Waking Olivia (23 page)

T
hey are all bizarrely
careful with me, as if I’m made of paper. It’s sweet but irritating, a constant reminder of what happened, of what they know about me and what I now know about myself.

I helped bury my brother, and I’m not sure how culpable I am. If I’ve forgotten this, what else have I forgotten? My head feels like the creepy basement of a haunted house—best left unexplored, evil lurking in all the dark corners. Will, especially, is distant and guarded. Solicitous and yet wary of me at the same time. Probably because he’s thinking exactly what I am: what else have I done? Who else have I hurt? No wonder he won’t ask me to wait until graduation.

When Brendan leaves for school on Sunday, I insist on going home too. Will made his decision. I’d rather rip the Band-Aid off now than spend the next week or month fearing it.

O
ver the next week
, the whole team still practices together, but only three of us even have a reason to train until after winter break is over and it’s obvious. Most of the team is phoning it in and just barely. Will doesn’t look at me once without guilt on his face, and I don’t look at him once without seeing what I will never have. That same ambivalence I felt the morning of the last meet, as if nothing matters and nothing ever will, still weighs me down. Running was once everything because I’d never had anything better. And I still don’t have anything better, regardless of what I might have hoped, so I really need to pull it together by Sunday.

E
rin shows
up at my apartment on Friday to send me off.

“Here,” she says, handing me a bag. “These are good luck cookies.”

“What makes them good luck?”

“Nothing, but it was either that or my good luck underwear, and I figured you didn’t want that.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that good luck underwear is non-transferable.”

She gives me a hug. “We love you whether you win or not, Finn. Keep it in mind this time, okay?”

T
here are
nine of us flying to Wyoming for the Cooper. Peter with Dan Brofton, Marcus Phipps, and a kid they call Rooster. He probably has a real name but I’m not sure what it is. On the women’s side is Will, me, Nicole, Betsy, and Dorothy. I’d feel guilty about the expense except there’s actually a regulation that
requires
a female chaperone, so all of Dorothy’s costs are covered by the program.

We arrive in Cheyenne late Saturday afternoon and are given our room assignments. I’m with Dorothy, of course.

“Still need a babysitter I see,” mocks Betsy. “Right up until the last minute.”

“It seems to work for her, though,” says Dorothy pointedly, “since she came in first the last time I roomed with her. Maybe I should chaperone
everyone
.”

Damn
, I laugh to myself.
Dorothy has claws. No wonder we get along so well.

We all eat together. Peter and Dorothy sit at one end of the table. They talk easily, eat off each other’s plates without asking. They seem like they’ve been together forever.

“Who out of this handsome bunch are your kids?” the waitress asks them.

Peter grins. “All of ‘em.”

A question, confusion, crosses Will’s face then. A moment of insight he blinks away. For someone who’s normally pretty perceptive, he’s shockingly slow to pick up on this. That or he just refuses to.

After Dorothy lies down, I go to the other bed in his room and stretch out. He seems to be doing his level best to pretend I’m not even here and it pisses me off.

“It’s the last meet,” I say, rolling to face him. “You gonna miss me?” My tone is playful, but my meaning is not.

He glances at me, his eyes darting over my body before they return to my face. “Your shirt is riding up,” he says hoarsely.

I glance down and shrug. “I’m sure two inches of skin won’t kill you. Answer the question.” I run my finger over my lip and thrill at how avidly he watches the motion. The way his eyes turn feral before he looks away.

He swallows and sits back. “It’s not like I won’t still see you. I mean, you’ll stay with us over break, right?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You have to. You know you’re important to my family.”

“And that’s all?”

“Liv,” he groans. “It’s all you’re allowed to be.”

I
n the morning
, I’m my standard nervous-with-a-side-order-of-nervous.

“Try to eat, sugar,” says Dorothy.

“I can’t,” I sigh. “You know that.”

She somehow gets half a banana in me before we leave for the meet. I felt okay when I woke up, but once we’re on the field something spins in my stomach. The air is cold, but it can’t account for the chill that seems to climb under my skin.

“Something’s wrong,” I tell Will. “Something’s off.”

“Nothing’s off,” he soothes. He reaches out to touch me and stops himself, letting his hand fall. “It’s just nerves.”

