him. His first initiative was starting a fund to restore historic homes, preserving history for generations. The stock continued to decline, but it was rebounding at the news of new technology being acquired. AI created by an unknown tech designer.
“He turned down his grandfather.” My chest filled with pride—and concern about what that meant for him and the estate.
“Keep going,” instructed Bl8z3.
I clicked on another article: a picture of Oliver filled the entire first page. He was standing at the estate, back to the camera, facing the garden, the glass doors of the library open. It hurt in a good way to see him, but I was desperate for his face. Was he happy? Was he still sporting his beard?
The article detailed how Oliver was ushering in change to the Killington Empire. He had spent the past eight years as a ghost investor in a nonprofit that taught coding to kids. With the announcement, he was also starting up a college scholarship fund—the first of which was being awarded to Nick Rue, who’d been chosen by an anonymous panel that didn’t involve Oliver.
My face dipped lower beneath my T-shirt, as if to contain the feelings that wanted to erupt from my chest. Because after that was photo and photo of Oliver being hounded by the paparazzi, him with his sisters, him alone shielding his face. The rest were from outside the estate’s gates, where presumably Oliver was inside. Was he shutting away the world again? Did he even have a home to go to since he’d reneged on his grandfather’s deal?
Time had done nothing to dull how I felt about him. I hadn’t stolen nearly enough of his clothes to sleep in to satisfy myself.
But it wasn’t my business; he’d made sure it wasn’t.
A pounding fist slammed on my front door. “Bellamy, I swear if you don’t open this door, I will kick it down.”
“How are you so confident that I’m even in here?” I shouted to my best friend as I picked myself off the couch.
“Finn and I finally remembered the Find Your Friend app we turned on in college to make sure one of us wasn’t killed by a random in the night.”
The moment I opened the door, Sebastian, with Finn in tow, pushed in, carrying a stack of poster boards.
“They could have killed us in the day too,” I muttered under my breath.
“Okay, it is time for your intervention,” Sebastian declared, pointing me toward my couch.
“A love intervention,” Finn corrected, straightening the poster boards to line up along my bare white wall.
“Why on Earth would I need an intervention?”
This was strange even for them.
“If this is about you not being a ‘forever girl’ again, I am calling extreme world-ending bullshit on that.” Sebastian gave me his don’t-mess-with-me face. “You are a forever person. You are one of my forever people.”
I glared at him as I flopped back down on the couch.
“Temporary is the nature of your work. It’s not a characteristic of your personality. You are loyal to a fault. Your dad, Finn, me. Even that strange AI you brought back with you.” He started to pace in front of me. “Vulnerability is hard. Trusting someone with your heart, having feelings that aren’t entirely in your control. That stuff can’t go on a to-do list.”
Wow, was I really that predictable?
“If I recall, Bell, you gave me a similar talk when I complained to you about dating an artist who lived his life from one painting to the next.” Sebastian offered heart eyes to Finn before resuming his glare at me. “Falling in love is scary. It’s freefalling into a void where you have no idea where you’ll end up or if you’ll ever make it back out. And with the best ones, the forever ones, you don’t. You keep falling and trust in the fact that they are right next to you, holding your hand.”
I needed new friends.
“He got me my job—he sent me away.” But as I glanced back at my laptop, my conviction was failing.
“Oh my gosh.” Sebastian clutched at his chest. “He helped you pursue your dreams. Wanted you to be happy. Why didn’t you say he despises you?” His dramatics were not appreciated.
I closed my laptop. “It played itself out.”
“Keep saying the words. Some of them may even be true at some point.” I threw up my hands, but he ignored me. “I don’t think the guy who called me when you were upset about the pipes bursting, so he could ask about a photo he needed a copy of, was trying to send you away. Feel free to get me a medal as the world’s best friend.” He plopped down on the couch next to me.
“That’s nice, but—”
“You don’t jump into bed with just anyone, Bell, let alone share a room.”
“Why can’t you support me in whatever I do, and never criticize me?” What happened to unequivocal loyalty in all things?
“You’re thinking of a regular friendship, Bells.” He patted my hand, as if explaining this to a child. “You have the best friend package here. No holds barred, even when I know it’s something tough to hear.”
“It also comes with illustrations,” Finn announced now that he had finished laying out whatever this was.
“Did you make a presentation?” I asked. Horrifying was what this was.
“Yes, when your boyfriend is a hot artist, you ask him for help.” Sebastian beamed toward Finn, which would have been cute if they weren’t about to offer me some sort of lecture. Was it too early to start drinking?
