by M. H. Soars
Once she finishes taking a few sips of water, Adeline continues. “Don’t look at me with that guilt-ridden expression. I’m okay. Now, you wanted to know more about Oliver and Harry’s relationship. Well, before Oliver got into his independent phase, he was quite close to Harry. You could say Harry was Ollie’s shadow.”
She pauses to lick her lips and looks off into the distance. “There was one instance, I remember it vividly like yesterday. Harry fell off the tree house and broke his pinkie. It didn’t quite heal right because he kept messing with the cast. In consequence, he ended up with a crooked finger. The poor boy cried his eyes out because of it, saying all his friends from school would make fun of him. Do you know what Oliver did?”
She glances at me, a small smile tugging the corner of her lips.
“No.”
“He broke his finger on purpose and asked the doctor to make sure it healed crooked as well.”
“He did not.”
I can’t imagine anyone getting hurt on purpose like that. For Oliver to do it so his brother wouldn’t feel inadequate speaks volumes to his character. My love for him expands in that moment, my heart overflowing.
“He sure did. That’s the kind of person he is. So when he went dark after Harry died, I didn’t let him shut me out like he did with everyone else. Someone in this family had to keep loving him even if he couldn’t love himself.”
My eyes prickle and I fight to keep the tears in check.
“I’ve never noticed that Oliver has a crooked pinkie.”
“Oh, he doesn’t have one. He was only eight, after all, so the doctor didn’t do as he asked and Ollie’s finger didn’t heal crooked. By that time, Harry didn’t even care anymore. The defect wasn’t even that noticeable. You’d have to look closely to see.”
Adeline tries to suppress a yawn and I take that as a sign to let her rest. On the way back to the guesthouse, I call Liv—who’s already returned to Cali—and tell her the news. She’s shocked but also happy for Oliver. I also call Tabatha once I get to the guesthouse. Felix jumps from the couch to greet me. He clearly wants to play, but I have to finish the call with Tabatha first, so I lock myself in the bedroom, keeping him out. Sorry, dude.
The first thing out of her mouth is to ask when I’ll return home. I try to explain that I don’t know yet, and to say she’s pissed is an understatement.
“So let me get this straight. You’re ditching the band so you can stay in England babysitting your husband? Oliver’s brother is alive. Yay! I get that he wants to stay longer to reconnect with him, but I don’t see why you have to stay as well.”
“I’m sorry, Tabby. Things aren’t that simple.”
“It is that simple. You’re not only ruining your career here, Saylor. Think about us.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to keep the brewing headache at bay. I had truly believed Tabatha would understand my situation. Then an idea pops into my head.
“Why don’t you guys come to the UK? I’m sure Allan can arrange for a couple of appearances and interviews.”
Plus, it would also keep Oliver occupied. I don’t want him to ditch all his dreams on account of his brother.
“I don’t know, Blue.”
“I finished a new song. These weeks here in England have been great for me, Tabby. I even started to remember things.”
“You have?” Her tone changes, so I press on.
“Yes. And we could arrange studio time here as well.”
“How is your hand? Does that mean you can play Rita again?”
“I’m not quite there yet, but I’ve been practicing daily.”
“I’ll talk to the girls. I’m itching to work on new songs. I don’t like this lull. It makes me feel useless.”
“Me too, Tabby.”
I feel a thousand times better after I end the call.
“Sugar, are you home?” Oliver calls from the living room.
My heart does a somersault upon hearing his voice. The story Adeline told me comes to the forefront of my mind, making me want to cover Oliver in kisses and tell him how much I love him.
“Yes.”
I open the door with tremendous eagerness, ready to jump into his arms, but the massive bouquet in his hands stops me.
“What are those?”
“Uh, I think they’re called flowers.” He walks in my direction, a cheeky smile on his lips.
“Ha-ha. What’s the occasion?”
“Can’t a guy bring his gorgeous wife flowers without a reason?”
