Page 79 of When We Were Us

“Yes, I do only they’re no longer just about my father. They’re about you too.”

The truth of his words stung. I hugged my knees tighter, avoiding his gaze. "I didn't ask for any of this mess, Oliver."

"Neither did I," he murmured. "Can't we try therapy? Please, Ryleigh. I don't want us to end like this."

I sighed, my shoulders sagging under the weight of our shared pain. "I think we're past therapy, Oliver. There's too much hurt between us."

Oliver's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and desperation. "You hurt me too, Ryleigh. You barely acknowledged my existence on my birthday."

The accusation hit me like a physical blow. Shame washed over me as I hung my head, unable to meet his gaze. Despite my anger towards him, I knew he didn't deserve to be treated as if he were invisible. The past few days, I’d done some soul-searching, and it forced me to confront my own faults.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I was just... so angry."

Oliver's brow furrowed. "Was?"

I lifted my eyes to meet his, surprised by the vulnerability I saw there. "I'm not as angry as I was before," I admitted, "but I still am."

A flicker of hope danced across Oliver's features. He leaned in slightly, his voice soft and tentative. "Does that mean... we have a chance?"

My heart raced as I considered his question. After a moment that felt like an eternity, I gave a small nod. As I did, a wayward lock of hair fell across my face, obscuring my part of my vision.

Oliver reached up slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal. His fingers gently brushed the strand back, and the moment his skin made contact with mine, an electric current seemed to surge between us. It was reminiscent of our early days together, that spark I thought had long since faded. Maybe it had been there all along, and I'd simply been too blinded by anger to notice.

The heat from his palm seeped into my cheek as he cupped my face. I found myself leaning into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed. The realization hit me with startling clarity: as much as I told myself I should hate him, I couldn't. The anger that had sustained me for so long began to crumble, leaving behind a confused jumble of emotions I wasn't yet ready to name.

"Ryleigh," Oliver murmured, his thumb tracing a gentle arc along my cheekbone.

I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze. The intensity I saw there made my breath catch in my throat. We were balanced on a knife's edge, teetering between the pain of the past and the uncertain promise of the future.

Oliver's eyes searched mine, a mix of hope and wariness in his gaze. "Does this mean you won't steal my company and leave me destitute on the street?" he asked, his attempt at humor falling flat.

I winced, shaking my head. "That was a stupid thing to say, Oliver. It's your company." I paused, biting my lip before continuing, "The employees... they hate me. They haven't exactly been kind with their words. Apparently, you didn't teach me as well as you thought."

Oliver's brow furrowed, a protective glint flashing in his eyes. "Who said things about you?" he demanded, struggling to sit up straighter.

I waved off his concern, not wanting to dwell on the hurt. "It's not important. You need to come back as soon as you're better."

"I want to," Oliver said softly, his hand reaching for mine.

I squeezed his fingers, surprised by how natural it felt. "I'm glad we had this talk. Now, let's get you up."

Standing, I braced myself to help Oliver. Even with his recent weight loss, he was still a formidable presence, dwarfing my petite frame. With a grunt of effort, we managed to get him vertical, his arm draped heavily across my shoulders.

"Where were you going when you fell?" I asked, steadying him as he found his balance.

Oliver's stomach growled audibly. "I'm hungry," he admitted sheepishly. "Hilda usually brings me food."

Guilt washed over me. "God, I feel like a piece of shit. I should be taking care of you."

A glimmer of the old Oliver shone through as he smirked. "You can make it up to me."

"Tell me how," I said, surprising myself with my eagerness.

"Take care of me now," he suggested. "It's Thanksgiving. Did you plan anything?"

I realized with a pang how disconnected we'd become, largely due to my own actions. He had no idea about my preparations. "I got a meal from Bring Your Appetite," I confessed.

Oliver's eyes lit up. "What kind of meal?"

Source: www.allfreenovel.com