CHAPTER TWELVE Olive

CHAPTER TWELVE

Olive

I knew it. I freaking knew it!

"Stupid, obnoxious, conniving ... asshat!" I yell, not caring how I look as I march down the bustling sidewalk, weaving through the crowds.

I push my legs harder and faster, putting as much distance between me and that damn bakery as possible.

Jasper is Jude.

Jude is Asshat.

I was duped.

Not once, but twice.

I bet he knew the entire time. He had to have, right? There's no way he could have stood in front of me so many times and not known it was me.

I mean, sure, I didn't know it was him, but still.

He knew. I'm positive he did.

God, I can't believe I was right. Can't believe I allowed myself to get swept up in this idea that I could possibly have a romance with Jasper Rafferty. I'm a fool. A total laughingstock.

After I asked Annie to have Remi cyberstalk "Jasper," even more evidence that he wasn't who he claimed to be popped up, namely the fact that all the messages were coming from the same place, and it was right here in New York.

It took Remi only a few hours to dig up dirt and find a steady signal. When he texted and said that the signal was stagnant at a bakery in Hell's Kitchen, I knew I had to go.

Annie tried to talk me out of it, and I promised I wouldn't go, but the second she walked out the door for her shift, I bolted. I couldn't just sit around knowing he was so close by. I had to confront my catfisher.

But the last thing I expected was to burst into that shop and come face-to-face with the younger Rafferty brother. I was even more surprised to find out the guy hiding behind the sunglasses and ratty hat was him too.

I knew something about him was familiar from the start, but I ignored it. Chalked it all up to him being gorgeous, then let myself become distracted by his quick wit and ability to completely disarm me with a smirk.

I should have listened more to my gut instincts. Now look where I am, storming down the sidewalk, ready to rage.

"Sunshine!"

My steps falter. Did I just hear my name?

"Sunshine! Wait!"

I sneak a peek behind me, then regain speed.

Jude is following me, arm raised in the air, jogging after me like a madman.

"Sunshine!" he calls, and it fuels me even more.

I push harder, faster. I don't want to be near him right now. I don't want to hear his excuses. I don't want to hear his explanation. None of it.

I want nothing to do with Jude Rafferty.

"Please," he begs, gaining ground with those stupid long legs of his. "Wait!"

I don't want to wait. I don't—

"Watch out!"

But the warning comes a fraction of a second too late.

The piano suspended above me comes crashing down, crushing my skull and killing me.

The End.

Or at least, that's what I wish would have happened.

Instead, I'm lying on the disgusting sidewalk, sprawled out with a throbbing head and knee.

"Miss, are you all right?"

I gawk up at the man in a red jumpsuit and matching red hat. His dark mustache is thick, his brows even thicker. His face is pulled into a concerned expression as his eyes rake over me.

"You look like Super Mario," I tell him.

"What was that?" he asks, bending closer.

Panic races through me. Super Mario is inching closer to me and it's weird because, well, Mario isn't real.

What the hell is happening?

"Sunshine! Move! Move!"

Then, suddenly, Mario is gone, and in his place is a prince. Or at least, he looks like one, with the most beautiful green eyes I've ever seen, blond hair you could run your fingers through, and a sharp jawline to match his perfectly straight nose.

Oh, he's definitely a prince. Maybe even the prince.

Prince Charming, here to rescue me.

Ha. Yeah, right.

"Are you okay?" Prince Charming asks, sliding his hands over my face. His touch is gentle but still painful, especially when he brushes his fingers over my forehead.

"Ouch. That hurts."

He grimaces. "That's going to leave a nasty bruise."

"You're a nasty bruise."

He laughs, and something about it seems so familiar. I hate it. I hate that laugh.

I hate him.

His hands are still tracing over my face. Gentle. Loving. I smack at them. "Get away."

"Don't be like that, Sunshine. Let me help you."

Sunshine.

It all hits me at once.

He's not Prince Charming.

He's Asshat.

"Stop touching me," I growl, attempting to sit up.

"Hey, whoa. Easy now." He reaches out for me again, but when I cut a glare at him, he backs off, hands in the air. "Easy."

