Page 58 of When I Was His

“I’m glad. They say the way to a woman’s heart is food.”

“No, that’s a man. The way to a woman’s heart is diamonds.”

I was joking of course but Oliver gave me such a serious look that I wondered if I overstepped my bounds. He was a man of means and I’m sure there were plenty of women that viewed him as a meal ticket.

“I would buy you many if that would make you give me your heart,” Oliver confessed, his voice tinged with sincerity.

“You don’t have to buy me things. I don’t expect it, and I’m not asking,” I reassured him, my tone gentle yet firm.

“I hoped you would say that, but it still doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to buy you gifts,” he admitted, a hint of vulnerability in his words.

“I don’t need gifts. Maybe we should talk,” I suggested, feeling a weight settle in the pit of my stomach.

“Are we about to have a deep conversation?” Oliver inquired, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You know about me, but not everything. I haven’t told you all the details,” I confessed, feeling a knot form in my throat.

I sat up and leaned against the headboard, my knees drawn up to my chest. Oliver mirrored my movement, sitting a couple of feet away from me on the bed and crossing his legs. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation that lay ahead.

“My father was murdered when I was six.”

His face tightened, “Excuse me?”

“My father was murdered. I was with him when it happened.”

He tried to hide his look of horror, but it was apparent. “I’m sorry. I thought you lived with your parents.”

“Anders is my stepfather, but he adopted me and my brothers. He’s been married to my mother for fourteen years. He’s been my father longer than my biological father was. I don’t remember him well and I remember almost nothing about the murder.”

“Jesus Christ. You saw it happen?”

“I don’t know. I only remember our car being hit and my father getting out to talk to the other driver. The next thing I remember is sitting by his bloody body. It was late and there were few cars on the street. I don’t know how long I sat there with him before someone came by.”

He reached out for me but I moved away. If he touched me while I told the story, I would burst into tears. I wanted Oliver to know that I was damaged and there was still time for him to walk away.

My voice cracked. “I stopped talking for a while. I missed a whole year of school and went to a therapist.”

“Did they find the killer?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s unsolved.”

“Someone shot your father just for a small fender bender?”

I shrugged. I didn’t know the motivation of my father’s killer. “I guess. I don’t know what it was about. My father told me to stay down. I think he knew the man.”

“Are you okay?”

I shifted uncomfortably under Oliver's intense gaze, feeling the weight of his concern as he reached out to me.

"No," I whispered, avoiding his eyes. "I have nightmares, especially when stress piles up. I scared Sadie half to death when we first shared a room. But she... she got it. She pushed her bed next to mine, stayed close until the terrors ebbed away. That's why she's so special to me. She understood when others might have just walked away."

"Come here," Oliver urged, his voice a gentle command.

I hesitated, uncertainty flickering in my eyes, but Oliver moved swiftly to envelop me in his arms, drawing me onto his lap, peppering my face with soft kisses.

"I won't leave you because of your nightmares," he murmured against my skin.

"Thank you," I whispered gratefully.

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