“No. Well, yes. Do you have a pencil?”
CJ smiled. “Haven’t had one for years.”
“Right. Sorry. Um…” Oliver scratched his receding hairline. Greg had faked his death. Not a bad idea—hopefully. “Just tell him that this is official, so he doesn’t have to worry anymore.” Not that the guy was. He was too occupied with Carrie. Oliver thought about adding a quick, And thanks for the heart attack in town. A little heads-up would have been nice.
CJ studied the envelope. “Alright. Anything else?”
“There’s no sweep this week,” Oliver said, passing along the message he usually reserved for Carrie. CJ could tell the clan just as easily. Oliver probably should give the information to CJ from now on.
With a lurch of dread, Oliver remembered Carrie’s dinner invitation for this Saturday. Was he still invited? Is that when she’d break the news to him that it was over? He could back out, but Saturday might be the best time to give her those papers. It was time she knew what he’d done once and for all, regardless of who she ended up with. Because her citizenship wasn’t official until he got one final signature:
Hers.
“Great. Anything else?” CJ asked, noting his reticence to leave.
“No, that’s it,” Oliver said.
His prayer leaving the neighborhood was different than the one going in.
* * * * *
Carrie felt trapped in a wall of silence on their long walk back.
“It’s not Oliver’s fault,” Greg said after some time. “You know that, right?”
She knew that.
Greg picked up a small stick and whipped it back and forth over the tall grasses. “The greater good has to outweigh the current bad. It’s the only way to find some sanity in this insane world.”
She knew that, too. By following his boss’s orders, Oliver kept his job which, in turn, kept her clan safe.
The greater good.
But why did her clan matter more than Gayle’s? Why did her life matter more than Scott’s? It was unbearable to think that her freedom came at the expense of someone else’s.
“That coulda been me burnin’ down that house,” Greg said, voice growing tight with frustration. “Arresting illegals—if not worse. We’re all tryin’ to do our best to protect those we love, and sometimes that protection comes at the cost of others, but what are we supposed to do?” He swung his whip over the tall grass hard enough that seeds went flying.
“I know. I know. I just…”
What?
He sighed a long, tired sigh. “I know.”
Greg’s lopsided pace slowed as he struggled home, reminding her that, on top of everything else, he still didn’t have medical help.
“Would you ever want to join the rebellion?” she asked, even though the thought petrified her. But Greg had the personality, determination, and training now to be one of the front leaders against President Rigsby. “Brooke’s group invited us to join them.”
“No,” he said, still swinging his stick.
Surprised, she glanced sideways. “Why not?”
“Would you want to join them?”
“No, but I’m not…” A fighter. A leader. Greg.
“You’re not one of them, and I don’t wanna be either. Not anymore. Besides.” Another swing. “I have too much pullin’ me here to ever leave again.”
Another curious response.
Carrie always figured that once his mom passed, Greg would skip town as fast as he’d come. He hated Illinois. He didn’t even like most of their clan. He couldn’t be talking about her. He wanted to stay for his grandparents, and his projects, and…and…
Her migraine pulsed.
Desperate for distraction, she broke away from the trail to explore a small patch of trees while she told herself that Greg was just confused. Broken, lonely, and confused.
“What’s up?” he asked, joining her.
When she kept searching without answering, he leaned against a large tree and rubbed the muscle in his upper leg. It took a bit of searching before she found what she was looking for: a large, dead branch. She broke off the side twigs and handed it to him.
“Here. A walking stick.”
“Am I that slow?” he asked with a quirked smile. The way he said it implied more than walking abilities.
Yes, she wanted to say. She was with Oliver now. Not really, but all Greg needed to know was that he was free to move on. The sooner he stopped looking at her like that, talking like that, the sooner she could move on, too.
Without meaning to, her gaze flickered to his lips. Not in desire—or at least, not entirely—but in memory. There had been no hesitation when he leaned down to kiss her.
Why?
Worry less. Love more, Mariah whispered from her memories. Which was useless advice because Carrie already loved Greg too much.
One of his dark, expressive, battered brows lifted, noticing where her gaze had stopped. Nothing pleased him more than knowing he was the center of her thoughts. But that was just his ego. He was wonderful to look at, and he loved being the center of all females’ thoughts.
Didn’t he?
He hadn’t entertained Isabel’s attentions.
Or that blonde’s in town.
His green eyes danced with pleasure. With a flush of mortification, she realized she was still studying his lips. The shape of them. The surprising gentleness of them. Shaking out of it, she forced herself to start off again. He’d catch on soon.
He had to because it was killing her.
Silence smothered them as they headed back. He used the new walking stick to help with the limping, but his eyes no longer danced with happiness.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
She didn’t say what for, but he nodded. “I know.”
When they reached the stone wall, they both stopped. Her body felt twice as heavy as it had before, and she was healthy. She couldn’t imagine how Greg felt. If she had planned ahead, they could have gone the long way around. As it was, her hands went on her hips, calculating.
“Want help up?” he asked.
The absurd comment made her laugh in spite of everything. “No. Give me a second, and I’ll help you.”
