“I do and I did and I will.” I punch his chest.
“What the hell was that for?”
“You’re . . . Stop treating me like a baby. I’m a woman! He treats me like a woman.”
“For how fucking long!”
He glares at me, and suddenly he gets out of the car and charges for the front door. I run after him and my chest literally hurts when I’m back inside and I notice Callan’s mega-pissed-off expression as he stares at my brother.
“You’re either all in or you get out now,” Tahoe says. “Do you hear me? She’s not your plaything, she’s my sister.”
“Get out of my face before I break you in half. She’s got a mind of her own, and so do I. I might not be what you wanted for her, but I’m what she wants and she’s what I want.”
“For how fucking long?! Tell her that now.”
Tahoe shoots off the dare but doesn’t even wait for an answer, angrily pulling me back outside.
I cry all the way to my apartment. My brother doesn’t say a word. He’s stewing. I can feel his anger and his frustration. But most of all I sense his disappointment and the feeling that I betrayed him.
I’ve never felt so low.
Callan had wanted to talk to him; I had insisted that I’d do it, but had I meant to? Not really. Now their friendship might be ruined forever.
“Don’t hurt him. I was the one who started it,” I say stiffly, then I get out of the car to dead silence and peer back inside, mad now. “If you touch him I’m going to hit you, Tahoe! Really hard!”
“Oh, I’m gonna hit him,” he stews. “I’m going to fucking break his damn nuts!”
I slam the door shut and march up to my apartment, stewing too.
I’m frustrated, wandering restlessly around the apartment, cursing my life and cursing both men and then cursing myself for not telling Tahoe sooner. I keep calling both numbers and neither of them answers. I finally lie down in bed but it takes forever for sleep to claim me.
I dream I’m lying on a hill in our Hill Country home, the sun warm to the point I’m almost hot. But there’s a breeze rustling by, cooling my skin. I hear footsteps and raise my head, and Nana is there, looking like about a million bucks.
“Nana? You look amazing!” I gasp.
“I feel excellent, Livvy, EXCELLENT!” she says.
She’s wearing a big crown on her head. I squint at it. “Where did you get that crown?”
“What do you mean? It’s mine. It’s always been mine. We’re the queens of effing everything, remember?”
She takes it off and comes set it on my head, looking at me with the biggest smile and warmest eyes ever.
I wake up to a knock on the door, and open it to see Tahoe. He looks like shit. He drags a hand over his beard, growls low and painfully, “Grandma passed.”
We fly back to Texas in Tahoe’s jet, my brother and his copilot at the controls.
In the car, the three of us—he, Gina, and I—are all quiet. My brother has a black eye, and he keeps rubbing it in frustration. Gina keeps her hand on his thigh in silent support. I want to cry but something blocks the tears. Shock. I stare out the window as Tahoe drives us to my parents’ place, the familiar Hill Country cityscape rolling past us, knowing I won’t see Nana again.
“You okay, Liv?” Tahoe asks when we park in my parents’ driveway.
I’m silent as I step out of the car.
He grabs my wrist and stops me, looking down at me with brotherly concern.
“You and she were very close. Why aren’t you crying?” he asks me, frowning.
“Because I’m mad.” I sweep away and head to my parents’ home, where Mom and Dad open the door and hug me.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I tell my father, because Nana was his mother, after all. But I can’t hold the hug too long, my throat is on fire and my whole body feels as tight as a ball with no way to crack open.
I let go and head up the stairs, straight to my room, and I sit on the edge of the bed and just stare at the ground, wondering if Nana felt any pain, wondering if she was scared, wondering why I wasn’t here, wondering why I’m so angry.
I feel numb, robotic after the funeral, receiving a thousand and one hugs, one after the other—I’m so sorry, our deepest condolences, the world lost someone very special—and I only nod, and nod, and nod, until I’m engulfed in a pair of familiar arms, and my lungs fill up with the distinctive, addictive smell of Callan Carmichael.
His lower lip is split—right in the middle—and his gaze is the rawest I’ve ever seen it. A scrape in my heart, that’s how the sight of him feels.
We ease apart. His timbre is low and partly questioning. “I didn’t like that you didn’t come to me. That you didn’t let me hold you.”
“I had to leave. I couldn’t think. But I wanted to.”
He gives me a look that implicitly tells me how much he wants to be here for me now. “So are you going to rob me of comforting you now?” he asks me.
“No.”
He opens his arms.
I crawl inside and the well in my eyes opens. He’s strong and feels warm and so good and he smooths his hand gently down my hair and my back, resting his jaw on the top of my head as I’m tempted to cry for the first time.
He squeezes me tight. “I’m sorry, Livvy.”
