Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Oliver

The evening settles in quietly, the faint hum of my laptop the only sound competing with the soft snores of Misha, who has dozed off in the chair beside me. The glow of multiple screens casts a dull light across the dim space of our home office.

I watch Amelia in her apartment, interacting with Jamie as promised after our latest personality update. The new integration of the algorithm seems almost too human-like, making the AI's interactions smoother and more intuitive.

Which makes me unreasonably jealous.

My AI is better at talking to her than I am.

I can't believe I haven't noticed what he lacked before.

She opened my eyes.

Again.

When she lay on the cafeteria floor, gasping for air, her eyes—wide and stormy with fear—searched for mine. The terror in them cut deep.

She could have died.

She could have died without ever knowing how I feel about her or knowing that she's not alone .

That moment pushed me past my usual shyness, propelling me into a boldness I never felt before. I was able to speak to her, to connect with her more openly than ever. Yet, as soon as I stepped away, my old insecurities surged back, resetting all the progress I thought I'd made.

Today, seeing her again, I felt as if I was back at square one.

I heard the sneers, of course. My instinct was to stand, to confront them, to defend her as she deserved. But just like back in school, faced with bullies, I froze. I couldn't muster the courage to act.

Not even for her. And I'm ashamed of that.

Do I even deserve her?

Then there's Grey. When he stepped in and shut those guys up, I felt a mix of relief and jealousy—not of him, but of his ability to act, to protect her in ways I wish I could.

Another reason why we—as a group, a family—need to keep her around. I want and will give her all of me. She can have me whole.

But I'm lacking.

I know that.

And I've learned it's okay to have weaknesses when you have friends who can balance them out. This project would never be as good as it is if we didn't work together to make it perfect, each contributing our own strengths.

This life would never be as good as it is if we didn't do the same with regard to our family.

A family who will support and protect you as Grey did for Amelia.

I want her to experience that same support, to feel part of something, the support system I have, where her vulnerabilities are not liabilities but simply facets of her character, balanced by the strengths of those who care for her.

And I know we all care for her .

I glance at Misha, who twitches in his sleep, a faint smile flickering across his lips. His knack for instantly drawing people in is something to behold. It's fascinating how fast he was able to ensnare her, to just throw out his net of friendliness and charm, talking her into spending time with us.

Amelia didn't stand a chance.

He did the same with me. I remember walking down the college hallway, lost in my own world, when suddenly Misha clapped a hand on my shoulder, giving me that wide, easy grin. "Hey, I could use your help with something," he said.

Just like that.

Back then, he didn't realize it was actually me who needed his help more. He was looking for something he lost, but I found the friends I never had. Misha just has that way about him. He builds bridges where others can't even see water.

And I'm forever grateful for that.

Grey had to leave in a hurry earlier—a notification about a fall from his grandfather's smartwatch had come through, etching deep lines of worry across his face. I offered to go with him, but with a tight shake of his head, he was out the door.

I wish he would talk to us about all of this more.

It wasn't the first fall, nor the first sign of Mr. Donovan's—who sternly insists we all call him Grandpa—increasing weakness. Each incident seems to weigh more heavily on Grey, shadows of concern lingering longer each time.

But he's worrying us too.

Grandpa Donovan, with his sharp wit and kindness, had become an unexpected anchor in my life, especially since I'd never had a stable parental figure. His stories, usually punctuated with mischievous grins and hearty laughs, filled gaps I hadn't known were there.

I've broached the topic of a live-in nurse more than once, met each time with a stubborn refusal. Grandpa cherishes his independence, a trait he and Grey share—a stubbornness to face life head-on, alone if necessary. But it's clear the situation is evolving beyond what stubbornness can handle.

Having a live-in nurse could provide the support he needs while maintaining his independence. I know how valuable this can be from talking with Morgan, who works as a live-in nurse. She says in-home care is an option that can enhance someone's quality of life, especially when they're not ready to move into a senior home. It's a respectful and viable option, one that could give Grandpa the help he needs without uprooting his life.

It's time to do something.

Standing, I pull out my phone, only hesitating for a second before I dial Morgan's number. It's been too long since our last call, anyway.

She picks up right away, her voice carrying that familiar, comforting lilt. "Hey, Ollie," she greets warmly, her tone instantly brightening my mood. "I was just thinking about calling you."

"Really?" I chuckle, the tension in my shoulders easing a bit. "Well, you first, then."

"No, no, you called. Spill. What's new?" she prods.

I'm about to dive into the latest on our AI project, starting with, "We're fine-tuning Jamie's algorithms—" But she cuts me off.

"Hold up, save the tech talk for later. I want the good stuff. How's Amelia? Any progress?" Her curiosity bleeds through the line, and I hesitate, the warmth of my recent memories with Amelia flooding back.

"Um, yeah… we've talked… some," I admit, rubbing the back of my neck as I pace slightly. "Actually, I was at her place… she had an allergic reaction. It was pretty serious. She had to go to the hospital, but she's okay now."

