by Harlow Grace
Oliver sat across from me with a stony expression, his eyes dark and stormy. His usual voracious appetite was apparently gone; he basically just scratched around his plate without really eating anything. I tried my best to avoid his gaze; all I could see were accusations and I really didn’t need any extra crap on my plate. After the way he left me, broken and a mess, Oliver no longer had any right to tell me what to do.
A foot under the table rubbed up my leg. It took all of my self control not to jump up. It was only when I finally gave in and took a peek at my stepbrother that I saw the corners of his mouth twist upwards. It wasn’t Gerard trying to play footsie with me—he was too busy trying to sing his own praises to everyone who’d listen.
Oliver’s eyes softened and he gave me a small smile that reached all the way to his eyes and crinkled the corners. It stole my breath away. For the first time, I saw his vulnerability.
In that moment everything stood still. It was only us in that room. Everything else was background noise—inconsequential. All that mattered to me were the eyes burning into mine with such intensity that it scorched my soul. My whole body tingled.
I felt deliciously alive. Wanted.
Even though he hadn’t spoken a word.
There was no denying the way his eyes were undressing me, fucking me as they moved slowly down my body. I knew exactly what he was thinking just by the expression on his face and the fire in his eyes. If anyone else saw it, it would be game over.
Luckily for us, Gerard and his accomplishments were the topic of the moment. I couldn’t care less. He could’ve been a billion dollar hedge fund baby with super powers and the mind of a rocket scientist and I wouldn’t have seen him. I had eyes for one man only.
One man held my life in his hands.
One man could crush me with a look, set me alight with a smile.
One man I craved—my addiction out of control as always.
I wanted everyone to know about us. I wanted it out in the open. For Oliver to claim me publicly and make me his in the eyes of the world.
My heart ached, twisting and squeezing in my chest. The one thing I wanted the most in life, I could never have. I would never know what it feels like for everyone to know that I belonged to Oliver.
It was killing me inside as surely as if I’d stuck a fucking dagger into my own heart.
I loved him. Nothing wrong with loving my stepbrother.
Only it was far worse: I was in love with Oliver King.
Did I believe in fighting for what I wanted?
Damn sure. But I also knew when to quit. When to give up the fight and leave. Here was a young man, admittedly a prick deluxe, but he could offer Maya the world I couldn’t. It was time I saw this for what it really was—a sick obsession with my stepsister that could never go anywhere. It had no future.
Coming here tonight is a blessing and a curse.
It was in the moment I touched her leg and she looked up at me, her pain evident in her eyes, that my fucking heart flooded with so much love that I could’ve burst into flames. That was also the moment I knew I had to set her free—let her get on with her life.
Maya had so much promise; she was unassuming, beautiful, sexy, and smart. A great future ahead of her. She deserved the best. She deserved happiness. She deserved everything I couldn’t give her.
Little bee owed me nothing. Nothing.
Not. One. Single. Thing.
I was the one who was blessed to have saved her life. The one who was lucky enough to find her and take her to be fixed. I used her vulnerability to get what I wanted. Forcing her to be mine with idle threats really meant that she wasn’t mine at all. She was simply complying to save her father from further hurt. Maya was good like that, unlike some people who’d use others for their own gains. Like me. I was the monster she always said I was.
We were both damaged. The only difference? Mine was beyond repair. I’d never stop wanting her. Regardless of what happened, I’d always yearn to be near her. To hold her, to touch her, to fuck her.
That would never change until I drew my last fucking breath.
I fucking loved her.
Giving her one last smile, I pushed to my feet. “Please excuse me. I have some urgent business to get back to.” I leaned over my mother and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Thanks for dinner, Mom. You really are a great cook, you know?”
Mom’s eyes filled with tears as she looked up at me. I’d never paid her compliments since my father died. Indirectly I’d blamed her for what happened, when all this time he was the one who was fucked up. Sick and depraved.
Just. Like. Me.
Mom must’ve known this was goodbye. For the way everyone treated her like a pretty but dumb blonde, Larissa was pretty smart. She’d let on that she was aware that there was something between Maya and I that we were trying to hide, but she didn’t try to force me to tell her the details.
Maya sucked in a harsh breath. I didn’t look at her. My resolve would crumble and instead of walking out, I’d beg her to have me—in front of everyone. I didn’t care if they knew. I didn’t care if they thought I was certifiable.
I only cared that she’d be happy. By setting her free, she could have an idyllic life with her boyfriend. I wanted that for her. The best life possible.
The joke was on me—I was the dumbest prick of all. How could I have imagined this would work? I thought I was smart buying a place in Santa Barbara. It fucking backfired all right. Now I was stuck with a place I didn’t want to be anywhere close to. I’d rent it out, sell it, whatever—I really didn’t care.
Without another word, my back stiff and unyielding, I left the room. I could feel Maya’s eyes burn into me. Feel her sorrow even though I couldn’t understand why she’d feel that after the way I’d treated her.
She’d soon be free.
As soon as I got to the door, I whipped my phone from my pocket and dialed the office. “Sofia, get me a one way ticket to Copenhagen. First flight available. And let Mr. Jensen know that I’ll be at the office on Monday.”