Finn flipped the first poster board over. “They’re storyboards. If I had more notice, they would have been fully animated. I’ve been dabbling with—”
Sebastian coughed, getting Finn back on track as I absorbed the illustration. Finn had drawn out my time at the Killington Estate, featuring me and Oliver.
“I lived it. I don’t need a reminder.” I yanked down the blanket covering the back of the couch, wrapping it around my body, something else to hold onto as my fingers itched to open my laptop back up.
Sebastian had note cards too. “Okay, as you can see, your relationship built naturally. Aided by the only-one-bed situation you contrived.”
“Contrived?” I almost shouted.
“You had an unlimited budget. I’m sure you could have ordered a mattress to be delivered. We both know it was a convenient lie. You told yourself you had to sleep in his bed.”
“He slept on the couch,” I muttered.
Sebastian puffed out his cheeks. “The entire time?” He didn’t even wait for my response. “Reason two is …”
They had walked in at the worst possible moment. I was vulnerable, heart aching, because I did miss Oliver—every piece of me missed him. Was he at the estate, thinking about me? “What is the point of all of this?”
“That you are in love with him,” Finn and Sebastian pronounced together, hinting that they had rehearsed this a few times.
I stood, keeping the blanket wrapped around me. “That isn’t breaking news. I know I’m in love with him. I’m fully aware I screwed up too. I don’t need you to kick me when I’m down.”
“Ah.” Sebastian’s eyebrows drew together, talking to Finn as if I weren’t in the room. “We have a martyr-type situation going on here. Time for plan B.”
“What about all my ideas for double dates?” Finn walked farther down the wall. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But I’m going to remember this later, Cheeks.”
Finn’s next board merely read The Article.
I crossed my arms over my chest. I had zero interest in reading what new gossip was being printed about Oliver.
“You won’t be making that face once you read it.” Sebastian handed me the physical magazine, already flipped to the correct page, with a few lines highlighted in yellow.
This page held what I was hungering for: a photo of Oliver. I drank in those heavy eyebrows and how he tugged at his beard, the camera angle making his hand seem even larger. My body shivered in memory, heat spreading as if he were a room away.
But he wasn’t.
Oliver had sat down for an interview, the first he had ever granted.
“Grief is a heady thing. There is no right or wrong way to experience it, but it’s a tough thing to go through alone. It took me letting someone in to realize that it didn’t need to be that way. The world didn’t have to be something I was scared was going to hurt me again.”
“Sounds like a special person.”
“Very special. Too special for me to hold on to.”
My eyes were heavy with tears, my lashes wet as I allowed my fingers to trace along his features.
“He even sent it to me.” Sebastian shrugged. “People don’t take an interest in historical homes unless it will get them laid.”
My breath shuddered, the magazine pressed to my chest as if it was an adequate way of expressing what was springing back to life and had really never left, no matter how much I had attempted to tamp it down.
Fuck, I missed him.
“For such a private person, this was a declaration of love. Of ‘I fucked up, I should have never let you go. Come back to me please, please—’ ” Sebastian waved his hand in the air. “What was his nickname for you?”
“Petal.” There was no stopping the tears now. I knew what I had to do.
“Please, Petal, come back so I can lick chocolate off your body.”
A laugh escaped me. “Why did you have to make it weird?”
I had made up my mind the moment I had seen that photo of Oliver, but I needed the shove only a best friend could provide. Oliver wasn’t better off without me—the paparazzi, his grandfather, they were all circling him, and I left him alone in that, abandoned him. Out of what—fear?
“You love him. All lovey-dovey heart eyes, palm sweating, butterflies in your stomach that make you want to throw up.” Finn was too giddy.
There was another knock at my door. “I’m not too late, am I?”
“You invited my dad?” I exclaimed as I let him in.
“We’ve already done it, Mr. Price, but we’re not sure we’ve convinced her yet.” Sebastian huffed.
“My darling—”
“Referring to your car again?” I interrupted, catching the keys as Dad tossed them at me.
“No, my darling, I am referring to you. Go, talk to him. I can’t stand seeing you here with a broken heart.” Dad clutched my hand holding the keys to his car.
They weren’t playing fair; a lump formed in my throat at the love in the room. At the love maybe waiting for me if I only could reach out for it and grab it.
“You don’t even have a TV.” Sebastian waved his arms in front of my empty wall. “If there was ever a cry for help, that’s a big one.”
“An alarm I’ve set up at the estate is going off,” Bl8z3 interrupted.