I can't tell whether he's saying it because he wants me to go slower or he wants me to be nicer.

Neither option is happening.

I don't want to be nice, and I certainly don't want to be around him. Not right now, and not ever.

I try to sit up again, and a wave of nausea rolls over me. I lie back down, grabbing my stomach and feeling like I'm about to lose its contents any second, but nothing happens. Not even a heave. It just ... hurts. Like my head and my knees.

Why do my knees hurt?

"Because you ran right into some guys moving a piano," he tells me.

Did I say that out loud?

"I knew I saw a piano."

"You doubled over and smacked your head against it," he continues, "then fell to the ground. You're concussed."

"I'm not. I'm fine."

He laughs lightly. "You're not. You're hurt. We need to get you to a hospital. The paramedics will be here any moment."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I say through gritted teeth as I try once again to get up.

"Hey, hey. No. Don't move."

"But I want to," I argue.

"Too bad, Sunshine."

I glower up at him, faintly hearing sirens approaching from somewhere. Where are we, even?

"Stop calling me Sunshine," I demand. "You don't get to do that. Not anymore."

His lips tighten at my words, like they've actually pained him, but he nods. "Fair enough," he mutters. "I just need you to stay here. The paramedics are pulling up now. You need to get checked out."

"I'm not letting you check me out!"

He grins, and it's a good grin. The kind that makes you swoon just a little. "I'm not checking you out. Not unless you ask." He winks, and I want to hate it. "I was thinking a doctor could do the honors this time."

"I told you, I'm not—"

Suddenly, he's there, right in my face, as he hovers over me, so damn close that the green in his eyes is all I can see. It's an endless sea of emerald and jade swirls. So beautiful. So intoxicating.

It has to be the reason I stop trying to fight him and listen.

"There are about ten cameras trained on us right now, and we're drawing a crowd. I know who you are, and you know who I am. Please, if you ever enjoyed any of our late-night chats, then please do me a favor and let the medics do their job without a fight. For both our sakes." His eyes bounce between mine. "Please, Olive."

It's the first time he's said my name, and he does it with such familiarity and warmth. Like he's said it to me a thousand times before. Like we're old friends. Like we're more.

We'll never be friends and we'll never be more, but I know that what he's telling me is true—I need a doctor, and he needs to get me out of here without causing even more of a scene.

"Okay," I tell him quietly. "Okay."

"Yeah? Good. Now, I'm going to let these nice people step in; then we'll go to the hospital. Sound good?"

I glare at him, but he either doesn't care or chooses to ignore it, stepping away instead and whispering to a man in uniform as another one bends down next to me.

The next few minutes are a blur of hands coasting over me and people asking me basic questions.

What's your name, miss? Olive O'Brien.

What's your birthday, miss? October 13.

Do you know where you are, miss? The sidewalk.

What happened, miss? I ran into a piano that Super Mario was carrying; then Prince Charming tried to rescue me, and I realized he wasn't Prince Charming, just an asshat with a pretty smile.

They laugh at that one, then carefully load me into the ambulance.

"Are you riding or staying?" one man asks Jude, who is taking in the scene with worried eyes.

He looks to me, waiting for me to fight him on it.

I don't. I don't have it in me. I'm suddenly too tired to fight him. My eyelids are heavy, and I really just want to close them and take a good, long nap.

"Sir?" the medic presses.

Jude drags his eyes from me, then to the medic. "Riding."

"What the hell happened?" Annie barrels into the room, the inky-black hair that I know she pulled into a neat bun before leaving for her shift now a wreck. All thanks to the full waiting room we passed by, I'm sure. It's why she's here working a double shift today. "What did you do?"

Her brown eyes are trained on Jude, who sits in the corner of the private room, and she looks murderous, like she's ready to hop over my bed and attack him herself.

Truthfully, I wouldn't put it past her. She's mean when she wants to be.

Jude, who hasn't said a word since we were ushered in here—after suspiciously waiting only five minutes—holds up his hands. "It wasn't me."

"Technically, it was." It's the first thing we've said to each other since I was lying on the sidewalk. "I mean, I was running away from you, so ..."