“Nope. It usually comes attached with an ‘I’m sorry I screwed up.’” I narrow my eyes at him. “You didn’t do anything stupid, did you?”
My tone is light, but the question isn’t. I don’t know yet if I should be worried that Oliver will make a hasty decision when it comes to Harry. I hate not knowing everything. Perhaps if I had my memories, I wouldn’t feel so out of my depth. I’m in love with my husband, but he’s still a mystery to me.
Oliver hands me the flowers and I hide my face in them as if I’m smelling their scent. In reality, I’m trying to hide the guilt that might be showing on my face. I feel like I’m betraying his trust for even having these thoughts.
“They’re gorgeous. Thank you.”
I go in search of a vase to put them in, and while I have my back to Oliver, I broach the subject that’s giving me so much anxiety.
“How was the meeting with your brother?”
“It was good but awkward. I mean, he’s my brother, there’s no doubt now, but he’s still a stranger, you know?”
“Yes, I can imagine.”
“I’ve invited him for dinner tonight. I’ve already told Mum and Charlotte.”
“That’s good. Do you think your grandma will be up to it? I saw her earlier, and she looks frail.”
“But she’s okay, right? Shit, I’ve been a terrible grandson.”
I turn to find Oliver looking worried sick. Shit. He hasn’t visited his grandmother that much in the past week, but I didn’t mean to make him feel that bad.
“Other than fatigued, she looks okay. You should go say hello to her today. She misses you.”
“Yes, I will. But first.” Oliver reaches for me, pulling me close. “I want to continue our celebration.” He kisses me tenderly at first, making me melt against his body.
The brush of his tongue against mine rekindles a fire in the pit of my stomach, and I’m panting and moaning in a split second. With a groan, Oliver lifts me, the skirt I’m wearing bunching around my waist. Oh yeah, I decided to only wear skirts from now on. He places me on the kitchen counter, his hips now exactly in the right spot. Dry humping never felt more maddening. I want to strip off all of our layers. Oliver’s hand finds my core, and through the panties and tights I’m wearing, he presses his thumb against my clit.
“You realize this is a very similar position to the one from earlier today.”
“Oh yeah, and it worked so well then.”
Felix barks twice, reminding us that we aren’t alone.
“We can’t do this in front of him,” I say.
“He’s a bloody dog, sugar.”
“I don’t care. It feels wrong.”
“Oh fine.”
Oliver lifts me off the counter, and I wrap my legs around his waist to keep me from falling. With long strides, he crosses the short distance to our room, closing the door with his foot.
“Alone at last.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He does as he sets me on the edge of the mattress before kneeling in front of me. His mouth leaves mine to place kisses down my neck while his hands are busy with my breasts. It’s only been a few hours since we last had sex, but I’m panting and moaning for this man as if I haven’t seen him in ages.
He leans back to peel off my tights and underwear, leaving me completely bare to him once more. His apt fingers return to my pussy, stroking and making lazy circles that drive me insane. Still kissing him, I make quick work of his fly, using both hands
this time. His rock-hard cock springs free from his boxers, only to be trapped again by my fingers. I pump him at the same pace that his fingers work me, but I want more than a simple hand job. I guide his head to my entrance, shoving his hand out of the way.
“So bossy today.”
“I’m having withdrawals. I need another hit now.”
“Your wish is my command.” He sheaths himself inside of me fast, eliciting a sharp moan from me.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I fall backward, bringing Oliver with me. He runs his hand down my leg, curling behind my knee to bring it over his shoulder. This is a win position for us, I realize; he hits me exactly in the right spot like this. Our grunts become louder and uneven, but still in sync. Our lovemaking takes longer this time, both of us wanting to prolong the sweet torture. But everything good in life must come to an end, and together we come in a cacophony of moans and shouts.
I tremble in his arms while the last tremors of ecstasy run through my body. Resting my cheek on his shoulder, I take a deep breath, inhaling Oliver’s intoxicating scent. My internal walls clench around his cock, making him chuckle.