“I’m sorry too. It’s okay—my mom said she didn’t suffer, you know.”
“But you are.”
“Well, we had this thing. I could tell her anything, and she would laugh but not in a mean way, in a loving way, sort of like you do.” I sniff. “This wasn’t supposed to happen when I wasn’t here to even say goodbye.”
“You can’t plan the bad things that happen. They just do.”
The next person in line sort of skims around him and embraces me, and as the line continues, I keep stealing glances, watching him as he hugs each of my family members, counting the times I feel him glance in my direction until I lose count.
Black clothing, bodies, heat, flowers, and food flood my parents’ living room hours later, and among all those faces it’s only my nana’s face that I don’t see. People keep talking, their well-meaning sorrys invading my brain, everything going fuzzy. For the first time in my life I have been rendered speechless. I’m this numb.
Veronica and Farrah are fawning over Callan during the reception at my parents’.
“Your boss is so gorgeous it’s not even slightly hilarious.”
“It’s like a GQ parade here.”
“Gina’s engagement ring almost poked my eyes out.”
“Are you and the boss . . .” Veronica wiggles her brows. I almost wonder if she’s asking me if she can go up there and have a go at him.
“Yes,” I say. If I sound possessive, it’s because I am.
I hear their excited giggles as I stand and walk around a while to avoid any conversation. Callan stands with Saint and my brother. Tahoe hasn’t taken his eyes off either of us. Callan is watching me as I head to just sit on a couch thoughtfully. He starts coming over—Tahoe’s eyes narrow, but Callan doesn’t care.
I get to my feet and cross the room to meet him.
“Olivia,” my mother calls to me from across the room, stopping me midway. “Are you okay?”
I nod, feeling a little jolt as I see Callan still approaching. He looks terribly big and terribly strong as he nears me, and he cannot get here fast enough all of a sudden.
“Hey you.” His voice is husky.
“Hey you back.”
He leans closer. “Why is it you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, yet also the loneliest?”
“I’m just . . . processing.”
I feel myself sinking into his eyes when my mother—not appeased by my nod—gently draws me aside and scans my features in concern. “I was going to wait to tell you, but maybe you need to know now so you can start processing everything.” She tucks my hair behind my ear, and I wait in silent dread for whatever it is she looks concerned about mentioning.
“She left a note. She asked me to leave it for you at the tree house.”
“What the hell was that for?”
“You’re . . . Stop treating me like a baby. I’m a woman! He treats me like a woman.”
“For how fucking long!”
He glares at me, and suddenly he gets out of the car and charges for the front door. I run after him and my chest literally hurts when I’m back inside and I notice Callan’s mega-pissed-off expression as he stares at my brother.
“You’re either all in or you get out now,” Tahoe says. “Do you hear me? She’s not your plaything, she’s my sister.”
“Get out of my face before I break you in half. She’s got a mind of her own, and so do I. I might not be what you wanted for her, but I’m what she wants and she’s what I want.”
“For how fucking long?! Tell her that now.”
Tahoe shoots off the dare but doesn’t even wait for an answer, angrily pulling me back outside.
I cry all the way to my apartment. My brother doesn’t say a word. He’s stewing. I can feel his anger and his frustration. But most of all I sense his disappointment and the feeling that I betrayed him.
I’ve never felt so low.
Callan had wanted to talk to him; I had insisted that I’d do it, but had I meant to? Not really. Now their friendship might be ruined forever.
“Don’t hurt him. I was the one who started it,” I say stiffly, then I get out of the car to dead silence and peer back inside, mad now. “If you touch him I’m going to hit you, Tahoe! Really hard!”
“Oh, I’m gonna hit him,” he stews. “I’m going to fucking break his damn nuts!”
I slam the door shut and march up to my apartment, stewing too.
I’m frustrated, wandering restlessly around the apartment, cursing my life and cursing both men and then cursing myself for not telling Tahoe sooner. I keep calling both numbers and neither of them answers. I finally lie down in bed but it takes forever for sleep to claim me.
I dream I’m lying on a hill in our Hill Country home, the sun warm to the point I’m almost hot. But there’s a breeze rustling by, cooling my skin. I hear footsteps and raise my head, and Nana is there, looking like about a million bucks.
“Nana? You look amazing!” I gasp.
“I feel excellent, Livvy, EXCELLENT!” she says.
She’s wearing a big crown on her head. I squint at it. “Where did you get that crown?”
“What do you mean? It’s mine. It’s always been mine. We’re the queens of effing everything, remember?”
She takes it off and comes set it on my head, looking at me with the biggest smile and warmest eyes ever.
