Justin: When was the last time you saw Gil?
I sighed heavily, remembering all over again what we’d done when we’d last seen each other. The way he’d been inside me. The way he’d grown angry when denied a second chance. The way I couldn’t stop thinking about him even though I made a vow to move on.
Me: A week ago. Why?
Justin: He was attacked two nights ago.
My heart crawled into my throat.
Me: Attacked? How?
Justin: Two men who knew one of the murdered girls. They waited for him outside his warehouse. Beat him up pretty good.
Me: Was Olive there?
Justin: She was inside. Gil called me before she found him. Got most of the blood off but he’s stiff. I’ve just been with him for a check-up to make sure they didn’t injure his side or rupture anything internally.
Why didn’t he contact me?
You ended it, remember?
I’d given no room for negotiation, even when Gil had begged for a single conversation.
Guilt slithered through me.
Worry followed on its tail.
I’d been so selfish.
I’d chosen myself over him.
I’d acted as if I had the worst deal just because he’d lied and tied me up and carried me unconscious into the woods.
He was facing prison.
His life was threatened thanks to a mob of enraged people.
His daughter had a high possibility of growing up without having him as her father.
Oh, God.
What had I been thinking?
Me: Thanks for being a good friend, Justin. He’s lucky to have you. I haven’t exactly been there for him lately.
Justin: Yeah, he’s been pretty low ever since I loaned him my car and offered to babysit so he could come talk to you. He didn’t tell me what happened between you guys, but I’m guessing it wasn’t anything good.
I didn’t know how to respond. Admit that I’d forced him to find closure through sex or pretend things were a work-in-progress?
Before I could fib or confess, Justin messaged again.
Justin: O...I have another piece of news that I don’t know how to tell you. I’m not expecting anything. I’m not asking for something you can’t give it. I’m just...telling you.
I went ice cold.
Me: What is it?
Justin: Gil sold his warehouse to pay the blackmail on Olive a few months ago. He’s been renting it back from the new owner ever since.
I waited for him to continue, terrified of the conclusion.
Justin: The owner has just given Gil notice. With all the shit happening online, he doesn’t want a murderer living there. He’s given him five days to move out.
Me: Oh, no.
Oh, God.
Justin: I’ve offered him to move in with me, but Olive hasn’t gotten over what happened last week. She’s relapsing. Doesn’t want to be near other men apart from Gil. I know he’d never ask this himself but...is there any way you can put them up for a night or two? While I figure something out? Gil has to stay in Birmingham so he doesn’t void his bail agreement—he already got in trouble going to see you. If they think he’s a flight risk, they’ll revoke his bail, and Olive isn’t ready to cope with that shit.
I sat frozen in my chair.
Why hadn’t Gil told me he’d get in trouble for visiting me?
Why had he put his freedom on the line, knowing there’d be repercussions when the cops figured out he’d left his home?
I stared at my phone.
My blood raced in my veins.
The last time Gil had stayed the night in my apartment, we’d been in a much better place than our current one. Even with his secrets, I could handle him being near. We’d had Thai and I’d woken to him talking to his uncle, agreeing to yet another blackmail to protect Olive. He’d unsettled and confused me but at least we’d been civil.
I’d gladly let Olive stay again.
She’d been a perfect little house guest but my apartment was too small for the three of us.
Far too small for the tension and complications that would curdle.
You don’t have a choice.
Could you honestly turn him away when the entire world is turning its back on him?
Olive was too important and sweet to let her suffer.
And Gil...well, Gil was also far too important.
I was fighting an unwinnable battle. I was lying to myself and only causing pain.
I couldn’t abandon Gil while he faced incarceration. Just like I couldn’t abandon Olive.
I should’ve known I could never be so self-centred not to put anyone else first.
I can’t leave.
Not yet.
No matter how much I needed to.
Once I knew how his trial went, maybe then I’d be free to move on.
Once I knew Olive was safe, hopefully then I could leave and never look back.
Until that happened, I was stuck in limbo.
We all were.
Me: Of course. Goes without saying.
Justin: You’re a saint, Olin Moss. I know how hard this is going to be for you. I also know how worthless Gil is going to feel being such an imposition.
Me: It’s fine. We’ll work it out.
Somehow.
Justin: I wish it could’ve been different for you guys. I really do.
Tears rushed up my spine.
Yeah...me too.
Justin: I’ll help him pack and see you in a couple of days with your new tenants.
Chapter Nineteen
______________________________
Gil
“I CAN’T FUCKING move into her space, Miller. Goddammit, stop trying to be a fairy fucking godmother. I can figure this shit out on my own.”
“First, I’m a godfather, not a mother. And second, excuse me for doing what any good godfather would do and think of Olive’s livelihood instead of her stubborn mule of a relative.”
“You’re taking your role as her guardian far too fucking seriously.”
