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“We’ll stop him together, Renata.” Ollie squeezes my shoulder. “I know that it hurts. Remembering how he was. I’ve gone through something similar.”
I nod. I want to ask him for more details, to elaborate, but something tells me to stop. I think I’ve had too much sharing of dark past details for today.
“Polina sent me more pictures.” He takes out the iPad. I blow out a breath, thankful for the change of subject. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to see him using that damn thing without remembering what I just saw. But when the screen fills with pictures of my sweet pup, I smile. “When will we go back?” I ask quietly.
“As soon as I’m confident your brother isn’t following us.” How can he be really, truly confident? I saw that shadowed figure in the road last night.
Maybe it was a coincidence.
But maybe it wasn’t.
We finish our breakfast in silence. I suppose I’m going to have to get used to eating in silence, for Ollie is a man of few words. We clean up, and he leans across the bed to me, kissing me.
“You taste like blueberry muffins.”
I smile and shrug. “Beats huevos pericos, I can guarantee you.”
My heart flips in my chest when he smiles. It’s so rare, it feels like unearthing a precious gem. I have to admit, I still fear him—a lot, but still, a part of me wishes I could just make him feel at ease for once. I wish I had the power to magically make the tension around his eyes soften and do something to help him trulysleepat night instead of catnap like he typically does.
“Look,” he says, pointing to the iPad he’s put by the window. It’s an ocean landscape, complete with the sound of crashing waves. “I found a farmers’ market here in town today, too. Did I miss anything?” He pulls me to him and holds me. “You said you like puppies, farmers’ markets, ocean views, sleeping in, and what was that other thing… oh yes,sex.”
He remembered. I swallow the lump in my throat.
“You get a gold star,” I say with a pang. I want this to last. I want to hold onto this moment, but I know I can’t. I remember trying to catch fish with Isabella with our bare hands, how they were slippery and wet and would slide right through our fingers. We’d think we actually caught one, only to groan as it slithered away. This feels vaguely the same.
“I know I’ve asked you this before, but what truly makesyouhappy, Ollie? I want you to be completely honest with me” I pull away and place my hands on his shoulders, holding his gaze with mine.
For a moment, he’s so serious I don’t think he’s going to respond. I’m getting used to his quiet ways, but it still unnerves me a little. “It’s not that complicated,” he says in a low voice. “I like knowing that the people I love are safe.”
I wait for him to continue, but when he doesn’t, I can only nod in understanding. “That’s it?”
He holds me, pressing his hand to the back of my head and tucking me close. Our hearts beat in sync. “That’s it.”
Am I one of “the people he loves?” The thought surfaces, but I’m too afraid to ask. I know I overthink things, and I know that a part of me fears that is exactly what I want.
I make no sense even to myself. I know we said the words, but I want him totrulylove me. Who wouldn’t?
I’m also not so sure what it willmeanto be loved by Ollie. Will I be smothered? Chained?
Will I have any memory of where I begin and he ends?
Is this what I want?
We linger for a moment until the world outside starts to seep back in. I think we’ll have to be mindful of this. It’s easy to forget it isn’t just the two of us sometimes.
Ollie’s phone on the table buzzes, breaking the silence. I remember in vivid detail what I saw last night on the iPad. I can still conjure up the cold, distant sound of his voice. The man’s pleas for mercy. The boom of the gunshot and the thud of the man’s dead body hitting the ground.
Does Ollie have a conscience at all?
“Go get dressed,” he says in a quiet command.
I pull clothes out of a bag and do what he says, but I don’t miss the way his face darkens as he reads a message on his phone.
“What is it?” I ask, already bracing myself for the answer.
Something’s gone wrong.
Again.
