Shit.
A lash of agony ripped up my back. I sucked in a breath, shifting on the bed.
“We’ll leave you to rest.” The doctor patted my hand again. “Sleep. Heal. I’ll answer any questions you may have when you’re a little more comfortable.”
I resisted the urge to capture her wrist, asking, “Can I see my daughter?” I needed to see her with my own eyes. To touch her. Kiss her. To never let her go again.
“Soon.” She backed away from the bed, eyeballing the cop to leave too. “Rest first. I’ll bring her to you in a bit.”
I wanted to argue, but sudden tiredness hung off my eyelashes, dragging them down. I felt cold and strange—as if the foreign blood in my veins poisoned me from the inside out.
I couldn’t fight the sinking.
I lost the fight.
I slept.
* * * * *
“No! I want to see him. I need to make sure he’s okay. Daddy! Dad! Popeye!”
My eyes wrenched open, my heart galloping at the sound of Olive’s shout. Jack-knifing upright, I forgot too late about my stitched together side.
I groaned in pain as I lay back down, a prickle of sweat breaking out all over me.
The heart-rate monitor went berserk, and the sounds of angry officers threaded with the melodic calm of O’s gentle tone. I couldn’t hear what she said, but after a minute of whispered argument, the door cracked open and Olive bowled inside.
“Dad!”
I braced myself for her hug. Ready to hide my agony from her at all costs. My arms spread as she launched against the bed, her face landing on my stomach and arms around my hips. “You’re alive!”
It fucking hurt.
Everything fucking hurt.
My body screamed to push her away, but my heart would never do such a thing. My heart hurt worse than any physical form.
I’d failed this perfect creature.
I could never fix what’d happened.
I clutched her so damn close, suffocating her into me. I stroked her soft, silky hair, squeezing my eyes from suspicious, stupid tears.
The luxury of touching her.
The privilege of having her back in my embrace.
Fuck.
I didn’t care I was bankrupt, full of holes, and other people’s blood.
I didn’t even care I wasn’t a free man anymore.
All that mattered was Olive was safe.
Finally.
Swallowing back heavy gratitude, I pulled her away so I could see her pretty face. “Hey, Olive Oyl. You okay?” Nudging her chin up, I smiled as her huge, gorgeous grey eyes met mine. I’d long ago stopped comparing her eyes to her mother’s. In Jane Tallup, the grey had been evil and flat. In Olive, the colour was pure and wholesome. I loved the soft shade. I loved how serene and endless they were.
The greyness suddenly glossed with tears. Her mouth wobbled, and she pressed her cheek into my palm as I raised my hand to touch her. “You were lying in the forest. Not moving.”
“I know. I’m sorry I scared you.”
“I wanted to come back to get you. But Uncle Jeffrey wouldn’t let me.”
“It’s not your fault, little spinach. None of this is your fault.”
She bit her lip, doing her best to stem her sadness. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you more.”
She threw herself onto me again. Her face pressing into the blankets covering my wounded side. I hid my pain, wrapping my arm around her fragile back.
I didn’t think about the future.
I didn’t worry about how much time I had with her.
I just closed my eyes and hugged my daughter.
Chapter Ten
______________________________
Olin
STARING AT MYSELF in the hospital bathroom mirror, I did my best to clutch to the resolve I’d made last night. The oath I had no choice but to follow.
I didn’t like hospitals—they reminded me too much of what I’d lost after my accident. I hadn’t wanted to come back.
But I had to see Gil.
To convince myself he would be okay...before I left.
You know what you promised, O.
I pointed a finger in my face, waggling it at my reflection.
Stand by it.
I nodded.
Today, my skin was its normal colour. My hair clean and brushed. My pink jumper and tight jeans my only decoration. I was just a simple girl visiting an old friend from school.
Yesterday had been a different matter.
I’d showered at the hospital so they could apply creams to my rope-burned wrists and ankles and check me over. They’d given me a hospital gown to dress into and guided me to a room to wash. I’d closed the door on the nurse helping me and seen my painted flesh for the first time.
I hadn’t known what Gil had painted me with.
But there, standing under the bright neon, I found out.
Olives.
Thousands and thousands of olives.
He’d cried while forcing me to eat a sandwich laced with sleeping tablets. He’d apologised while he’d carried me deep into the forest. And he’d painted me in the namesake of the only girl who would ever own his heart.
That had been the moment.
The moment.
Where all my misery and patience just...stopped.
It was like a switch flicked from forgiving to done.
Gilbert Clark had been through a lot. He’d dealt with things no one should have to deal with. He’d never had anyone to rely on and kept far too much sorrow to himself. He’d pushed me away out of some broken chivalry to protect me.
And by trying to protect me, he’d forced me to face his demons and risk being sold by his uncle.
I’d believed I could save him with kindness. I’d hoped compassion could set him free.
It’s time to stop being so idealistic and blind.
He’d broken my trust while painting me that night.
He’d saved my life by killing Jeffrey before collapsing at my feet.
The wrongdoing he’d done by sacrificing me was paid in full by stopping a terrible fate. I could forgive him for what he’d done. I forgave him for everything he’d put me through.