“No, this is different. I feel sick,” I tell him. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“You’re not sick,” he says firmly. “Don’t do this to yourself. Or go ahead and do it to yourself. But you know once you’re running it’ll pass.”

I nod, but this time, I’m not convinced. Maybe it’s just my failure at the last meet, but I don’t think it is. My lucky streak is over. I had a small winning streak at UT too, and then it ended and it never came back.

Today is not going to work out.

I taste metal in my mouth as we wait at the starting line, and then it’s in my stomach, climbing through me, making my gut churn and my blood go cold. When the gun sounds, I take off too fast, trying to escape the chill that’s climbing up my spine, the certainty that I will fail. I think of Will on the sidelines right now, how he’ll feel when I lose, and what it must have been like two weeks ago watching me blow our shot at regionals. I force myself to pull back. I let the other girls set the pace, but because I’m anxious it feels painfully slow.

And then the distance increases and I feel better, stronger, more certain. I even out, going head-to-head with some girl from California everyone expects to win. But I can hear the violence of her exhale, the rasp in her inhale. We aren’t even two miles in and she’s struggling, whereas I feel like I could run this pace all day long.

I break ahead of the others. It’s early, for me. A risk. Maybe I don’t have another two fast miles in me, but today I want this. I want this for Will and Peter and Dorothy as much as I do myself, and I think it’s possible I have it.

When I see the finish line, I begin to sprint and the noise of the crowd rings so loud I can’t hear my own breath. Their roar grows deafening as I break through the tape.

Immediately there’s a news crew and photographers around me and I push past them, desperately looking for the one face I need to see. He breaks through the crowd and throws his arms around me.

“You did it, Liv,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear, his body wrapped around me, and I feel safe and content and complete all at the same time.

I wanted to win, but I wanted to win for this exact moment, the one shared with him. I won’t always remember the race, but
this
I will remember.

He slowly lets go when Peter and Dorothy jog up. “19:22!” yells Peter. Meaningless to most people, but all of us knows what it means. I was only five seconds off the 6K world record. Closer to it than anyone I’ve ever known.

I’m pulled through the crowd somehow, being congratulated and even hugged by complete strangers. We get to where the guys are waiting and Dan gathers me into his arms for a hug that goes on slightly too long.

“
Enough
, Brofton,” barks Will behind us.

Even Betsy is almost nice. “19:22,” she says, shaking her head. “I still don’t like you, but holy shit that’s fast.”

There are interviews later and people wanting to meet me and an awards ceremony. It’s what I’ve wanted my entire life, but it all comes in second to Will. I answer a reporter’s questions, but my eyes don’t stray from him.

“How does it feel to come within seconds of breaking the world record?” the reporter asks.

I give the answer that I’m supposed to, tell her that I’m shocked and thrilled, and yes, this is the biggest day of my life. And the whole time I watch Will, knowing I’d give it all up for him – my wins, the team, my future. He just doesn’t want me enough to take it.

W
e land
in Denver and take the bus back to campus together. I hate that this is my goodbye to Dorothy and Will, brisk and impersonal, walking away as if they are strangers with Nicole and Betsy beside me. I’ll see them again at the banquet, but that’s hardly any better.

Except not an hour after I arrive at home, I find Will standing at my door. He walks in, head down and hands in pockets, and then he rounds on me. “What did you mean last night when you said you didn’t think staying with us over break was a good idea?”

“That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“Look, I swear on my life I won’t repeat what happened,” he breathes. “I swear it. Just stay with us.”

“You think I don’t
want
to repeat that?” I demand. “I want to repeat that more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

Desire flares in his eyes. “Please don’t say things like that, Olivia,” he groans, tugging at his hair.

“It’s the truth.”

“What happened shouldn’t have, but you’re a part of the family now. You matter to all of us. We can get past this.”

“That’s just the problem, Will. You
can
get past it. I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

I swallow hard and meet his eye. “If you wanted me enough, you could have had me. Or you could have asked me to wait until I graduated. But you didn’t, and you won’t, and do you know how hard it is to have to look at you?” My voice grows raspy and I pause because I refuse to cry in front of him again. “To look at you and know that you made your choice and you didn’t choose me?”

He flinches. “Olivia, it’s not a matter of choosing.” His voice is rough. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You do,” I whisper. “It’d just be a little over a year. You could ask me to wait. You could ask me right now and I’d do it. Gladly. But you’re not going to, are you?”