With effort, she climbed the chest-high stone wall. Her head pounded and her vision swam a moment before she regained her balance. Then she turned and offered Greg a hand. She wouldn’t drop him this time.
He stared at her hand with a long, sad expression. “No. I got it.”
Using his stick and sheer muscle, he climbed one-footed, one-armed, until he hoisted himself on top of the wall. Then he sat, clutching his thigh and breathing heavily.
She scanned the trail ahead and so did he. Both seemed to think the same depressing thing. They still had a long ways home.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she said.
“Wow,” he said softly. “You keep throwin’ the punches, don’t you?”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m glad you were with me in Ferris. I’m just worried about your leg.”
“My body’s fine, Carrie.”
The rest was implied: his heart wasn’t.
His constancy with that subject made her temples throb. Coupled with standing atop the wall, the world swayed. When he was done grieving for his mom, he’d see clearly. He’d remember how uninterested he’d always been in her.
“You ready?” she asked.
He looked up at her. “Not really. Mind if we sit for a bit?”
Yes. Zach, Amber, and everyone else would be worried about them, but she couldn’t desert Greg in his condition. “Okay. We can rest as long as you need.”
“I don’t need to rest. I’m just not ready to face the world yet. That and”—he flashed a sad smile—“I’m not ready to give you up either. Sit for a second, so we can talk.”
Talk?
The word terrified her.
“But the people back home—”
“Can wait. What time is it anyway? Seven in the morning. Maybe eight? C’m
on.” He patted the rocks next to him. “Keep me company before the entire clan descends on me wantin’ answers. You said I’m still your best friend. I promise not to bite.”
She sat by Greg, though not too close, with her legs dangling over the side. Sitting on the round stones wasn’t comfortable, but Greg didn’t seem to mind. He rubbed the scar on his calloused palm as if in deep thought—the scar he said would forever remind him of her.
“You gonna be okay?” he finally asked. “About your friend Scott and everything?”
She shrugged. “How long before that’s us and our stuff is strewn about? What happens when Jamansky asks Oliver to burn our homes?” Question after question pounded against her, but she saved the most terrifying for last. “What would I do if I ever lost Amber and Zach?”
“That won’t happen. Oliver made sure you’re safe.”
“Travel papers can’t prevent something like this, Greg.”
“They aren’t travel papers.”
He said it so softly, she had nearly missed it. She turned. “What do you mean?”
His hand clenched over the scar. “I mean they aren’t travel papers, Carrie.”
“Then what are they?”
Sighing, he glanced over his shoulder behind them. Instead of thinking about today, her thoughts skipped back to their first walk to Ferris. Greg had thrown out that marriage proposal like it was another of his business plans—which it had been. A way to get her legal. He’d hated her back then, so she turned him down flat. He’d never proposed since, and now he never would since he’d lost his citizenship.
Her stomach lurched in sudden understanding.
Papers.
Oliver.
“No,” she said, shaking her head adamantly. “Oliver wouldn’t. Not without asking me.”
Greg rubbed the scar on his palm again.
“A marriage license?” she whispered.
Still no response.
“No, no, no.” She couldn’t be married. Oliver wouldn’t. “Did you see it?”
“Didn’t have to. Oliver told me they weren’t travel papers and then swore me to secrecy, only he broke his end of our bargain, so I should have told you.” His expression softened. “I’m sorry, Carrie. You deserved to know.”
She was married. Had been for weeks, possibly months.
And Greg had known.
Her eyes widened. “That’s why you begged me to give him a chance. You thought I’d actually be happy about being married without my permission? That…that I’d choose Oliver because of it?”
“No. I figured you’d be furious.” He shook his head. “I tried to warn him.”
More and more things fell into place. Her drive with Oliver. The restaurant. Things Greg had said in CJ’s garage.
“So…” she said, muscles tightening, “Oliver knew about your draft papers, and you knew about his marriage license, but neither of you bothered to tell me about any of it, hoping to keep me in the dark like…like I’m some kid or something?”
His hands flew up. “Hey, in my defense, I figured havin’ me disappear might help you figure out what you wanted. And in Oliver’s defense, he’s scared of you, scared of this very reaction. He doesn’t want you to think you owe him anything. It’s just a paper, Carrie, a way to protect you.”
Exactly what Greg told her months ago.
But what neither man understood was that, to her, a marriage was so much more. Only she never expected Oliver to go behind her back. Greg, the impulsive, headstrong one, maybe. But Oliver?
And Greg hadn’t told her either even though he knew how opposed she was to this.
Her pulse hammered.
She was married.
To Oliver.
What else were they hiding from her? Lying about? The bitterness flooded her veins.
“You know what?” She scooted to the edge of the wall and jumped down. “I think I’m done.”
“Done?”
“Done with relationships. Done with the games.” She sighed tiredly. “I think I’m done with both of you, actually. See you back home.”
Carrie started off.
“Wait.” Greg scrambled to the ledge and, using the walking stick, hopped down. She heard him grunt in pain, but he quickly hobbled after her. “Think about how I felt finding out about those papers, Carrie. Where does that leave me if you’re married?”