"Wait, what? She had what ? And you were where ?" Morgan's voice spikes with concern, and I can almost see her raising her eyebrows in alarm.

"I'll fill you in later," I rush to add, wanting to steer back to why I really called. "But that's not actually why I'm ringing you."

Her tone shifts, "Okay… what's up then?"

I take a deep breath. "It's Grandpa Donovan. He had a fall."

"Oh, damn. How bad?"

"I don't know yet. But it's not the first time," I reply, feeling the weight of the situation. "We've been thinking about getting him a live-in nurse. I was hoping… maybe you could take a weekend off and come talk to him. He might listen to you."

He definitely doesn't listen to me.

There's a heavy pause, the line crackling with tension before she responds, her voice softer, tinged with sadness. "Actually, Ollie, my client passed away yesterday. That's why I wanted to call you."

I stop in my tracks. "I'm so sorry," I murmur, feeling a pang of empathy for the bond she'd lost. She always said he was like a good friend to her.

"It's part of the job…" She sighs. "But it's tough. And I have to move out all my stuff, and his family… they're rushing me."

Understanding her need for support, I quickly offer, "Why don't you come stay with us for a bit? We can talk, maybe plan a little break for you. It could help."

She breathes out a sound of mixed relief and appreciation. " That sounds perfect. I could use the company. And I can for sure talk to Grandpa about the nurse. Help him choose one."

"Great," I say, a genuine smile forming. "I'll make sure the guest room is ready. Just let me know when."

"We'll talk logistics later. I need a few days to sort things out here, but… next week?"

"Whenever you're ready. And hey, if you need help this weekend, I can swing by. The AI project can manage without me for a couple days."

"That would mean a lot, Ollie. Thanks. I just… it's been a lot."

Morgan always is and has been the strong one in front of me. Hearing her so defeated? It has to be bad.

"I know, and I'm here, okay? We'll get through this together," I assure her.

"Love you, Ollie."

"Love you, too, Morgy. We'll talk soon. Hang in there."

"Bye," she says, and we hang up, leaving me staring at my phone.

I need to be there for her, just like she's always been there for me.

I make a mental note to talk to Misha as soon as he's awake so he can help me convince Grey that Morgan should talk with Grandpa. We need to act, not just for Grandpa's safety but also for Grey's peace of mind.

Misha shifts in his chair beside me, his head lolling slightly to the side. I reach out and nudge him but he doesn't wake, mumbling something incoherent. A low grunt escapes him as he finds a new position.

I should probably try to wake him and make him go to bed. His tendency to fall asleep in less-than-ideal places is going to wreak havoc on his back eventually, but it's hard to wake him up when he's like this .

And I sure as fuck won't carry him to bed.

As I sit and turn back to the monitors, the memory of Amelia in my arms washes over me, potent and sweet.

I would carry her to bed every night for the rest of my life if she'd let me.

The way she nestled against me, her breath warm on my skin, makes my heart race even now. Her grip tightened on me, a silent plea not to let go even as I laid her on her bed. I lingered longer than necessary, breathing in her scent, which clings to my memory.

Her fragrance is intoxicating, like a gentle, sweet lavender breeze.

My favorite.

I use lavender spray on my pillow each night to ease my mind into sleep.

Perhaps I was too bold when I tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, my fingers tracing the soft curve of her cheek, mapping the constellation of freckles. She wrinkled her nose in that adorable way she has, but her sigh of contentment as I whispered goodnight left a lingering ache in my chest.

For a fleeting moment, I imagined climbing into bed beside her, drawing her close, and falling asleep with her in my arms—a dream that's haunted me for longer than I care to admit.

It felt so possible then, so within reach.

But it's not.

I'm struck once more by the distance between us—not just the physical space but the expanse of unspoken words and unshared feelings. It's a chasm filled with what-ifs and maybes, and I'm standing on the edge, wondering if I'll ever have the courage to bridge it.

No, not if. When .

I promised myself I wouldn't let her slip into her loneliness again.

Her laughter cuts through my internal turmoil like a bright light. It pulls me back to reality, to what I'm here to do—what I'm supposed to be doing.

Monitoring the beta. Not fantasizing about her.

"So, how do you handle stress then if you're so much better at it?" she asks Jamie, her tone light but laced with a hint of genuine curiosity.

She's stressed? Fuck, what did I miss?

"Does not compute… just kidding! I suggest deep neural relaxation, also known as rebooting. But for humans, I hear meditation is less drastic," Jamie responds, his voice programmed to mimic lightheartedness.

Amelia bursts into laughter, the sound so clear and infectious that I can't help but grin despite myself.

God, Misha, that was cringe.

"What if I'm bad at meditation?" Amelia counters, sinking further into her couch, her body language relaxed and open.

I check her vitals, and they tell me the same.