“Give me a minute, sugar, and we can have another round.”
Pushing back, I lock gazes with him. “I love you, Ollie. More than I thought I could love someone.”
“I love you too, sugar.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“What’s going to happen next? I mean with Harry and all.”
I don’t need to add anything for Oliver to get my meaning. We can’t stay here forever.
“I was thinking about inviting Harry to spend some time with us in Cali.”
My stomach clenches painfully as anxiety returns. My mind and heart rebel against the idea of Harry in California with us, invading our life there. It’s a crazy thought considering Charlotte lives there too. It makes sense for him to go.
“I didn’t know how long you wanted to stay here, so I suggested to Tabatha that the band come to the UK. We can maybe appear on some TV shows or even record a couple new songs.”
Oliver’s eyes twinkle at the same time his face splits into a toothy grin. “You did? That’s bloody brilliant.”
He crushes me against his chest, happy as he can be.
So how come all I want to do is cry?
Thirty-Two
Saylor
Dinner. I’ve never dreaded a situation that involved food so much in my life. We’re in the living room, lounging in front of the fireplace, waiting on pins and needles for the guest of honor to arrive. Oliver’s mom is getting loaded, already acting like a crazy drunk lady. I’ve lost count of how many martinis she’s had. At least she seems to have forgotten our earlier argument. I still loathe her as intensely as before, though.
The doorbell rings, making Oliver jump from his spot on the couch next to me. He beats Gilbert to the door, and from where I stand, I can hear his animated voice greet his brother. I suppress my apprehension, putting a bright smile on my face to welcome Harry.
“Saylor, let me introduce you to my brother.”
I extend my hand to shake his, getting chills when we touch. The skin on my arms breaks into goose bumps. The contact is brief, but the weird sensation lingers. My smile wilts a bit as I take a step back. I hope no one noticed my reaction to Harry, especially Oliver. The last thing I want is for him to think I don’t like his brother.
“What a pleasure to meet Oliver’s better half. He hasn’t stopped gushing about you since we reconnected.”
“Oh, we’ve talked about me?” I glance at Ollie, the surprise in my tone sincere.
“Of course, sugar.” He throws an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer to kiss my temple. “Why the surprise?”
“I thought you guys were catching up.”
“We did that too,” Harry answers with a smile that looks genuine.
The feeling of foreboding dispels a bit. Harry seems like a nice guy. I have no reason to worry. Maybe my anxiety is nothing more than misplaced jealousy. Truth be told, I don’t want to share Oliver with anyone, not even his brother. It’s selfish, I know, but I just started rediscovering us. Harry feels like an intruder.
They move along and when Harry stops in front of his mother, the lady has trouble standing upright. She runs her hands down her pencil skirt, swaying on the spot. Good grief, she’s pathetic. I don’t get why she’s nervous. She made it clear earlier that she doesn’t give a damn about her son.
“Good evening, Harry,” she says, still trying to maintain some dignity.
“Mum, you look exactly how I remember.”
“I do?”
“May I give you a hug?” He opens his arms wide, expectantly. If she doesn’t hug the guy, I’m going to kick her ass.
But Harry’s question seems to catch her by surprise. Maybe if she hadn’t been sloshed, she would’ve refused, but she accepts the hug and even pats Harry’s back as well. It’s the most affection I’ve seen her demonstrate since I met her.
Charlotte is way less awkward when it’s her turn to greet her long-lost brother. She hugs him tight, eyes filled with tears when they come apart.
“Ah, Char. Don’t cry,” he says.
“I’m sorry. I swore I wasn’t going to.” She wipes at a lone tear that escaped.
“Where’s Grandma?” Harry asks as he looks around the room.
“She hasn’t been feeling well since Dad’s funeral. She’s very sorry she couldn’t join us for dinner, but she wants to see you tomorrow, if you don’t have any other plans.”
