Page 167 of Trust Me

Chapter 44

Oliver

After washing up the dishes, I wandered slowly down the hall. Dean hadn’t come out of his room, and I found myself more nervous than before. Things seemed okay with everybody else, but now I was struck by a heavy feeling in my gut that went beyond the potatoes I’d stuffed myself with.

Placing my hand on the doorknob, I drew in a deep breath.

“Knock knock,” I said as I opened it.

My stomach plummeted when I saw Dean. He was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard with his feet on the mattress and his legs drawn close to his chest. His head rested on his knees, and he was staring at the wall to the side.

“Hey, Broku,” I ventured cautiously. Closing the door behind me, I stuffed my hands into my pockets and took a step forward. “You look sorta droopy.”

“I’m okay.”

“That feels like a lie, but I’m not an expert. Not yet.”

Shifting his head, he perched his chin on his knees so he could look at me. It was when I saw the shimmer in his eyes that I closed the distance and climbed onto the bed. Kneeling in front of him, I wrapped my arms around his legs and pressed my forehead against his.

“I just wanted to help,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I overstepped.”

“That’s not why I’m upset. But . . . Why didn’t you tell me?”

I chewed on my lip and shrugged. “I just wanted them to be happy. And you. After she got the job, I didn’t want to claim anything from it. What mattered was the outcome, not that you knew I did it.”

He frowned at nothing in particular. “Thank you.”

“You’re not mad?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe a little, but not at you if that makes sense.”

“It does, but it doesn’t tell me why you’ve been crying.”

“I don’t want to go back to the apartment.”

My lungs felt like they froze over, keeping me from drawing breath. “You want to move out?”

“No, but . . .”

When he didn’t continue, I gripped his legs. “I told myself I wouldn’t beg for forgiveness. But now, I can’t just let you do this without, I don’t know, doing something.”

“Oli, stop—”

“Did you know poverty can create trauma pathways in the brain? Yeah, that’s a thing. I see it in Blake, but it’s different with you. You learned to be strong, to love your family through the hardship. I think you loved them more because of it. And I saw that resilience in you when you told me about your parents. But I kept thinking about it—the way your life could’ve turned you into someone different. Someone darker. And I thought, ‘What if I can do something about it?’”

He opened his mouth, but I shook my head. Letting out a little breath, he pursed his lips and nodded for me to continue.

“I’m being a hundred percent honest when I say that I didn’t have any reason to think we’d ever be more than friends. Yeah, I was interested, but I wasn’t pining. Not really. I didn’t think it would do any harm. I mean, if she didn’t want the job, she didn’t have to take it. If we were closer then, I wouldn’t have done it without talking to you.”

“Please believe me, baby.” I dropped my head to rest on his knee. “I saw a possible solution to something that had been stressing you out so much. And to be honest, I’d do it again, especially after meeting your family. So, I won’t apologize for it. But I will ask you not to move out. Not to give up on this.” I shifted closer to him and gripped his hands. “Not yet.”

He looked down at our hands, then back to my face. “Are you done?”

“For now. Depends what you say.”

My heart fluttered when he breathed a small laugh. “I’m not moving out of the apartment.”

“Really?” I sat straighter, studying his face to see if he could be lying.