Chapter 17

Everything inside of me is coming apart.

The reality of being on a road trip to home is bringing back all the unwanted fears as we drive closer to Colorado. My head is like a ticking time bomb—numbers flashing in bright red, reminding me time is of the essence. Or else, boom—all over. I have bursts of memory lapses, all partly due to Oliver and his distracting persona. I crave these lapses. They relieve me from the constant pressure which becomes unbearable.

Then last night happened.

With a man who was never supposed to be in the equation.

Inside that bedroom, I don’t know what came over me. That whole Bianca call threw me into a tailspin. For all I know, he is still seeing her because he has a life back home, a life I know nothing about because he purposely keeps it from me.

But he promised me nothing is going on.

And I choose to believe him.

Lying there beside him, knowing how much he’s wanting to take it further but respected my boundaries, makes me crave him even more.

Oliver understands me, and I don’t have to play the good girl around him. He knows me better than anyone else, a realization which terrifies me.

I desperately wanted to climb on him last night and feel his masculine touch all over my tense body. Yet, that guilt, the one which halts my every move and consumes my conscience, can only give him so much.

It isn’t what he wants. I’m certain he wants to fuck me into oblivion.

But perhaps what I gave him was more than I have ever given anyone else. The intimacy we shared, the private moment behind closed doors, it was an act many people, including myself, had somewhat felt ashamed of baring to another person.

It didn’t take me long, my body reacting to the movements he made in his bed. I pictured his beautiful hand wrapped around his cock, each stroke, and finally an orgasmic explosion.

In the light of day, the weight of my actions is standing right in front of me dressed in a pair of denim shorts, a baseball cap, and a white tee. How can he look so irresistible yet so casual at the same time?

Oliver hasn’t said a word or treated me any differently. It’s as if last night never happened, and I don’t know how I feel about that.

Before we step into the car, I ask him to stop.

“About last night?—”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“We don’t?”

“Nope. Secret is safe with me.” He winked.

It’s as if he has climbed into my mind, read my thoughts, taken notes, and done everything right, given the unusual and complicated circumstances. Maybe he can read minds? I examine his face—it doesn’t alter or appear any different.

You’re ridiculous. Read minds? He’s not Edward Cullen, for Christ’s sake.

I thank him with a smile, hopping into the car while buckling my seat belt to start the next leg of our journey.

Oliver spent the morning checking the car to make sure everything was up to standard, confident we wouldn’t encounter any problems on our final leg of the journey. The town mechanic suggested keeping a close eye on it.

We drive for a few hours, admiring the scenic view of the mountains, talking about movies and a little bit about sports, which mind you, I have no interest in whatsoever. I often bring up David Beckham—the only thing I know about soccer, thanks to his incredibly good looks. Oliver rolls his eyes, quick to point out that my obsession was borderline creepy and that he’s old enough to be my dad, to which I argued.

It became a pattern of ours—talk, laugh about what we are conversing in, and argue because we don’t agree on something, followed by dead silence.

Right now, you could drop a pin on the floor and hear it crash-landing.

All over what drink is better—Pepsi or Coca-Cola.

Stupid. Everyone knows it’s Coca-Cola.

Our silence continues until we hit the state of Utah. The southern part of Utah is a land of unsurpassed, surprising beauty. It’s characterized by contrasting landscapes of snow-capped mountains, orange sandstone cut by erosion into bridges, arches, and strange sculpted red rock. I relax into the seat, staring out the passenger window and taking it all in.

“Welcome to Utah,” he mouths.

“You want to stop? You know, check out some sites?”

“Are you avoiding going home?” Oliver turns his head to wait for my response, then quickly back to the road.

I’m a prisoner out on parole, an ankle bracelet strapped to my leg, and going near the prison is causing the bad nightmares to return. The anxiety begins to cripple me. I don’t know why or how this has chosen to consume me at this very moment.

“Gabs? Are you okay? You look… pale.”

I shake my head, the air restricting in my throat, making it impossible to breathe. Oliver pulls over, and I hear the gravel crunching beneath the tires. As soon as the car stops, he leans over, placing his hand on my shoulder and massaging it with ease. I close my eyes, wishing this life, my life, could be different.

“I’m confused,” I whisper, my voice croaking. “I don’t know any different, Oliver. I was raised in a world of power and money. Women don’t make their own fortune. They bank on their husbands and become trophy wives.” I stare directly ahead of us, nothing but open road, desert, and endless possibilities.

“You… you are different to them,” I stutter, rubbing my hands against my thighs.

“Them?”

“My father, Nicholas…” I trail off. “You make me feel worthy like I’m worth something.”

Oliver’s hand graces my cheek, a gentle caress against my heated skin. The simple touch prompts me to close my eyes. How can this be? In simply one move, a gesture of kindness, and he has calmed my world and reined in all focus on him.

“Look at me,” he begs.

