31
WHEN PUSH COMES TO
SHOVE
Olivia
“SO YOU’RE THE GIRLFRIEND, HUH?”
Courtney’s blue eyes watch me in the mirror. This is only the second thing she’s said to me ever, but I don’t think I like her very much.
I turn my eyes back to the sink. “I’m the girlfriend.”
“It’s so nice to meet you, Ophelia.”
My reection smiles at hers as I scrub my hands. “You too, Chloe.”
Her eyes narrow. “Courtney.”
“Pardon?”
“My name is Courtney.”
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.” Pulling a paper towel from the dispenser, I dry my hands. “I must have forgotten. It’s been such a long, busy week at work.
What is it that you do?”
Her gaze coasts down my body, then back up. Leaning over the counter, she reapplies her crimson lipstick. “My boyfriend’s rich. I don’t need a job.”
Don’t think it, don’t think it, don’t think it.
… Poor Adam. Damn it. I thought it.
“I wouldn’t quit your job just yet,” Courtney gives me her unsolicited advice.
“You wouldn’t want to make any rash decisions that you might regret later.”
“I don’t plan on quitting my job.”
She blows out a theatrical sigh of relief. “Oh thank God. It’s for the best, really, knowing Carter and all.” She squeezes my shoulder in a patronizing sort of way. “You know, because you’re not his usual type.”
My jaw exes, and she calls out to me one last time, right before I can escape.
“So convenient how close his condo is to the arena and bar, right? Great way to get all those girls he fucks back there quickly.”
Something angry and uncomfortable claws at my chest, and I work to keep my voice steady. “I’ve never been there, so I wouldn’t know. We spend our time together at his house.”
Courtney turns back to the mirror as if she hasn’t heard me. “Bye, Olive.”
“What a bitch,” I mutter, pausing outside the bathroom to take a deep breath and shake away the fear she’s trying to feed me, the insecurities she’s trying to plant back in my head where I don’t want them. She wants me to think I’m nothing special to Carter, that I’m the same as everyone who’s come before me.
She wants me to be as miserable as she clearly is, and I don’t know why. I can’t imagine a life with someone as kind as Adam Lockwood being anything less than perfect, and life with Carter is shaping up to feel the same.
Though I’d prefer if I didn’t nd him at the end of the hallway with a tall brunette, her hands on him.
I take a cautious step toward them, catching the tail end of their conversation, which happens to be something about being fucked up against a window.
My gaze moves between them as I quietly call his name. “Carter?”
A wave of relief runs through Carter as he exhales, and he reaches out to pull me into him, clutching me tightly. “Hi, baby,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my cheek.
“What’s going on?” It’s not me who asks; it’s the willowy bru-nette. “I thought we were going back to your place?” She looks me over. “Is she coming?”
“What? No?” Carter’s head wags rapidly. “Ollie, I didn’t say that, I swear. I went to get a drink of water and when I came back she was here and—” His brows pull together as he turns to look at her. “Who told you I was ready for seconds?”
Ready for seconds? A deep pit of jealousy opens in my stomach, the ache so raw, so ugly, I lay my hand over my belly, right where it hurts. He’s been with her before, this stunning woman with legs that go straight to heaven.
I hate this feeling. The envy is bitter, and I close my eyes as I try to wipe away the image of them together, the comparisons I’m already cataloging in my head as I study her. I tell myself not to do this, not to deep dive into this hole. I can’t live in a place where I’m constantly wondering if somebody else was better, if he kissed their lips while he brought them to the brink.
“She did,” the woman murmurs, forehead creased as Courtney emerges from the bathroom with nothing but a glance in our direction before she strides away.
The brunette presses her ngers to her forehead. “Oh my God. I’m so dense.
Courtney told me you were asking about me but couldn’t remember my name.
She said you were back here and I…” She closes her eyes and shakes her head.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers before she moves by us.
“Ollie.” Carter guides my gaze to his. “I promise I didn’t do anything.
Courtney came back here and she was touching me and—”
“She was touching you? Without your permission?”
He nods. “I told her to leave me alone.”
“I’m sorry, Carter. That’s not okay.” I squeeze his hands. “Are you all right?”
“I’m ne. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“I just want to go home.”
“Then let’s go home.”
Carter helps me into my coat and takes my hand, towing me through the bar.
It takes me all of two seconds to spot the rude redhead that seems to be nding humor in our tired expressions.
“Leaving already?” Courtney purrs. “Shame.”
Carter tenses, his mouth opening, presumably to tell her to go fuck herself.
That’s what I want to say, at least.
So I put my hand on his chest and beat him to it.
“You’re a bitch,” I tell Courtney, though I suspect she knows as much.
“You’re rude and miserable and I don’t know what right you think you have to pull the shit you did.”
Her jaw clenches, eyes searching for Adam across the crowded bar.
“Adam deserves so much better than you; I hope one day he realizes that.
Touch my boyfriend without his consent again, and it’ll be an entirely dierent conversation.”