“No. My schedule is wide open.”
“You don’t go to school?” I ask, curious, but somehow it seems the wrong question to ask.
Oliver’s eyebrows furrow and Harry’s cheeks turn bright red.
“Uh, I had to drop out of school when Mr. Jenkins got sick. We couldn’t afford a caregiver.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Gilbert comes into the room to announce dinner is served. I’ll never get used to the level of formality in this house.
When it comes to the seating arrangements, I find myself opposite Harry, with Oliver next to me. Throughout dinner, I keep staring at the man, looking for any resemblance between him and Oliver but finding none. It’s no big deal, really—Charlotte looks nothing like Ollie either.
At one point, my gaze drops to Harry’s hands. Adeline never specified which pinkie Harry had broken, but from where I stand, both look perfect.
Saylor, stop looking for trouble where there is none. Adeline did say you could barely see the defect.
Oliver and Charlotte keep Harry engaged, showering him with questions. None of them ask the things I’m burning with curiosity to know, though. I bite my tongue for as long as I can, but restraint was never my forte. When there’s a lull in the conversation, I open my big mouth.
“Forgive my asking, but what happened to the real Simon Jenkins?”
“Sugar.” Oliver covers my hand with his, but his tone is one of reproach.
I bite my lower lip, glancing down. Maybe my question was a little out of line.
“Dad—I mean Mr. Jenkins told me Simon had a chronic disease with a short life expectancy. That’s all I know.”
“There are no records of Simon’s death, right? That’s why you could take his identity,” Charlotte says.
“That’s correct.”
“So, did they just bury their son in a shallow grave?” I blurt out, sticking my foot in my mouth again.
Oliver squeezes my leg, and this time it’s not a prelude for sex.
“I don’t know. It didn’t occur to me to ask. He only told me the truth towards the end and… well, it was a hard situation.”
“Creepy.” Charlotte shudders.
“What are your plans, Harry? Are you going back to school?” I ask.
I hope he says yes, but Oliver answers before Harry has the chance. “I’ve actually already invited him to come to Cali with us. Perhaps he can help with Renegades.”
Irritation simmers
low in my gut. This is the first time I’m hearing about the Renegades idea. I hate it.
“Have you spoken to Allan and Sebastian about it?” I ask, trying my best to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“No. It just occurred to me.”
I clench my jaw and stab a piece of potato with a little too much force.
“You don’t think it’s a good idea,” Oliver continues, clearly displeased with my reaction.
“I didn’t say that. But you have to remember that you have partners. Besides, what does Harry know about showbiz?” I throw Harry an apologetic glance. “No offense.”
“None taken. Please don’t argue on my account. Ollie, that’s a great offer, but I’m going to side with Saylor here. I know nothing about showbiz. I’ll be glad to just play tourist while I’m in California.”
Thank God someone here is sensible. But Harry’s defense of my argument doesn’t do anything to mollify Oliver, I can still sense the tension radiating from his body. I foresee a fight in our future. My mood is also sour now, but I don’t regret speaking my mind.
Our main dishes are taken away, and a minute later, dessert is served—chocolate lava cake with vanilla ice cream. At least something positive about the evening. There’s really nothing better than gooey chocolate and ice cream.
Harry looks down at this plate and scrunches his nose.
“What’s the matter? You don’t like chocolate cake?” I ask.
He glances up. “Uh, as a matter of fact, I can’t stand chocolate.”
A sudden silence takes over the room. You could hear a pin drop.
“You’re joking, right?” Oliver asks.
“Uh, no. Don’t you remember that, Ollie?”
“Remember what? You were practically addicted to chocolate. It was so bad Mum took you to see a doctor,” Oliver replies.
“That’s true,” the woman mumbles, the first time she’s spoken since we sat down.
I catch something odd in Harry’s eyes. A flash of surprise, followed by… anger? It’s gone too quickly for me to be certain. Maybe I read it wrong. Why would he be angry?