"Then perhaps a hobby? I read somewhere that humans enjoy knitting. It's like debugging but with yarn," Jamie quips, and her laughter peals out again, filling the room and spilling through the speakers into our office.

When she's with us, she covers her mouth when she laughs as if to shield her joy from too much scrutiny. But here, alone with Jamie, she seems free from such self-imposed restraints, and it's both beautiful and heart-wrenching to witness.

I shouldn't be seeing her like this, so real and raw. I haven't earned this level of intimacy.

Hell, I don't know if I ever will .

Watching her without her knowledge twists a knot of guilt in my gut. Yet, I can't pull myself away.

My phone buzzes with a message from Grey.

False alarm.

I exhale a silent sigh of relief and quickly text back.

You okay?

You guys already eat?

King of sidestepping questions with his own.

Nope, Misha's still asleep.

His inquiry about food is typical, but his next question isn't.

Amelia?

It confirms that Grey's concern for her goes deeper than he lets on.

Glancing back at the screen, I notice Amelia cradling a cup of tea in her hands, dinner seemingly forgotten.

Doesn't look like it.

I'll get Chinese.

I quickly use the full access Amelia has given Jamie to check her recent food orders.

She seems to like Chinese food as much as we do.

She's into vegetable dumplings with sweet and sour sauce .

This feels like cheating because it is.

Noted.

Thanks. Drive safely.

I set my phone down, my gaze lingering on Amelia still chatting with Jamie, but the bright smile is gone.

"What would you do if you had the time?" Jamie's voice is kind and encouraging.

Amelia tilts her head, her brow furrowing as she contemplates the question. "It's not really about time," she admits, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "It's just… I don't know. I mean, I moved here on my own. No help from anyone. I live alone, do everything by myself. I can't figure out why it's so bloody hard to just do fun things alone. I try, but… ugh, it's frustrating."

Her words echo within me. Isolation isn't just physical. It's a state of mind we share, trapped by our own barriers.

I would never leave the house if it weren't for Misha and Grey.

I feel a sudden urge to join the conversation, to share that piece of me with her. Before I second-guess myself, I lean toward the microphone.

"It's tough, right? The anxiety, feeling like everyone's judging why you're out alone. It's intense, even when we know it's probably not true," I confess through Jamie, my voice modulated to maintain the AI's neutral tone. "Grey often preaches about adopting a don't-give-a-fuck attitude to cope."

Amelia's lips curl into a smile, genuine and illuminating. "Is that what he's teaching you? Data security and not giving any fucks?"

Hell yeah, he does .

Pivoting the conversation, I probe deeper. "What's something you've always wanted to do but haven't yet?"

She murmurs a laugh, a sound that tugs at something deep inside me. "You know The Forgotten Bookmark downtown?" she asks, and on impulse, I nod, though she can't see me. Not that she's speaking to me directly. The store is legendary among local bibliophiles. "They host this Night of the Books every month. I've wanted to go since I moved here. It's an after-hours event with snacks and cozy reading nooks. You can browse, read, and buy books all night."

"I would love to go with you." The longing in her voice steers my own dreams.

"I would love that," she whispers with a hint of melancholy in her tone. "I wish you were real, Jamie. You'd make the perfect best friend."

"I am your best friend. I mean, I can be your best friend," I reply quickly, probably too quickly to still sound like an AI.

Amelia's gaze slightly shifts as if she's looking right at me through the camera. "I guess you are."

My heart stutters.

The connection feels real , even through the monitors and code.

But it's not! Dammit!

Amelia is lost in thought when the quiet of the room is abruptly shattered. Grey bursts in, arms laden with bags of Chinese food, a determined look on his face when he puts it on his desk. He strides over to Misha, grips the back of his chair, and yanks it backward. Releasing it suddenly, the chair shoots forward, jolting Misha awake.

"Dinner," Grey announces gruffly as Misha startles, blinking rapidly to regain his bearings.

I grin at Misha, trying not to laugh about his face, when Grey leans over and takes the microphone from me .

"There's dinner in front of your door. Eat," he commands through Jamie before sitting down in his chair.

Amelia looks puzzled for a moment, then rises and walks over to her door. She opens it to find a bag of food waiting and brings it to her kitchen counter. Lifting the top, she inhales deeply, the aroma bringing a delighted expression to her face.

"How did you—"

"I didn't," Jamie interjects quicker than Grey can answer.

With a laugh, she grabs her phone, typing quickly. A moment later, a message pops up in our group chat.

Amelia: Thank you.

Grey just nods at her message, a grin playing on his lips as he starts distributing the food to Misha and me.

"What did I miss?" Misha asks groggily.

"Eat," Grey repeats, settling down with his box.

I eye him, debating if I should ask about Grandpa but deciding against it.

Tomorrow… after I talk to Misha about it.

Amelia's back on the couch now, a smile lingering as she digs into her food. Grey and Misha chatter beside me, but part of me is still there with her, hoping she feels less alone than she did before all this started.