I’m not entirely sure what I mean by that, but the threat lingers in the air regardless. I’m not normally a physical person. I’ve only gotten into one ght in my life and it was on the ice. I was fteen years old and the victim of a plain old mean girl. After two and a half periods of dealing with her physical and verbal aggression, I nally let my temper get the best of me.
My point is this: girls can be mean, and if push comes to shove, I can be mean right back. I grew up with an older brother who never went easy on me. I was in a headlock 90 percent of my childhood.
We don’t stop to say our good-byes, and when we step outside I expect Carter to call for our ride. Instead he starts pulling me down the street, through the falling snow and the howling wind as it slaps at our cheeks. I’m struggling to keep up, my sneakers slipping on the icy sidewalks, and Carter nally slows, tucking me into his side.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, pausing to press his lips to my cold nose.
He’s anxious and worked up; it’s not hard to tell. The problem is that I am, too, and I’m afraid we’re about to feed o each other’s energy. I’m angry. Angry for him, for having to put up with unwanted advances, unconsented touches.
Angry at Courtney for not appreciating what she has, for inserting herself where she doesn’t belong. Angry at myself, because I can’t stop thinking about Carter’s upcoming road trip. I can’t go to the bathroom without women throwing themselves at him. It’s not a stretch to assume I’m going to be lying awake, wondering how many girls are propositioning him each night, putting their hands on him.
Carter swipes a key card through a slot on a sky-high building, and I take in the elegant lobby as he tows me across it.
“Is this your condo?”
“Mhmm.” He sweeps me into an empty elevator and punches in a ve-digit code before it springs to life.
The heat stacked in his gaze when he turns on me is new, and when he presses me against the wall and opens his mouth on mine, my heart races in a way I
don’t like.
His touch is rough as he works my coat o, his kisses hungry and needy, and when the elevator opens, he walks me backward until we’re stumbling into an apartment.
I don’t have a chance to look around, because he kneels before me and tugs my shoes o, hoists me up to him, and carries me down the hall. He sets me down on a cold bed in a dark room, the clink of his belt buckle, the soft thud of his pants hitting the oor, the heavy, jagged rise of my chest with each staggered inhale, all of it too loud in the silent room.
Fragments of silver moonlight slip through the window, casting shadows that only aid my unease. I make out the shape of a lamp on the bedside table, yanking the cord to bathe the room in a dim glow.
My heart races as I take in the room. Perfect, but empty. No pictures, no personal touches. Not lived-in and homey like his bedroom in his house. It’s sterile and white, pristinely kept, and I hate every cold inch of it.
There’s a starved look in Carter’s eyes as he grips my ankles and drags me toward him, like he can’t wait another second, like he’s been deprived for weeks
on end.
Has he?
I close my eyes and shake my head as if I can shake the notion right from it.
Carter rips my shirt overhead and jerks my jeans down my legs before wrapping them around his waist. Pressing himself against me, he groans. “Fuck, baby, I want you. So badly.”
“Stop!” The demand comes without warning. There’s a wild drum in my ears, and a pulsing in my temple that won’t ease. “I—I—I can’t. I can’t, Carter.”
I scoot out of his hold, jump o the bed, and back myself against the wall, my hand at my throat.
“Hey,” he whispers, brows pulled down. “What’s wrong, prin-cess?”
“Don’t. Don’t call me that.”
He approaches me like I’m a feral animal, caged and terried. “Talk to me, Ollie, please. What’s wrong?”
“I—I—I can’t, Carter. I can’t be with you.” My trembling gaze lands on the bed. “Not there. Not where you’ve…” Not where he’s been, night after night,
with girl after girl.
His gaze ickers, softening. A moment later, I’m wrapped up in him, my face buried in his chest as I beg with my brain to hold on to my tears. I don’t want him to see them, to see this part of me, weak, scared, and so fucking vulnerable.
His palm runs slowly over my back, tender and reassuring. “I’m sorry, Ollie.
I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” With my face in his hands, his patient gaze searches mine. He presses a lingering kiss to my forehead before xing my shirt back over my head. “I’ll get the car, okay? We’ll go home.”
I don’t know what makes me do it, why I want to torture myself, but while Carter calls his driver, I open the drawer of the bedside table. Mass amounts of condoms spill out, phone numbers scrawled on paper, punctuated with lipstick kisses.
I bring my trembling hand to my mouth, creeping to the living room. It’s as stark as the bedroom, and when I open the side table drawer, I’m graced with more condoms.
“He’ll be here in ten minutes.” Carter steps into the room, fully dressed, eyes on his phone. He comes to a full stop when he looks up, eyes moving between my face and the drawer of condoms I’m staring at. “Olivia… I haven’t been up
here since—”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“I…” His gaze holds mine as he searches for a reasonable excuse. “I didn’t think. I just wanted to be alone with you. I didn’t want to wait.”
“Do you miss the life you had before you met me?” The words are out of my mouth before I can swallow them down, but God, the weight of them is so heavy, and I’m tired of carrying the worry in the back of my mind. I think I’ve been trying to convince myself that my fears are no longer warranted, that Carter’s been great for a whole week and I have nothing to be insecure about.
But that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s been a week. I walked away from him for very real reasons, very valid fears, and just because I want them to leave doesn’t mean they simply get up and walk away.
