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I’d never had the most brilliant ideas. From experience, most of them ended in either handcuffs, a hangover, or looking into horrid, loveless eyes after a harsh fuck. I’d just hoped this idea of hosting Thanksgiving di
Ollie wouldn’t be back home until after midnight, and I had only tonight to prepare a di
Since arriving in the UK, I only got around by cab or taking my bicycle into the village if I needed something. I refused to learn to drive here, and it drove Ollie insane. But to be honest, the opposite sides scared the living hell out of me. I’d tried once, and drove his dear car into a ditch. It took three men and a pick-up to drag the beater from the muddy valley off the road. After that, Ollie found a purple bicycle, complete with a basket and a bell. What started as a joke turned into my most reliable transportation.
But there was no way the bicycle would be able to carry the groceries back from the store. Knowing this, Ollie had left his car. And I stood outside my front door, staring at the old, rusty station wagon with determination in my posture, twirling the keys around my finger.
After a few close calls—okay, a lot of close calls—loud honks, and British insults from other cars passing by, I’d made it to the village in one piece. Dark clouds broke apart, and I grabbed the umbrella from the backseat before getting out and ru
I entered the store, the bell chimed, and the cashier waved over at me from behind the counter as I grabbed a buggy. The Yankees back in the states made the locals here seem like fairy godmothers from Pleasantville, and I was tired of keeping up with the smiles and small talk.
Strolling through the aisles, I snacked on a bag of Mini Cheddars as I tossed the items from my grocery list into the cart when my buggy crashed into two girls, one with who I recognized.
“Hi, Mia,” Leigh said. And though I’ve seen her once, I’d never forgotten the face of the girl who took the majority of Ollie’s time. But seeing her this close, she couldn’t be more than twenty-years-old. She wore black leggings and a cream satin tank under her black puffer jacket with a much older lady at her side. My eyes darted back and forth between the two.
The other lady’s eyes relaxed. “So, you’re Oliver’s Mia?”
“Nope, wrong person,” I lied, trying to maneuver my cart around them, but Leigh grabbed hold of the end and pulled it back in front of her. Closing my eyes, I sucked in a long breath. “Can I help you with something?” I asked upon exhale.
“I’m Oliver’s mum,” the older lady said, and her gaze roamed down my body before they flicked back to my eyes where they settled. Her expression transformed from conflicted to concerned, and her eyes watered. “I … I just wanted to introduce myself. Take care of yourself, Mia,” she quickly turned to Leigh, who had her palms in the air, and Oliver’s mom shook her head, “Come on, we’re leaving the girl alone.”
Before I could get a word out, Oliver’s mom gripped Leigh’s arm and pulled her in the opposite direction as Leigh whisper-shouted, noticeably upset. Then the two disappeared around the aisle, leaving me with nothing but confusion from what just happened.
Once my body thawed from my frozen state, I checked out, made it safely home, and spent the rest of the evening recapping the events from earlier in my head. Ted Bundy’s documentary played on the TV over the fire burning in the fireplace, but I hadn’t paid attention to the last twenty minutes, too busy mulling over the run-in, and why Ollie’s mom was so quick to leave. No matter how hard I tried to shake it away, her reaction to me had buried into my brain.
The unca
It was very seldom when Ollie left me home alone, but this past month he had been gone about once a week to deal with Dex and the Links. He rarely went into detail and hated talking about it, and over the past few months, I learned it was better not knowing. But it wouldn’t be long before Ollie would walk through the door, dripping with regret. The week before, he’d taken me over this couch and released his shame and guilt inside me before spending the rest of the night writing in his notebook. Every other night, he’d make love to me slow and fuck his poetry hard. But night’s such as this, when he’d come back from that house, it was the other way around.
Of course, I never minded, having once said Ollie carried the burden of a thousand lost souls and had the heart of a thousand angels, and the only way to release his pent-up emotions was through me.
And on cue, he walked into our home wearing black joggers and a jean jacket over his hoodie with his hair in chaos. Bruises had colored his cheekbones. The bandages had unraveled from around his hand. The winter chill had kissed his lips. Then Ollie lifted his head. The same green eyes where a museum of knowledge, dreams, and books about love stories lived, found mine as if the sun came out in the dead of night. Screaming thoughts turned to whispers, and Ollie dropped his guard, knowing he was back with me in his safe place—his haven.
The smell of ci
A fire crackled in the fireplace, and Jake and I worked together, tag-teaming setting the table over low music playing from the speakers above my piano. After spreading out a placement, Jake looked up with a dramatic sigh. “I have to admit, Mia. Over two years, Lynch scared the pee out of me. Literally. Like, he literally made me piss my pants. I’m so on edge right now, and I don’t know how to act around him.”
Laughing, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Just be yourself.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. What if he gets mad the pie is gone, decides to blame the gay one, and throws me upstairs in your darkroom.”
I rolled my eyes. “And what do you call a really a
Jake’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes narrowed. “What?”
“A pain in the ass.”