She whirled. “Then why didn’t you talk him out of it?”
“‘Cause it was already a done deal. Believe me, I was furious, but then I pictured you never being arrested, taken, or killed. What’s the greatest gift Oliver could give you?”
“The truth!”
He pointed back to Ferris. “You sure?”
Her chin dropped, but the betrayal refused to release her. “What am I supposed to do now? I don’t even want my stupid citizenship. I’ll tell Oliver to revoke the marriage or divorce me or…” She cringed. Divorce. She’d known she was married for all of two minutes and already she wanted out?
“Look, I know you’re mad,” he said, “but give it time before you do somethin’ that can’t be undone.”
“Like marrying a person without asking them?” she snapped.
“Yeah. Like that.” Sighing, he rubbed his bad shoulder. “Listen, Oliver’s given you your liberty. Amber and Zach, too. Only green cardies don’t have monthly check-ins, taxes, or recruiting officers dragging them away.” His gaze swept over her face, her hair, her lips. “Was I really supposed to stand in the way of that?”
Heat built behind her eyes. “So why tell me now? Why kiss me and confuse me all over again if you’d already resigned to let me go?”
His face twisted in pain. “‘Cause I don’t wanna lose you, Carrie girl. Call me selfish.”
Carrie girl.
She felt herself sliding again, falling for Greg even though she knew better. She started to turn, desperate to think about anything else, but Greg grabbed her hand.
“Carrie, please. You keep pushin’ me away, but I swear you still feel somethin’ for me. Am I just reading you wrong? Am I off my rocker to think you and I still gotta chance, even with all this madness?”
His face, so battered and bruised, filled with pleading. She had to look away. Greg was just grieving for his mom, recovering from West Chicago, and scrambling for someone—anyone—to grasp onto, a way to give his mom her dying wish.
“Honestly,” she said, pulling free of his warm hand, “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“You know,” he said, staring at her freed hand, “when you came into my mom’s room, I was in the middle of explaining everything about Oliver’s marriage license and my draft papers. I listed every reason I should walk away from you, but my mom told me to not give up. She told me to—”
“—fight for happiness,” Carrie said softly, remembering. “I thought she was talking about your training.”
“Nope. She told me to fight for you—fight and win—which I’m more than willing to do, but only if you want me to.” Reaching up, he stroked her cheek, sending a flame of heat through her. “I love you, Carrie girl. The time I spent away only solidified that. But I swear I’ll understand if you still choose Oliver.”
She froze. “What?”
“I’ll support whoever you choose: me or him—or neither of us jerks. I just need to hear you say it.”
“No. Not that. Never mind.” Her cheeks flushed, and she dropped her chin to hide behind her thick hair. Those three little words had slipped out without him noticing. She’d almost missed them, too.
I love you.
Closing her eyes, she begged her feet to take her away from here. She couldn’t do this anymore. But she stayed rooted in her spot, her body stilled by those words.
He looked confused for a moment, and then suddenly broke into a smile. “Oh, that? Is it so surprising that I’m in love with you? I thought that’d been obvious for a while.”
He tilted her chin up and gazed intently into her eyes. “When I asked you to not let go of me, I
meant it in more ways than one. You’re all that’s good in this world, and I don’t deserve to be part of your life, but I want to be. Selfishly. Don’t give up on me.” His voice caught, and he cleared it gruffly to finish. “I don’t wanna lose you, too.”
Lose you, too.
And just like that, she remembered why she had to walk away.
“That’s just it.” She grabbed his hands and lowered them from her face so she could think. “You don’t have to love me to keep me, Greg. I’ll always be your friend. Your mom is gone, and I understand that emotions are running high, but I can’t handle you doing something for the wrong reasons because—”
He kissed her again.
No warning whatsoever, he just leaned down and planted another one on her, slamming her with a million sensations.
All good.
Everything buzzed and swirled around her. His lips were warm, confident, and quite insistent. Her hand rested on his muscled chest, determined to push him away, but somehow she found herself clinging to his t-shirt to keep him from leaving.
He kissed her like she’d dreamt about. He kissed her like he should have a long time ago. She was overwhelmed by the feel of him. His fingers wound through her warm, golden waves sending bursts of chills through her.
Only when he pulled back did she remember to breathe.
He leaned his forehead against hers. “Why is it so hard to believe that I love you?”
“Because,” she said, heart shattering into a thousand pieces. “I’m your Oliver.”
forty-six
“MY WHAT?” GREG said in confusion.
“I’m your Oliver. The person you’re trying to love because your mom wants it, your grandma wants it, and…” Carrie’s blue eyes filled. “And I want it. Everyone wants you to love me, so you’re trying to make it work like I tried with Oliver. Only deep down, you don’t want it—want me—like I don’t want Oliver.”
“You’re my Oliver,” Greg repeated, trying to wrap his mind around it. And then in a flash, he understood. Everything she’d said. Why she kept pushing him away.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said. “Hold on a sec. That’s what you think?”
She blushed and tried to escape, wrenching his bad shoulder, but he locked his good arm around her, refusing to let her run away again.
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 75