When I was offered a contract by a global IT company a few weeks ago, I had two choices: work from home anywhere in the world, or relocate to their head office in Denmark. With any luck, I’d be leaving soon.
“Yes, sir. No problem. Any time you prefer to fly?”
“Didn’t you hear me, sweetheart? I said the first flight out. My bags are already packed,” I snapped. “And get a taxi to pick me up in ten minutes. Oh, one more thing—I’m at my mother’s house in Santa Barbara. Got that?”
“Oh. Okay.”
I was already halfway up the stairs, my chest squeezing so tightly that I could hardly fucking breathe. My insides tumbled, bile pushing up my throat.
I had to do this. For my little bee. So she could carry on with her bright future. I’d fucked up and this was the only way to make it all right.
With long, determined strides I grabbed a suitcase and threw a few things into it. Who the fuck was I bluffing? I didn’t care what I packed. The one thing I wanted to take had to stay behind. And with her, my heart would remain.
Gutted, I stormed down the stairwell, taking two steps at a time. My mother stood at the bottom, clutching her pearls. “Really, Oliver? You need to go this very minute?” Her skin was pale and her eyes wide.
And then my gaze fell on Maya. She stood behind my mother. It was the first time I’d seen them stand so close together, as if they needed one another’s support. Her skin was ashen; she looked as if she’d faint any minute.
She should be glad I’m leaving. Happy I’m taking my sick, depraved needs to another continent. Instead tears were spilling down her beautiful face.
She’s fucking crying?
Christ, I couldn’t deal with that! If she’d cursed me or sent a snide remark my way like she always did, I'd walk away and never look the fuck back.
I stopped in front of her. “Maya. Little bee, please don’t cry. It's crushing my fucking heart.” I couldn’t touch her without falling
the fuck apart in front of everyone, so I just gripped my suitcase tighter, my knuckles white, and pulled the front door open.
The taxi stood there waiting. Good. I liked things to be organized and under control. I had to remember to give Sofia a raise. Funny the things that went through my mind while trying to pretend my fucking world hadn’t just imploded.
Turned on its fucking axis.
I got into the taxi. “Airport,” I barked. Fuck, even if I had to sleep on a chair until it was time to board, it would be better than staying at the house.
Sinking deep into the seat, my shoulders slumped forward. This was the hardest thing I’d done in my whole fucking life. I pressed my lips together and closed my eyes, pressing my fingers to my brows as my fucking heart broke into a trillion pieces.
FUTURE: Three Years Later
Winter
Chapter Thirty-Three* — Maya
Three Years Later
I managed to disappoint my Dad after all. At first he was devastated that I wasn’t going to become a plastic surgeon like he was. I explained to him that working with people like Larissa who needed to keep updating their face to feel validated as a person wasn’t for me.
And also, there was no way in hell I was working alongside Gerard. He was fast becoming Dad’s protégé and the two of them spent hours discussing the intricacies of performing surgery that would be undetected by the naked eye. More power to them, but that wasn’t how I wanted to spend my life.
“Why would anyone want to be a clinical psychologist, working with depressed people who wander aimlessly through life?” My father’s lips pursed together and I knew he was referring to my mother. Anger boiled up under my skin, threatening to burst out, but I managed to stay calm—until Gerard put in his two cents worth.
“People who hear voices and self harm are the dregs of society. Shit, it would drive me nuts to work with people who felt the need to do that.” The horror in his voice was unmistakable.
Uncontrollable rage filled my body at how these two seemingly intelligent men could be so judgmental without knowing anything about what it felt like. I understood how it felt to be unwanted. To be left behind, deserted by the people you depended on most.
Neither my father nor Gerard had ever seen the marks on my body. Never knew what I’d been through. Only two people knew about that. And he’d left my life without a proper goodbye or explanation.
The night Oliver had walked out and left me standing there, dumbfounded and questioning what I’d done to deserve him leaving me, again, was also the night I’d told Gerard in front of both our families that I was not his girlfriend and never would be.
“I'm focusing on my studies for the next few years. No distractions. Definitely no boyfriends,” I’d said, my world falling apart as I tried to keep my shit together.
The weird thing was that the person who supported me most was Larissa. She’d stepped forward and placed her arm around my shoulders. “Maya's right. She’s so young; boys shouldn’t be her priority right now.”
I’d sucked in a breath, giving her a grateful smile. She nodded and smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes that brimmed with tears. Did she know about Oliver and me? She never said anything, not even after that night, yet I had a feeling she suspected something.
We were getting along much better lately, but my stepmom still wasn’t on my go-to list of favorite people. Sometimes I’d find her in Oliver’s bedroom, just staring at a picture of him or holding one of the t-shirts he’d left behind.
Shortly after he’d left me standing in the hallway, I’d gone upstairs to assess the damage. Most of his belongings were exactly where they’d always been. All that was missing was a family photo of all four of us at lunch last Thanksgiving. It was one of the few pictures that had both of us in it; the exact replica stood on a table in my bedroom. Every night before I went to sleep, I’d kiss my fingertips and place it on the glass over his face.