I wake up to a knock on the door, and open it to see Tahoe. He looks like shit. He drags a hand over his beard, growls low and painfully, “Grandma passed.”
We fly back to Texas in Tahoe’s jet, my brother and his copilot at the controls.
In the car, the three of us—he, Gina, and I—are all quiet. My brother has a black eye, and he keeps rubbing it in frustration. Gina keeps her hand on his thigh in silent support. I want to cry but something blocks the tears. Shock. I stare out the window as Tahoe drives us to my parents’ place, the familiar Hill Country cityscape rolling past us, knowing I won’t see Nana again.
“You okay, Liv?” Tahoe asks when we park in my parents’ driveway.
I’m silent as I step out of the car.
He grabs my wrist and stops me, looking down at me with brotherly concern.
“You and she were very close. Why aren’t you crying?” he asks me, frowning.
“Because I’m mad.” I sweep away and head to my parents’ home, where Mom and Dad open the door and hug me.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I tell my father, because Nana was his mother, after all. But I can’t hold the hug too long, my throat is on fire and my whole body feels as tight as a ball with no way to crack open.
I let go and head up the stairs, straight to my room, and I sit on the edge of the bed and just stare at the ground, wondering if Nana felt any pain, wondering if she was scared, wondering why I wasn’t here, wondering why I’m so angry.
I feel numb, robotic after the funeral, receiving a thousand and one hugs, one after the other—I’m so sorry, our deepest condolences, the world lost someone very special—and I only nod, and nod, and nod, until I’m engulfed in a pair of familiar arms, and my lungs fill up with the distinctive, addictive smell of Callan Carmichael.
His lower lip is split—right in the middle—and his gaze is the rawest I’ve ever seen it. A scrape in my heart, that’s how the sight of him feels.
We ease apart. His timbre is low and partly questioning. “I didn’t like that you didn’t come to me. That you didn’t let me hold you.”
“I had to leave. I couldn’t think. But I wanted to.”
He gives me a look that implicitly tells me how much he wants to be here for me now. “So are you going to rob me of comforting you now?” he asks me.
“No.”
He opens his arms.
I crawl inside and the well in my eyes opens. He’s strong and feels warm and so good and he smooths his hand gently down my hair and my back, resting his jaw on the top of my head as I’m tempted to cry for the first time.
He squeezes me tight. “I’m sorry, Livvy.”
“I’m sorry too. It’s okay—my mom said she didn’t suffer, you know.”
“But you are.”
“Well, we had this thing. I could tell her anything, and she would laugh but not in a mean way, in a loving way, sort of like you do.” I sniff. “This wasn’t supposed to happen when I wasn’t here to even say goodbye.”
“You can’t plan the bad things that happen. They just do.”
The next person in line sort of skims around him and embraces me, and as the line continues, I keep stealing glances, watching him as he hugs each of my family members, counting the times I feel him glance in my direction until I lose count.
Black clothing, bodies, heat, flowers, and food flood my parents’ living room hours later, and among all those faces it’s only my nana’s face that I don’t see. People keep talking, their well-meaning sorrys invading my brain, everything going fuzzy. For the first time in my life I have been rendered speechless. I’m this numb.
Veronica and Farrah are fawning over Callan during the reception at my parents’.
“Your boss is so gorgeous it’s not even slightly hilarious.”
“It’s like a GQ parade here.”
“Gina’s engagement ring almost poked my eyes out.”
“Are you and the boss . . .” Veronica wiggles her brows. I almost wonder if she’s asking me if she can go up there and have a go at him.
“Yes,” I say. If I sound possessive, it’s because I am.
I hear their excited giggles as I stand and walk around a while to avoid any conversation. Callan stands with Saint and my brother. Tahoe hasn’t taken his eyes off either of us. Callan is watching me as I head to just sit on a couch thoughtfully. He starts coming over—Tahoe’s eyes narrow, but Callan doesn’t care.
I get to my feet and cross the room to meet him.
“Olivia,” my mother calls to me from across the room, stopping me midway. “Are you okay?”
I nod, feeling a little jolt as I see Callan still approaching. He looks terribly big and terribly strong as he nears me, and he cannot get here fast enough all of a sudden.
“Hey you.” His voice is husky.
“Hey you back.”
He leans closer. “Why is it you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, yet also the loneliest?”
“I’m just . . . processing.”
I feel myself sinking into his eyes when my mother—not appeased by my nod—gently draws me aside and scans my features in concern. “I was going to wait to tell you, but maybe you need to know now so you can start processing everything.” She tucks my hair behind my ear, and I wait in silent dread for whatever it is she looks concerned about mentioning.
“She left a note. She asked me to leave it for you at the tree house.”