He pulls his lips tight, shifting around in his chair, but doesn't say anything.

"What happened?" Annie asks me again.

"Would you believe if I said it was a piano?"

"A what?"

I laugh at the shocked expression on her face. Being an ER nurse, she hears it all, so this is a small victory.

"I ran into a piano."

She tips her head, studying me with sharp eyes. Then she cuts a look Jude's way. "She's concussed, isn't she?"

Jude chuckles. "Oh, definitely. But also, she's not lying. It was a piano."

"How?"

So we tell Annie the story. Or at least, Jude does. He leaves out the parts about Super Mario and me mistaking him for Prince Charming, but once Annie is all caught up, she nods, swiveling her head back to me.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm tired," I tell her honestly. "And sore. My head hurts, but so does my knee."

It's all bruised and ugly, and I have a horrible gash from where I fell onto the sidewalk. Coupled with the bump front and center on my forehead, there's no way I'm going to be able to attend the shoot I have booked for tomorrow. I won't be able to post anything on Instagram either.

The panic of what the hell I'm going to do to pay bills begins to set in, evident by the way the heart monitor I'm hooked up to starts to spike.

Jude's out of his chair in a flash, rushing to my bedside, but Annie recognized what's happening before he did and beats him there.

"Easy, Liv," she says soothingly. "Take it easy. We'll figure it out."

That's Annie speak for I got you.

I hate that I understand this, because it means she's had to spot me on the rent more than once. Sure, it's been a long time—several years—but it doesn't mean that the fear of failure isn't always lurking in the back of my mind. All it takes is one lean month or one failed ad or a bad set experience and I'm done for.

There's no doubt in my mind I could ask my mom for help and she'd send money in a heartbeat, but I'm too stubborn to do it. I can't bear admitting to her that I've failed, even if it's not my fault this time.

My eyes drift to Jude, who is lingering nearby, his forest-green eyes trained on my every move. His lips are pinched together, and if his brows inch any closer, he'll have a unibrow.

I bet he'd totally still look hot with it.

Wrapped up in my anger at the bakery, I didn't really get a chance to look at the younger Rafferty brother, the one I've apparently been messaging with.

He's just as attractive as Jasper, if not more.

Where Jasper gives off all-American quarterback vibes, Jude is different. He's just as handsome as his brother in that regard, but there's something else lurking beneath his eyes that gives him an edge his brother doesn't have. He just seems so much ... more. More intense. More soulful. More ... real.

Funny, given the circumstances under which we met.

"That's it," Annie says, still attempting to soothe me, her eyes on the screen displaying my vitals. "Just relax."

I tear my gaze away from Jude and look at my best friend.

"I'm good now, Mom."

Annie gives me a sharp look, dropping her hands away from me. "Good to see that concussion hasn't messed with your sense of humor." She holds up the tablet she came in with, tapping on the screen for several seconds before looking back up at me. "I'll be back in a bit to check on you. Just rest, okay?"

"You got it," I promise her.

She gives me a sad smile, then squeezes my hand before turning to Jude. "Hallway. Now."

His brows lift with surprise, likely at the way she's talking to him, because, I mean, he is Jude Rafferty—but he follows her anyway.

They slip out of the room, and I strain to hear what's going on.

"... real prick, you know that?"

It's all I can make out before the door closes, and I grin.

Oh, Annie is so giving him an earful right now.

Good. He deserves it.

It's several moments before Jude comes padding back into the room, his shoulders slumped and head hanging low, confirming he just got a good tongue-lashing.

He takes his place in the chair once more, folding his hands over his stomach, his gaze swinging back to me.

I look away the second our eyes connect. He laughs.

I grab my pillow out from under my head, then chuck it at him.

He laughs harder, tucking the pillow under his own arms as I lie back, already missing the extra cushion.

Dick.

It's quiet in the room for several minutes. Too quiet. So damn quiet you can even hear the tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall over the machines beeping.

Jude clears his throat like he's about to say something, and I cut him a glare.

He holds up his hands, kicking his feet out and relaxing back into his chair.

Tick, tick, tick.