His face tensed. He marched closer so Olive, who was packing the final things into her backpack in her room, didn’t overhear. “Aren’t you glad about that? I didn’t ask to be a dad, Clark. But you assigned that possibility to me and then went and got arrested. For murder.” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know how it’s going to work. She tolerates me, but she’s still uncomfortable around me. She had that crazy meltdown that’s left me totally wary of what other crap might happen. And if you’re called to trial tomorrow, what then, huh? Isn’t her protection better than your sorry excuses of why you can’t couch surf at O’s for a few days?”
I rubbed my face, wanting to punch him but knowing he was right. “I can’t impose—”
“It’s either my place or O’s. Unless you have some money you want to tell me about and you’re planning on staying at the four fucking seasons?”
My temper blazed. “You’re really getting on my nerves, Miller.”
“Yeah, well. You too.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry my shitty life is ruining yours. I didn’t ask you to take over. I’m perfectly capable of arranging accommodation for myself and my daughter. I’ve done it many times before you barged in.”
Justin crossed his arms. “Yeah, but have you done it while healing from a bullet wound, suffering a mild concussion from being beaten up, and an anklet that reports your every fucking move to the cops?”
I froze, breathing hard.
He had a point.
I’d had a visit the morning after sleeping with O from two uniforms. They’d given me a warning: leave a pre-approved location again and my freedom would be replaced with bars until I faced court.
After dealing with a broken heart from O kicking me out, worry over Olive breaking down just because Justin had babysat, and now being served notice that my home had been snatched away...I didn’t know what problem to tackle first.
I wanted to see O. I needed to see her. But I’d b
een blocked from visiting. A phone call or text wouldn’t cut it. I didn’t know how to say what I needed to without seeing her face. And now, Justin expected clearance from the cops for me to couch surf and Olive’s mental health to cope with being homeless, all while the goddamn bruises on my body reminded me all over again that I sucked at life.
I rubbed my face, trying to get my anger under control. “Look, I’ll figure something out. You’re not responsible for us. Just let me deal with this.”
Justin rolled his eyes. “Do you honestly expect me to just let you be kicked out onto the street?” His voice lowered. “Come on, mate. Don’t be such a stubborn ass. Let me help.”
“I’m not accepting charity.”
“For the last fucking time, it’s not charity. It’s what friends do.”
“And you’ve already done far too much. So has O. Where does it end, huh? How many favours do you both have to give before enough is enough?”
Justin shrugged. “Until you’re back on your feet.”
“And if I’m never back on my feet?”
“Then we figure it out.”
“No. I’ll figure it out. This is on me. Not you.”
“You made it personal when you said I was her damn godfather, Clark! Just accept it and stop being a twat, all right?”
I wanted to tell him to get the hell out but...I couldn’t.
He had every right to yell at me.
Had every concern about how I’d fix this shitty situation.
I’d sold my warehouse and in turn ran the risk of renting.
I’d put Olive’s future at risk all because I hadn’t kept her safe to begin with.
I had no money for a hotel.
No other friends to impose on.
I couldn’t stay at Justin’s ’cause I didn’t want to risk Olive having another meltdown so soon—which only added to the stress of who would look after her if I was imprisoned if she never got over her fear.
And just because no commissions had come in didn’t mean I wasn’t actively trying to find work. Temporary, menial—I’d accept anything if it meant I could at least leave something for Olive.
My temper faded. “O doesn’t want to see me again. Even if I was okay with imposing, yet again, I can’t.”
Olive appeared from her bedroom. Her backpack slung over her shoulder.
The past four days had been an awful whirlwind of trying to explain that we could no longer live in our home, that the few pieces of furniture we had left had to be sold, and I didn’t entirely know what the future held.
Olive had hugged me tight and whispered she didn’t care where we lived, as long as we were together.
I’d been both proud and horrified.
Proud that she was such a brave little thing not to worry about material things. And horrified that I was about to fail her all over again when the summons came.
“Eep, are we moving into O’s?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with hope. “Yay! I miss her. I sent her notes and drawings asking her to visit, but now we get to visit her!” She spun in front of me. “Her bed is super comfy. Do you think she’ll share with me, or I’ll have to share the couch with you, Dad?”
I choked. The thought of being in O’s space, of wanting her, craving her, only for her to look at me in that dead-eyed, all-hope-ended way was unthinkable.
I’d gone to her place hoping to explain myself. To finally share the secrets she’d begged to know. Only for her to push me until I’d pinned her against the kitchen bench and taken her fast and ruthlessly. I hadn’t wanted to do that. I’d never wanted to touch her so violently. Yet, each time we slept together, softness wasn’t part of the equation.
She’d made me take her, use her, and then she’d told me goodbye.
My heart fisted at the thought of living through that torture, day after day.
“Can we go now? I want to see her.” Olive took my hand, tugging me toward the exit. Not caring this would be the last time she’d be allowed in this place.
I held her back, stopping her momentum. “O is too busy to have us stay right now, little spinach. We can visit her, though. You guys could have lunch next week.”
“But Justin said we’re staying.”
“Justin was mistaken.”
“Justin already cleared it with O, and she’s agreed,” Justin interrupted.