But...that was where my tolerance ended.
He might have had a rough upbringing and allowed society to carve him into something he wasn’t, but I’d had my own share of nightmares.
I’d coped with a lonely childhood, a life-changing accident, and loving a boy who would always grant more pain than happiness. I’d endured trials and sacrifices and managed to retain the goodness that I valued over anything.
That was where we differed.
I fought for what hid beneath the lies.
Gil pushed away what was in front of him.
And...it was over.
I would be nice and gentle. I would be his friend.
But I would also pick me from now on because I’d given him everything I had.
I’m leaving.
Starting afresh.
I had to.
As I’d stepped into the shower, a calm sense of relief filled me. Relief to finally have a decision that felt binding. I would always be Gil’s friend. I would answer his calls and accept his messages if he wanted to stay in touch, but that was where my loyalty had to end. Where I had to choose not to be the tragic wallflower, wilting in a sad little vase, waiting for him to choose me.
He could never choose me because he’d chosen Olive.
As it should be.
That night, I’d done my best to sleep in an uncomfortable hospital bed, tossing and turning, knowing Gil was in surgery and his daughter was in the care of strangers.
I’d been released in the morning and gone home to my apartment.
Everything had felt in a different dimension. A strange new planet.
My key still fit in my lock. My kitchen still held my dishes. My bed still smelled of me. But none of it seemed real anymore. I’d distanced myself from i
t and needed to leave.
To leave and start again...for me.
Shannon had called from Status Enterprises, and I’d apologised yet again for not turning up for work. She assured me it was fine. She’d heard the news about what’d happened. That the company would give me two weeks fully paid to recover before returning.
I hadn’t had the heart to tell her I no longer wanted to live in my home city.
I didn’t have the courage to go online and read the news articles about what’d happened.
Instead, I dressed and ate a muesli bar before catching public transport back to the hospital.
To say goodbye.
My hand dropped. My reflection showed a girl far older than she was. Dark circles painted under my eyes; my lips permanently sad.
I didn’t want to be that girl anymore.
I wanted more.
I deserved more.
You deserve to be happy.
I nodded at the mirror, brushed a few stray hairs from my forehead, and left the bathroom.
* * * * *
I stood outside Gil’s room, listening to the low rumble of his voice and the high-pitched tone of Olive’s. The two cops guarding his door stared at me with annoyance. Pissed off that I’d stood up to them when they’d tried to deny Olive from seeing her dad.
It’d been serendipitous timing.
I’d arrived at the barricaded room just as Olive came flying down the corridor, no longer willing to wait for a nurse to take her to her father.
I’d argued on her behalf.
I’d won her entry.
And now, I wanted to give them time to say hello, before I said goodbye.
Focusing on the older cop with his handlebar moustache, I asked, “Why are you guarding Gil’s door?”
His eyebrows drew together. “He’s a prisoner.”
My heart kicked, not wanting to accept that Gil’s problems weren’t over. “For what?”
“For killing Jeffrey Clark.”
I scowled. “But Jeffrey kidnapped us and murdered at least four women. He took me and would’ve raped and killed me if Gil hadn’t—”
“Murder is murder, miss.” He crossed his arms. “And Gilbert Clark was involved.”
My temper rose. “He didn’t kill those girls.”
“He was an accessory. Caught with his hands dirty.”
I gritted my teeth, unwilling to argue the painted murders but needing to justify Jeffrey’s. “Did you not hear me? Jeffrey Clark was seconds away from raping me. Gil killed him in my defense. He killed him because he kept his daughter for over a year. He was justified.”
The cop didn’t react.
It wasn’t fair.
Gil had done many wrong things, but killing his uncle was not one of them. I still didn’t understand if they were related or if it was just a term of speech, but his death was the only good thing to come out of all of this.
Footsteps sounded on the bleached linoleum. Wrenching my head up, I expected to see a doctor. Instead, the air in my lungs vanished as Justin spotted me and increased his speed until his arms wrapped tight around me. “O. Thank God, you’re okay.”
I squeezed him back, drinking in the familiarity, no longer cringing against it. “Thanks to you.”
He pulled away, shaking his head. “Thanks to Gil.” He glanced at the cops watching us closely and cupped my elbow to guide me away. Keeping his voice low, he said, “He told me he’s involved in the painted murders. Is that why the police are outside his room?”
My heart turned to stone. “He told you that? How...how is he involved?”
He painted them...didn’t he?
He painted them for his uncle.
He has their blood on his hands.
I didn’t want to believe it, but the thought had been growing ever since I’d seen my photo wedged in his door.
He frowned. “He said....you know what? It doesn’t matter. We’ll talk about it later.” His gaze flashed with pain. “I need to see the bastard. To see with my own eyes he’s still alive. That text he sent sounded too full of death for my liking.”
I arched my chin back at the two police. “We can ask to see him, but I’m not holding my breath. They barely let Olive in.”
“Olive...his daughter?”
I nodded.
“Did you know he had a daughter?”
“Not until recently.”
“Who’s the mother?”