Jude uncrosses his ankles, then crosses them again.

Tick, tick, tick.

He sighs.

Tick, tick, tick.

His mouth pops open again, then slams shut just as quickly.

Tick, tick—

"This is ridiculous," he mutters.

I can't help the bubble of laughter that bursts out of me. "I'm sorry, but you think this is ridiculous?" I scoff. "You're kidding, right?"

"I'm not kidding. If you'd have just talked to me instead of running away, then we wouldn't be in this situation, now would we?"

I sit up in the uncomfortable bed. "Let me get this straight, Jude." I say his name like a curse. "You think we're in this situation because of me?"

"I just wanted to talk."

I snort out a laugh. "That's funny. You've had plenty of opportunity to talk. To tell me the truth. But you never took it. Not once. You just let me keep believing you were ... you were ..."

"My brother?" He sighs, raking his hands through his already disheveled hair. "I know, all right? I know I fucked up. I know I had the chance to make this right from the get-go but never did. I just ..."

"What? You couldn't just message and say, ‘Hey, funny story. I'm actually Jude, not Jasper. Lol.' You couldn't do that?"

"Would you have believed me?"

"Not a chance."

He chuckles. "Then you see my predicament."

"You could have fixed it at any moment in line at JT's." I gasp. "Did you ... Did you stalk me there on purpose? Was that some sick game for you?"

"I thought we established you were the stalker, not me."

"Don't try cute banter with me, Jude. Not right now."

"So now I'm just Jude?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I meant to use your government name: Asshat."

His lips twitch, but the humor fades from his face as quickly as it appeared. "I didn't know it was you. At the coffee truck, I mean. I had no clue. I mean, we met before we even started messaging. How could I know?"

"How could you not? After you saw my profile, how did you not recognize me?"

"Did you recognize me? In line?"

"No. You were wearing that stupid hat and sun ..." Oh god. We were both so covered up by our hats and our sunglasses that there was no way we could have recognized each other. "... glasses," I finish.

He throws his arms wide in a see what I mean kind of gesture. "There you go. You didn't recognize me, and I didn't recognize you. How could I have told you anything at the truck?"

I cross my arms over my chest. "Still. You could have said something over chat."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Yeah. Maybe."

Lightning quick, he rises from his chair and begins pacing the length of the room. Back and forth and back again.

I count his steps.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

He pivots and walks the other way.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

He does it two more times before finally coming to a natural stop. He turns, eyes on me and nothing else.

"I liked talking to you, Sunshine."

I narrow my eyes at the nickname. "Don't."

He ignores my protest, crossing the room, not stopping until he's at my bedside. He places his hands on the bed, bending until we're at eye level, so damn close that his familiar pine scent fills the small space between us.

I feel like I should be scared. That I should be worried he's so close. In fact, I wait for the machine to start beeping wildly again. It never happens. I just feel ... calm.

"I didn't know," he says softly. Hoarsely.

I swallow thickly. "Which part didn't you know?"

"All of it. I didn't know it was you at the coffee truck, and I didn't know that I was going to like talking to you so much. By the time I figured it out, it felt like it was too late. I was in too deep. But I couldn't give it up, you know? I ... You ..." He exhales heavily, closing his eyes momentarily before turning them on me again. "You made me feel normal, and I haven't felt normal in a really, really long time. So, no matter what happens from here, thank you for that, Olive."

I expect him to move away from the bed. To step back. To put distance between us. Maybe even walk out the door.

But he doesn't.

He doesn't, and I'm glad.

How could I be glad? After everything?

I stare into his eyes, those same green pools that hold so much emotion. That are begging me to give him any indication that I heard him. That I might feel the same.

But truthfully, I don't know what to say to him.

"Olive ..." he says after a few moments. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No."

The word slips out so effortlessly that, at first, I don't even believe I've said it.

Then palpable relief washes over him, and I know I did.

Worse? I know I meant it.

"Good," he says, then returns to his spot in the chair.

And that's the way we sit for the next several hours—him in his chair and me in this damned hospital bed, trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do about the fact that no matter how angry I am with Jude, I don't want to lose him either.