I turn to face him, opening my eyes painfully slow. His eyes are boring into me, reaching inside every part of me, igniting a flame once dwindled. My breathing slows to a regular pace, certainly enough so my skin begins to cool, and I’m able to focus on his beautiful face.

“You are worth everything. And any guy lucky enough to call you his should worship the ground you walk on. You get me? Don’t feel anything less than that.”

I want Oliver to worship the ground I walk on. I desperately want him to tell me to turn back around, get far away from here, and make a life on our own. Drive back to our oasis, Manhattan Beach, where life is simple without the pressure of anything else.

“Why do you have to say the most perfect things sometimes? You’re annoying that way,” I whisper, lowering my head.

“Because I want to get you into bed, so it seems like the easiest way to do it.”

I slap his shoulder, and he grabs my hand, kissing the side of it. “I’m serious about you being worth it, Gabriella. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, you fight hard for what you want. You don’t accept the first roadblock. There are always hurdles—the universe is fucked that way. But never underestimate the power of your own self-worth.”

“Thank you,” I mouth, resting my face in his palm. “And about the bed thing? You don’t have to butter me up. I’m already as buttered as you can get.”

Oliver laughs, turning on the engine. “I’ve unleashed the dirty beast within you.”

“Oh…” I grin. “This could get worse, but you need to drive, and I need to sit here so nothing good can come from dirty talk.”

“You’re killing me. You know that, right?”

I nod, enjoying the thought of Oliver suffering just as much as me. “I believe you’re in a state of discomfort.”

“Sweetheart, discomfort is an understatement. Our foreplay session which has been going on for two weeks now, has turned my blue balls black.”

As the car begins to drive, I can’t help but want to ask the question, the curiosity killing me.

“So, you haven’t been with anyone else since the night we first met?”

Oliver shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Is this the longest you’ve gone without…” I trail off, unable to say the word etched into my curiosity.

He nods his head, still not saying anything.

“Have I tamed the manwhore inside you?”

“You’ve done something… that’s for sure.”

I sit back in my chair with a satisfied smile on my face. A stream of songs comes on, but I’m lost in oblivion, my mind wandering to the possibility of us. How different life would be. We would live in Manhattan Beach, enjoy endless days of being with each other. But then, like a cold splash of water, the reality would be vastly different. Oliver wants his soccer career back, which means that if it is a possibility, he will be on the first plane back to Australia.

A million miles from here.

And I have my own battles.

No money, no job, and no roof over my head.

My father controls every aspect of my life.

And leaving his control would leave me with nothing.

I instruct Oliver to keep driving. No matter where we stop or visit, I won’t be able to avoid the reality of coming home.

We turn around the bend and drive down the treelined street. Each tree that passes causes my stomach to flip, the ill-feeling catching in my throat as my skin begins to crawl with heat. Every feeling that consumes me when I lived here comes back like a giant wrecking ball. The freedom of my own choices vanishes at the sight of the large dark-brick home appearing on my left.

Oliver slows down, stopping in front of the tall iron gates with the initials E.C. The home had belonged to my great-great-grandfather, Elias Carmichael, and he passed it on through the generations. My father, despite his controlling behavior, couldn’t control the one thing he desperately wanted—a son to call his own who would carry the name.

“It’s a beautiful property,” Oliver says.

“It looks like a jail.”

I remember staring out my bedroom window as a young child, oblivious to the world I would grow up in. I’d spend countless hours gazing at the luscious green lawns, perfectly manicured thanks to our team of gardeners and my mother’s obsession with maintaining this property. I thought it was all beautiful.

I would look at the sky, see the purity of the untouched clouds, and dream about things that made me happy. But then, I grew older and wiser. I began to see my father for who he was—a dictator, a man possessed by image and wealth, and my mother followed his trail and mimicked his footsteps.

“So when do I get to meet the family?”

I turn to face him, torn between the need to go inside and tell my father I’m done with his hold over me or just running away and forgetting this life exists.

“I can’t… I can’t…” I blurt, panicked.

Oliver rests his hand on mine. “I was just kidding. I’d probably need to get you in bed first and see if you’re worth the hassle.”

A smile escapes, and a bit of tension releases. “I don’t think I can go in there.”

“Then don’t. No one’s holding a gun to your head.”

“Then where do I go?”

Oliver starts the engine, throwing the car into reverse. “We can pull a Thelma and Louise right now. The world is our oyster, baby.”

My stomach erupts into laughter, the very thought of Oliver dressed as Louise has me in stitches.

“Do I want to know how you’ve even seen that movie?” I laugh.

“A mother obsessed with Susan Sarandon, a father infatuated with Geena Davis, and two sisters. That’s how.”

“I might be a drama queen at times, but by all measures, we can take it down a notch. How about we go somewhere? There’s something I would love to show you.”

He smiles, running his thumb against my bottom lip. “Lead the way, Gabs.”