“What?” I glanced at Sebastian, panicked.
“It appears something is happening with the piping. There may be some flooding. I am running some reports.”
“Fuck.”
After everything, I refused to let his home be ruined.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The clouds in the sky blocked out the sun, making the trip back eerily similar to the one I had made more than seven months ago. But I wasn’t the same girl who had driven this road.
This Bellamy wasn’t a coward.
The six hours crept slowly, my slippery palms sliding against the leather of the steering wheel, but finally I was pulling up to the familiar gates. Repaired, yet somehow still creepy. The driveway was littered with cars, paparazzi pressed to the wrought iron, immediately snapping pictures of Philippe.
Before I could even think about rolling my window down to reach out to the call box, the gate opened just enough, immediately closing the moment the Mustang cleared.
I hadn’t packed a single thing, only had taken a shower and rushed to get on the road. My heart was beginning to race again.
Ambrose opened the door as I approached. “Ms. Price, what are you doing here?”
“I heard about the flooding. Did the pipes burst or something?” I glanced around as thunder boomed, but nothing looked amiss, or even slightly damp.
“What flooding?” His eyebrows drew in confusion.
“My sensors might have malfunctioned,” Bl8z3 interrupted, voice carrying through the foyer.
“Excuse me?” I glanced at the ceiling, wishing Bl8z3 was corporeal so I could shake it. But it didn’t matter, that wasn’t the real reason I was here. I had decided to come even before the fake flooding alert. “How is he?”
Ambrose didn’t pretend to misunderstand whom I was talking about. “How do you think he’s doing?”
“Can I see him?” I didn’t need to ask permission, but I remembered how Ambrose had asked me not to break Oliver’s heart. It was time I recognized that by walking out the door, I had let fear win—we both had—rather than staying and fighting for what we had built together.
“He’s in the tent.”
The tent we’d put up to build and stain the furniture under? “I thought that was getting torn down.”
“He told them to leave it up.” Ambrose wasn’t snippy, but it wasn’t the warmest of welcomes either.
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Go.” Ambrose gave me a soft push, and it was all I needed to run through the mansion.
Oliver was in the tent, hammering something together. Sweat glistened on his face, his hair tied messily back as he bent over in concentration. I allowed myself a moment to soak him in, some of the ache in my chest easing at the confirmation that he was okay, that his grandfather hadn’t taken the estate away from him. My heart pounded, and my stomach swirled with the storm in the air. Every word I had practiced saying on the drive fled my brain.
But then he kicked at one of the wood pieces, swearing before chucking the bent nail.
“Hey,” I choked out, barely able to hear myself over the sound of my pounding heart.
Oliver’s back stiffened, and he slowly turned to face me. Bearded, broad-shouldered, in a white T-shirt that clung with the sweat, forearms exposed. Here. He was here.
“Hi.” He shoved his fists into his pockets.
“I, uh …” I could lie, say that the article, the potential flooding, a million other things had brought me here. Or I could tell him the truth. “I needed to see you.”
“Are you okay?” He stepped forward, almost reaching for me.
“Sorry, yeah—I mean physically, yes, I’m fine.” I tugged on my suspenders, relief flooding me at the familiar way his gaze traced them.
And then we stood in black cloud–covered silence, the wind rustling the leaves of the trees, crinkling with anticipation.
Lightning lit up the sky before a crack of thunder rumbled the ground, and we remembered we were outside in a tent made of metal poles.
“Run,” Oliver demanded, grabbing my hand as we raced toward the library. But halfway there the downpour began, freezing rain immediately drenching us to the bone, and I yanked away because I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“No, I need to say this. I’ve been mad at you, so incredibly mad at you.” He opened his mouth, but I shook my head, water flying as we stood in the eye of the storm. “I don’t want to be your friend—I mean just your friend, only your friend.” I was screwing this up so badly. “Being with you—you made it okay for the first time for me to be me. I wanted to stay, but then you sent me away—”
“Bell—” His voice barely carried over the pounding of the rain.
“No, don’t call me that. I let my fears that this was temporary win out, and allowed your fears to push me away. Because this is hard and scary.”
He turned toward the house, and I wrapped my arms around my torso, fearing he was going to leave me out here. But he spun around. “You frighten the hell out of me. I had my life and therapy, and tried to ignore the rest of the world. And then you had to come barging in, with your ideas that I was worth something. And I started to think that maybe there was more to my life than hiding away.”
Another strike of lightning as the hairs on my arm rose.