How I longed for that time. I'd give anything to turn back the clock and do things differently—I would’ve told my stepbrother how I felt about him. But I'd never gotten the chance, and now I never would.
*****
Larissa stood in the doorway of my bedroom, staring at me. The room was spinning and my vision had become blurry. “Oliver’s hooked up with Bianca in Denmark?” I repeated to make sure I’d hear right.
That bitch still had her claws in my stepbrother. Images of them fucking the way they used to years ago made me feel sick to my stomach.
She nodded and came to stand next to the desk I was studying at for final exams. “He said he’s thinking of asking her to marry him over Christmas.” Her voice sounded a million miles away. I held on to my stomach and slouched forward—I was going to throw up all over Larissa’s new shoes.
Stunned when my stepmother reached out and took hold of both of my shoulders, I looked up at her. “That bad, huh?” she said.
“What do you mean?” I was fighting to keep the contents of my stomach inside. My skin had gone ice cold and clammy, yet I felt a shiver run up my spine.
“You and Oliver.”
“Larissa, don’t play games with me. What are you suggesting?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “I’ve never seen my son love anyone as much as you. Including me or his father.”
“Wh . . . what?” Bewildered, I searched her face for signs of mockery. There wasn’t any.
“You’re his little bee. He’s been obsessed with you, Maya. And eventually, he grew to love you. Only I doubt either of you saw it coming.”
“He . . . what?” Love was a strong word. No way in hell did Oliver King love me. It was impossible.
“You had no idea, did you? You were too busy fighting your own love for him.”
How the hell had the woman who’d always been so self possessed become so knowledgeable on my and her son’s feelings. Usually she was so wrapped in her own little bubble that she was oblivious to the rest of the world.
“The two of you are drawn to one another like I was to Oliver’s dad.” She hesitated for a long moment before she continued. “He . . . he was my stepbrother too. Only, it didn’t end well for us. Michael’s death wasn’t an accident. He committed suicide. He never really accepted that it was okay for us to be together.”
Her eyes misted over and her voice sounded strained. She clutched her pearls the way she always did when she was distressed.
“I’m sorry. I never knew,” I offered. I never had a clue what to say in situations like these. Sorry seemed so lame. But there it was, the best I could come up with.
Clearing her throat, she blinked her eyes fast before continuing. “He started drinking and sleeping around with younger girls. Much younger girls. Some barely legal . . . if that.” Her cheeks had turned pink and her hands were trembling slightly. “I tried everything to make him love me again—tried to look young so he wouldn’t fuck those little whores.” The look of guilt and anguish on her face tugged at my heart. “Nothing worked. He drove his car straight into a tree, Maya. He killed himself because he couldn’t deal with it.”
I swallowed hard, blinking back my own tears. So this was why Oliver was so fucked up. Why he kept making remarks about being tainted that I couldn’t understand. It wasn’t his fault. None of it.
“Larissa, oh my God, nobody should have to go through that,” I said, taking her hand in mine and leading her toward the bed so she could sit down. I sat beside her, squeezing her hand in mine.
“Alec . . . I met your father when I was at the lowest point in my life, the darkest nights of my existence, not trusting my own self worth because of my husband’s behavior. Alec wasn't just my plastic surgeon, he also became my friend.”
She smiled up at me, genuine adoration in her eyes when she spoke of my Dad. “After we were married, Alec assured me I was beautiful and refused to do more work on me. I never believed him. I was getting older, things were getting saggy. So I went elsewhere to get my fix of botox and the knife. Of course he was aware of what
was going on. I mean, the man is one of the best plastic surgeons in the country and I went to his colleagues for help. Ironic, huh? And being the stellar man that he is, Alec never said anything because he knew that I was still hurting inside. That I needed it. Only he wouldn’t be the one doing it. Every time I got back from a visit to LA, I saw the hurt in his eyes, but I told myself that I was doing it for him.”
I was proud of my dad for understanding her needs, but I still didn’t like that she was hurting him. “Dad’s good like that. He has a good heart.”
“Yes, he is. When I lost Michael, we became even closer; both our spouses had left us by taking their own lives. Alec helped me more than I can ever tell you. Your father is a wonderful man.”
I scrunched my nose up. “How did you pay for it all?”
“The stuff I had done in LA? I had some money from the insurances when Michael died. And Oliver. He gave me a loan from his inheritance from his grandparents. They were very wealthy. He got it all when he turned eighteen.”
“Oliver’s rich?” I gasped. He never flaunted it. Sure, he dressed well and had beautiful watches and a nice car, but he never bragged or flashed his wealth around.
Larissa nodded. “He’s not a multimillionaire, but he’s sitting on some pretty large stocks. He bought his own place in LA when he turned twenty, even though he was studying. Mostly he stayed away from here because he didn’t know how to handle his feelings for you.” There was no bitterness or anger in her voice, she was simply stating what she believed was a fact.
I shook my head, unable to absorb it all. “You and I have different recollections about my childhood then. As far back as I can remember, Oliver has hated me and made my life a living hell. And he had Bianca . . . and other women. It doesn’t make sense.”