He closes his eyes and that muscle pops in his jaw. He says nothing.

I walk to the door and throw it open. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

I
wait
until I get to the car. I wait exactly that long before I punch the steering wheel and let loose a long stream of profanity.

That was it.

I lost her.

It’s not that I ever thought she’d be mine. I’d just refused to consider that there’d come a day when she wouldn’t be. I thought I could steal all these moments from her. At my mother’s house, on the track, climbing. Store them up as if they’d do me a damn bit of good once she’s gone.

I’ve been so selfish with her for so long. I never should have brought her to my mother’s house. I could have found another way, but I wanted it to be me who was with her, me who saved her.

Tonight, far too late, I finally did the right thing, and I want more than anything to go back in her apartment and undo it. I think of that catch in her voice when she spoke about waiting and I start to get back out of the car.

And then I stop myself.

I’m not letting her piss her future away so she can come live on a debt-ridden farm. I’m finally going to do what’s right for her, no matter how much it kills me to do it.

“
I
went
to see Olivia yesterday,” my mom tells me.

It’s been a long three days. I haven’t seen or heard from her once. I just want to know how she’s doing. Okay, that’s a lie. I want to see her face, bury my nose in her hair, hold onto her and stay just like that for as long as she’ll allow.

“How was she?” I ask.

“Just like you. Doing her level best to pretend she’s okay when she’s clearly not.”

“You sound like you’re blaming me.”

“I
am
blaming you, Will. You’re in love with her. Have you even told her that?”

I push away from the table. After everything I’ve done wrong, I can’t believe that I’m finally doing the right thing and she’s mad. “It wouldn’t do any good, Mom. I can’t be with her anyway.”

“Will, for God’s sake. She’s a junior. It’s not that long until the student thing isn’t even an issue.”

“Right. And then what? She comes and lives on some shitty farm, with no coach and no group to train with? Where she can’t get endorsements and doesn’t have the money to fly to big races? She gives up her future for
this
?”

“You can’t know how things will play out. That’s over a year away.”

“Mom,” I say, rising to conclude this conversation, one I’ve had with myself many times. “I know the only two things I need to know. That I can’t leave and she can’t stay.”

B
y Saturday night
, the night of the banquet, I think I’d cut off a limb just to lay eyes on her again. I crave her like a drug. It won’t solve anything and I don’t care. I just want to see her.

I’ve spent the entire week arguing with myself, and each day I grow a little more desperate, my arguments growing wilder and less probable by the minute.
Maybe I could
is how every single thought begins, each one borne of desperation.
Maybe I could get a third job so I could fly out to see her. Maybe once Brendan’s out of school I’ll be able to afford it.
Maybe she’ll decide on her own that she doesn’t want to run after college.

It’s weakness on my part and I just need to get through this banquet without giving into it. Probably with a great deal of assistance from my close friend Jack Daniels.

My mother is already here, sitting with Peter. I have no idea how
that
happened. I could have taken her if she wanted to go so badly. I trust Peter, but I hope he’s not getting the wrong idea about this.

I head to the bar. I’m going to need something, possibly a whole lot of something to make this experience palatable. I grab a beer and drink half of it before I even head to the section of the room reserved for the track team.

I’m halfway there when my eyes meet Jessica’s. I suppose she’s here in some public relations capacity, although she somehow managed not to work at it last year. She’s been leaving me tearful, angry voicemails every day since Thanksgiving. In roughly half the calls she tells me she misses me and wants to talk. In the other half, she tells me I’m going to be sorry I treated her the way I did.

Tonight, though, she’s the happy, social version of herself. She comes straight to me, throwing her arms around my neck and kissing my cheek. “Will!” she squeals. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Is it?” I ask, disengaging myself.

She laughs, linking her arm through mine. “Just because we’ve broken up doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, silly.”

“I don’t know, Jess. You said in that last message that my mother should have aborted me. I don’t say that to most of my friends.”

She waves it away. I wish she’d let go of my arm. “I was hurt, Will. You hurt me. But I’m okay now, really.”

Uh huh
. “Good. Well, I better go sit.”

“Come sit with me,” she says, pulling at my elbow. “I saved you a seat.”

