Page 39 of The Time It Takes
Dean presses his lips together tightly, clearly not sure what to say.
“He can’t,” I say dryly. “I did nothing wrong.”
“You drove away with my boyfriend’s car. I thought you were stealing it!”
Boyfriend.
My heart clenches, but I snort. “Clearly not, seeing as I brought it back,” I chide with a weak smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Oliver’s head lift and my skin burns in awareness of his eyes on me. I don’t spare him a glance. I don’t really care to. I want to be angry at him for this, but I struggle to gather it. For this one thing, there are a million other wrongs I’ve done that deserve his wrath. He’s never deserved mine.
“You should be arrested. You almost ran me over,” she snaps.
It’s too bad I didn’t.
I lift myself off the hood. “Just a misunderstanding is all.”
“Willow,” Phoebe’s voice comes out sharp and I turn my head. She mouths the words, “Are you okay?”
I just stare at her because I’m not sure. Everyone is looking at me as if they’re expecting me to shatter. I want to do anything but prove them right. I make a pointed look at Dean who’s looking between me and Oliver like a cornered puppy.
“Is it too late for lunch?” I ask in a steady voice, making sure to remain void of any emotion.
Dean seems surprised by my question. He checks the watch on his wrist and quickly shakes his head. Phoebe is watching me with pity in her eyes and I hate it. I look down at the key in my palm and gather the courage to look at the person to my left. Oliver’s eyes meet mine and my world tilts. His chest pauses as if he’s stopped breathing even as his mouth parts slightly.
I feel like there are so many things I can say in this moment, but I’m too tired to say any of them. If Ben wanted anyone to have his car, it’d be Oliver.
I break away from his steady gaze and stare down at the key in my hand as I take slow steps toward him.
“The spare key was always kept under the bumper,” I whisper so that only he can hear me—like it’s a secret. He doesn’t say anything and it’s okay because I don’t really expect him to. We’re both looking down at the key resting in my palm and I try to find words that make sense to this situation due to all the ears listening. “I’m sorry, Ollie.” I almost miss his intake of breath over the thrumming in my ears. “I won’t ask for forgiveness because it’s useless. I don’t even think I want it anymore.”
I extend the key toward him, but he doesn’t move to grab it. “Keep it,” he whispers hoarsely. My mouth goes dry at the sound of his voice. That voice that used to do a hundred things to me at once. I used to want to swim in that voice. Bathe in it.
My hand starts to shake. “It’s not mine to keep.”
Our gazes lift to meet each other’s at the same time. His eyebrows pinch together, and I can see the inner conflict raging through his mind. I tap the necklace around my neck and his eyes drop to it. His face softens for the briefest moment and then it’s gone, leaving me to stare into vacancy. Something so unfamiliar of him that it nearly cracks my heart in two.
“I’ve got what I need, but the car? It’s yours. It’s all yours.” I tell him as I place the key into his hand. My fingers trace against his palm for a moment but he snatches it away as if the feel of my skin burns him. “He would have chosen you,” I tell him with every ounce of certainty I have, but my voice still cracks. “If he got the chance, he would have picked you.”
And then feeling a small flicker of courage, I lift my hand to my chest and tap it, just like he did all those years ago. “The next one, Charming.”
An emotion draws on his face, but I look away before I can read it. I head toward Phoebe and Dean, not looking back.
I thought lunch would be awkward, but of course, that wasn’t the case. Dean was still very much, well, Dean.
But, even still, my mind continued to wander to the boy who stole my heart as an eager teenager and never gave it back even as a man.
Don’t you know, Ollie? It’s yours. It’s all yours.
Even after all this time.
IF ONLY THE TRUTH WERE A PHYSICAL BEING YOU COULD PUNCH IN THE FACE.
Ten years ago
"Doyoueverwonderif you were born in the wrong era?” I asked as I kicked my feet up onto Oliver’s lap where we sat on the couch in my living room.
We’d been watching Netflix for the past four hours. He came over after I had gotten off work and finished doing whatever it was he’d been up to lately. He’d been so secretive about it. Every time I tried to bring it up, he immediately changed the subject. I could feel the weight of what he was failing to say sitting on my shoulders and I had to force down disappointment every time he didn’t open up.
His head rolled from where it rested on the back of the couch so that he was looking at me. He seemed to think of an answer before he shook his head slowly. “I think we’re all born exactly when we’re supposed to be,” he answered softly.