And God, do I wish they would, because I can’t stand the way his face crumples at my words, but it’s always been simpler to disguise my pain and worries than to admit them.
Still, I always assumed that the right relationship would be all smooth sailing, a puzzle that falls together painlessly.
But Carter’s been the exception to every rule, every familiarity. He’s the axis that spins my entire world, and it’s dizzying and unnerving for one man to hold so much power over me.
I tell myself not to do this, not to spiral through this endless loop of doubt. I can’t live in a place where I’m constantly wondering where the media will rank me on his list of conquests.
And yet the article from only days ago plays over in my head, the speculations, the inclination that I can’t possibly give him what he really needs or wants. Pair that with the eeting time we’ve managed to spend together over this past week, and this position where I stand right now in the very place I never wanted to be, like all the women before me, all of it only heightens my insecurities, my fears. I’ve always been condent in who I am as a person, what I have to oer someone. Except now half of North America is watching, placing bets on how long it will last.
And so, for the thousandth time, I realize, in all honesty, I don’t know if I am
enough.
I don’t want to nd out the hard way.
I need him to help me through this, but I don’t know how to ask.
“Do you want your freedom back? Is that what you bringing me here was about?”
Carter’s eyes cloud over, a stormy night that steals the brilliant green in his forest. “Don’t. Don’t do that. Drop the act for, like, ve minutes, okay? I know you’re trying damn hard to pretend like you’re some tough chick whose feelings aren’t hurt by seeing me with someone else, by that fucking article from Monday, by seeing all this”—he gestures around the condo, at the condoms —“but I fucking see you. I know you, Olivia, so be real with me. If you’re scared, tell me you’re scared, but don’t spew your accusations like they’re the truth just because you’re too afraid to come right out and admit it.”
He twists away, scrubbing his hands over his face before running them through his hair, a sound of exasperation coming from his throat. Anger, sorrow, defeat… it’s all there when he turns back to me.
“You said you were all in. You said that, Ollie, but I gotta be honest, this thing you’re doing feels a whole lot like you’ve already got one foot out the door, ready to bail as soon as things go sideways. And I can’t… I can’t do this.”
I clutch at my chest, right where it feels like it’s cracking wide open. Then the tears come. They ll my eyes, pooling until I can’t see. I refuse to blink, because if this is it, if it’s over already, I don’t want to let him see them come tumbling down my cheeks. I don’t want to show him how hard I’ve fallen so quickly.
His hand closes over mine, leading me to the door. He slips my coat over my shoulders and helps me back into my shoes. When he walks me out into the hallway, the tears spill down my face, betraying me.
I won’t look at him. I can’t. Not in the elevator while he tenderly holds my hand. Not when he leads me through the lobby or out into the cold night, murmuring a quiet warning for me to keep my head down as I barely register the ash of camera lights. Not when he helps me into the limo and slides in next to me, all without a word. I stare out the window at the passing landscapes as I cry silently for the relationship that’s over so soon, the only man I’ve ever felt so deeply for, my insecurities that led me down a deep, dark hole I can’t climb out of. Not now that it’s over, that I’ve repeated too many mistakes because trust didn’t come easily enough, fast enough.
My eyes widen when we drive past the street that will take me home, and I nally turn to Carter. “You-you… he missed the—”
He doesn’t look at me. “You’re coming home with me.”
“But we—”
“We fought.” His eyes collide with mine. Something tender ickers in them, something unsteady, like maybe… maybe he’s scared too. “That doesn’t change anything.”
I stay quiet, staring down at my lap, at the agitated nger he taps on his knee.
Until he twists back to me.
“You know what would happen if I took you home right now?”
My lips part to give him an answer, though I don’t really have one. He cuts me o anyway.
“First of all, it would be the last thing I’d want to do and the last thing you’d want too; let’s be honest. I’d leave beyond angry with myself and you’d pretend
you were done with me, that it was for the best. Then you’d get inside, put on your pajamas, have ve minutes to cool down, and realize you’re angry with yourself too. You’d cry over our ght, like you’re doing now, because you’d feel bad that you hurt me with your words. And me?” He gestures at himself as he looks me over, watching my tears continue to fall. “I’d get home, be pissed at myself for letting you walk away, leaving you when you’re upset and vulnerable, that you’re once again dealing with the consequences of my reckless past choices.
And I’d get in my car and drive all the way back to you.”
He captures my chin, dipping his face to mine.
“I’d throw you over my shoulder if I had to, but I wouldn’t need to, because the second you saw me, you’d ing your arms around me and cry. And you know what I’d do, Olivia?” His nose touches mine, trailing the length of it. “I’d hold you. I’d kiss you. I’d tell you it was okay, that I forgive you for the words you said when you were hurting and scared. Then I’d ask you to forgive me for acting without thinking, for bringing you back here and contributing to a narrative that only feeds your fears.”
With a low sigh, Carter sinks back against the seat, letting his head fall backward. “You wanna ght, get your self-doubt out, that’s ne. But you’re gonna do it with me, at my house, together.”
His searing stare swings my way. “I refuse to let you push me away again.”