At that very moment, Olivia walks in. She’s in a green silk dress that matches her eyes, pours over her curves, and reveals only a hint of cleavage while allowing you to imagine what you
can’t
see too fucking easily. Her hair is straight tonight, falling over her shoulders and down her back, highlighting her long neck and the angles of her face.

As always, I seem to settle on her mouth. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her wear lipstick before and, for some reason, this opens an entire Pandora’s box of fantasies. I want to see it smeared. To kiss her so hard that neither of us can breathe. To pull back and find that mouth ajar, panting, the lipstick a pink blur around the edges.

My God, I want it so badly I’m not sure how I’ll get through the goddamn night without having it. That and all the things that follow it. My hands sliding that silk dress over her head, learning every inch of her the way I’ve dreamed about for months.

Except right now her eyes are focused on the point where Jessica’s arm is linked with mine, and when she raises them the hurt I see there is like a knife to the chest. I step away from Jessica, grabbing my beer and draining it.

“I’m sitting with my mom,” I say as I distance myself.

“I see what’s going on,” she hisses, looking from me to Olivia.

“There’s nothing going on,” I say in disgust, turning toward my table.

I just
wish
there were.

“
D
oesn’t Olivia look gorgeous
?” my mom asks.

“She looks like she needs more clothes,” I grumble.

“
I
bought her that dress,” my mother says with a brow arched. “It fits her like a glove.”

“Yeah, exactly,” I retort. “That’s sort of the problem.”

She ignores me and I go back to thinking about Olivia’s mouth, about seeing that lipstick smeared, of her breathless under me.

And then a single possessive arm wraps around her waist, his hand cupping the hip bone I can make out through the thin silk, and I’m ejected from my fantasy at high speed.

Evan. She came here with
Evan
. My lust morphs into rage over the course of a single breath.
Why the fuck is she with him? She said she wasn’t interested. She said he wanted something serious. She said
…

She said she wanted me, and I turned her away
.

I grab my beer and realize it’s empty. She’s moving on, doing whatever she needs to get by. The same thing I’m doing, I guess.

I stand abruptly and return to the bar.

S
he and Evan
sit at Erin’s table, on the far side of mine, giving me a painfully direct view of the two of them. He is physically incapable of keeping his hands to himself, and I’d love to relieve him of that problem. Whenever she stands, his eyes are on her, devouring her. He paws at her when she returns, jumping to pull out her chair but managing to get his fucking hands over approximately 70% of her body when he does it. And if he tries to look down her dress one more time, I’m definitely taking him out.

She doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.

I go to the bar again and move from beer to whiskey. I don’t normally drink much, but tonight’s a special case. It’s either this or I completely lose my shit in front of hundreds of witnesses.

Food is served which I can’t taste. Awards are given out that I don’t notice. She is more real to me than anything in this room or out of it, the only thing I can see.

No one knows her fears like I do. No one knows how fragile she really is, how sweet. They don’t know that she cries in her sleep and that she curls her whole body up against me as if she’d like to crawl inside. But
I
know these things. And for all the fighting we’ve done, there aren’t two people in this room as made for each other as the two of us. My world is constructed entirely of artificial rules about what I owe people—my father, my family, the school. But somehow it excludes the only thing that matters to me.

Her.

If it weren’t for the goddamn farm and the school, she’d be here with
me
tonight.

I watch her say something to Evan and he nods, wrapping a hand around her waist and pulling her toward him as she begins to rise from her chair. He kisses her. It’s just a small peck, nothing like what my asshole brother did, but that’s when I’m fucking done.

“Enough,” I say quietly as I stand.

I don’t know what possesses me to follow her. I know, with every bone in my body, that it’s the wrong thing to do. That I have no claim on her and I should be distancing myself from her as fast as humanly possible, but I saw that kiss, saw the look in his eye, the one that says he intends to leave with her soon, and I found myself on my feet.

She’s halfway down the hall by the time I reach her. She looks over her shoulder warily when she hears me, but she is too late. I’m already there. I grab her elbow before she has time to react and pull her into a classroom.

She stiffens and pulls back, ready as always to fight. Squaring off, eyes flashing and hands on her hips. Seething before I’ve even said a word.

“You have no right to— ”

That’s when I cup her jaw and capture that mouth I’ve longed for the whole goddamn night.