“You what?” I spun on him. “What the fu—” I cut myself off, not wanting to swear in front of Olive.
“I asked her a few days ago. She said no problem.”
“Of course, she said no problem.” I raked a hand through my hair. “She’s the sweetest person on the goddamn planet.”
“It’s only for a few days, Gil. Until we can sort something else—”
“A few days is too long, don’t you see?” I wanted to punch him. How dare he fucking meddle? My still healing side twinged. My insides felt hollow. Pain lashed through me. “I can’t expect her to do this.”
“It’s already done.” He strode past me, heading to his sedan and the meagre amount of belongings I’d packed. I wasn’t attached to clothes, and with a totally different living arrangement in my future, I hadn’t bothered keeping crockery and other life requirements. I’d sold everything in a flash sale, earned another few thousand pounds, and budgeted each penny to its maximum.
The only items I couldn’t sell had been my paint supplies. Boxes of brushes, sponges, and airbrush attachments would travel with me. The bottles of pigments would also come. Along with rhinestones, metallics, and a few prosthetics that made fantasy into reality.
One day, I would use those mediums to make another fortune.
Until then, I had to pay the taxes on my life choices.
Jeffrey popped into my head. He’d fucked me over while he was alive, and he still fucked me over even when he was dead. Would I choose differently if I could redo the night I killed him?
I’d asked myself that question a lot.
And the answer was...complicated.
I would’ve spared his life if it meant I didn’t have to let Olive down by going to jail.
I would’ve still killed him because he deserved to know what those girls felt as he watched them fade into death.
There was no right or wrong answer.
Unlike now.
It was wrong to go to O’s. Wrong to encroach on her space. Wrong to not honour her wish to end things permanently between us.
But what other choice do you have?
“Come on, Popeye.” Olive pulled her hand from mine, skipping after Justin as he continued stomping through the warehouse to the pedestrian access. “Time to go see, O.”
* * * * *
“O!” Olive bowled through the door the moment it cracked open. “Hi! Yay, I’m so happy to see you. Did you get my notes? Did Justin give you my drawings?” She squished her face into O’s chest, hugging her fiercely. “I missed you!”
O froze in almost comical shock. Unprepared for a hurricane to smother her with conversation and cuddles. Her eyes met mine, then skated away almost immediately. “Hi, Justin. Hi, Gil.”
“Olin.” I nodded.
The moment polite greetings were done, O dropped her arms and squeezed Olive back with just as much affection. “Hi, little Olive Pip. Man, I swear you’ve grown since I last saw you.” She pressed her hand on Olive’s glossy dark hair. “Yep, you’ve definitely sprouted another inch at least.”
Olive Pip?
O had given my daughter a nickname?
Yet another fist reached into my chest and punched a bigger hole into my heart. If I wasn’t careful, the hole would soon be big enough to bleed me dry.
Olive snickered. “Probably been eating too much spinach. Dad makes sure we eat lots of veggies.”
“That’ll do it for sure. You’ll be taller than him soon.”
“Eww, no.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to be that tall. I want to be dainty, like you.” Looking past her, she asked, “Can we come in? We don’t have much stuff. We promise not to
take up too much room.”
O backed up, welcoming us. “Of course. Come in. It seems my home is now your home.”
“Only for tonight.” I cleared my throat. “I won’t put you out any longer than that.”
O nodded. “One night, one week. It’s fine.” Her smile was genuine, but her eyes remained guarded. She’d returned to the sympathetic sweet friend who always put others first. No sign of the explosive heat from the week before. No hint of the heart-breaking farewell.
Goddammit, the agony was more than I could bear.
My back prickled as Justin practically shoved me inside, moving to give O a kiss on the cheek. “Olin. You’re looking gorgeous as always.” He winked, making her chuckle.
“Yeah, jeans and old t-shirt totally deserve compliments like that.”
“They do if they fit you that well.”
“If you like them so much, you wear them. Let’s see if the t-shirt becomes a bra on you or a crop top.”
Justin laughed. “God, no one wants to see that.”
“Seriously, no one.” O smiled.
Their friendship was no longer stilted with history but smooth with familiarity.
For the first time, I wondered.
Wondered if Justin still had feelings for O. If O still had feelings for him.
I shut those thoughts off straight away. There was only so much torture I could tolerate.
“Come in. Come in.” O backed up, catching my eye again with a hurried glance. The second we locked gazes, the world faded, noise silenced, and that damn connection that would destroy me until my dying day hissed like wildfire.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the girl I’d loved since I was a teenager. I couldn’t stop looking at the smudges under her pretty hazel eyes or the tense strain I’d put there. The strain of being a good friend while never wanting to see me again.
Justin pushed past, breaking our moment.
I followed, lugging in the two duffels of paint and work equipment. O’s apartment wasn’t exactly big enough to expect her to store my shit as well as put us up as house guests, but I couldn’t exist without the ability to paint.
Just like when I was younger, it was the only thing that cured me of the constant chatter in my head. The worries, the guesses, the failures.
The Living Canvas (Master of Trickery, #2) Page 19