Looking away, I whispered, “You’ll have to ask him that.”
“Fine. I will.” Straightening his spine, he took my hand and led me back to the law enforcers. “We want to see our friend.”
The guy shook his head. “No visitors.”
“He has his daughter in there right now.”
The younger cop with his sleek dark hair glowered at me. “Only because someone wouldn’t accept no for an answer.”
Justin narrowed his gaze. “Just like I won’t accept no for an answer.” He sighed. “Look, the bloke isn’t going anywhere. He’s in a hospital, for God’s sake.”
The older cop sighed, his resolve weakening.
I jumped in. “Please let us in. I’m leaving and want to say goodbye before I do.”
Justin froze beside me, blue eyes trapping mine. “What? You’re leaving? Since when?”
I shrugged. “Since I decided.”
“Because of Gil?”
“Because of me.” I didn’t want to discuss this in front of uniforms. Smiling at the older officer, I did my best to appease him. “We’ll only be fifteen minutes. I just really need to say goodbye before...”
His hand rested on his baton before he sighed again, heavy and annoyed. “Fine. Fifteen minutes. But no longer.” Turning the doorknob, he opened it enough for me to slip through.
Justin followed, pushing the door closed behind him.
Olive looked up from where she stood beside Gil’s bed hugging him. Her eyes were red and cheeks damp but she smiled for the first time since I met her. “Hi, Olin. Thanks for helping me sneak in to see my dad.”
I nodded with a soft smile. “You’re welcome.”
My gaze travelled to Gil.
The world once again stopped and spun in the opposite direction.
He looked wrung out and pale. His hair a diabolical mess, his body cocooned in white blankets while a needle punctured the back of his hand and fed necessary antibiotics and painkillers.
His mouth opened to speak.
My heart begged to retreat.
And Justin broke the tense connection, striding in front of me to embrace his friend. “Good to see you’re still alive.”
Gil winced, his gaze struggling to leave mine as he focused on Justin. “At least I get to say thank you in person now.”
Justin nodded. “You owe me. Owe me huge.”
Gil nodded, his tone deadly serious. “I know I do. And I’ll pay you back somehow. Some day.”
“You do know I expect to be told everything.” Justin’s eyes narrowed. “And I do mean everything, Clark. You can’t leave anything out.”
“I know.”
Olive’s attention danced between her dad and the man she’d never met. Her curiosity practically burst out of her. The scared girl from the caravan gave way to a feisty little thing, almost as if having her father back erased the badness of before. She drank strength from him. She trusted that things were okay now—that the past year of entrapment was over because she was with her dad and the world was righted.
She’s the bravest little thing I’ve ever seen.
I envied her ability to ignore history and live purely in the present.
It made me feel weak for wanting to leave, guilty for choosing myself over Gil when he lay sore in a hospital bed.
I should stay.
I should help.
But how much is enough?
After everything...when was it okay to say no more?
My heart beat strangely, confused and afraid as I stayed on the outskirts of their conversation.
Gil cleared his throat, smiling at his friend. “Justin, I’d like you to meet Olive. My daughter.” His body melted as he looked at Olive, his eyes so proud and grateful. “Spinach, I want you to meet your godfather, Justin.”
“Yeah, about the godfather thing.” Justin coughed quietly. “You do know I have no experience with kids right, Clark?”
Gil nodded. “I know. And it’s not fair of me to nominate you without telling you, but for now...while I deal with this aftermath, do you think—” His eyes caught mine, wincing. He seemed almost apologetic, as if he didn’t know if he should’ve asked me if I wanted that role instead.
I approved of his choice.
Justin was stable.
I was not.
Justin was staying.
I’m...not.
“It’s fine.” Justin grinned. “All good. You know that.”
“I know you’re a goddamn saint, and it pisses me off no end,” Gil muttered wryly. “But it also makes me a lucky SOB to have a mate like you.”
“Aww, I’m blushing.” Justin laughed. “Seems getting shot took that stick out of your arse.”
Gil’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t use bad language in front of—”
“What’s a godfather?” Olive’s nose wrinkled, her eyes volleying between the two men as they spoke.
Gil seemed different. Lighter, even while heavier. Happier, even while hurt. Just like Olive, he took support and strength from his bond with her, drinking the same medicine she did just from being around him.
They couldn’t survive without each other. Couldn’t be whole while apart. The true sense of connection and family.
I rubbed at the ache in my chest as Justin bent to Olive’s level, offering his hand in polite introduction. “A godfather means I get to keep you if your dad here ever has enough.”
I cringed.
Justin meant it in a relaxed, soothing way, but after a year of forced custody with her uncle—
Olive looked at him warily, obviously thinking the same thing I did. “I don’t want anyone to keep me who isn’t my dad.”
Justin dropped his hand, noticing his mistake. “Of course. I only meant that—”
“You can trust him, Olive,” Gil gruffed. “He’s not like Jeffrey.”
“You were wrong to trust him, Daddy.” Olive stuck out her bottom lip. “I told you something wasn’t right about him, didn’t I?”
The Living Canvas Page 10
