Page 64 of The Time It Takes
I TAKE MY TIME walking through the halls—admiring how the floors of this house don’t creak with each step.
I find Oliver’s bedroom door cracked open and I know he’s inside, which is why I hesitate. Will he be upset that I followed him up here?
Does he want to be alone? Or is this what he wants? To be found.
I push away the thoughts and step forward. I lift my hand and knock gently on the door, causing it to open slightly. “Ollie?”
I’m met with silence.
I push the door open wider and walk inside the room. I find him sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees and his palms held against his eyes. My chest tightens at the sight.
I repeat his name, not sure if he heard me the first time. “Ollie?”
I know he heard me that time, but he remains silent. I debate leaving for a moment. Then again, if he wanted me to leave, he would say it himself. He had done so before. The bitterness of the situation still sits on my tongue, and I despise it. It was a moment of weakness I should have never submitted to, but I was so angry. I didn’t think. I acted.
I reach his bed and he still doesn’t move from the position he’s in. I step in front of him and before I can register what I’m doing, I bring my hand out to touch him. His hand lashes forward and wraps around my wrist, stopping me. I gasp at the contact, and he quickly releases me as if I’ve burned him.
His eyes lift to mine, and only then do I realize I’m standing way too close to him. I take a step back, still watching him carefully—patiently.
“Beth told me,” he murmurs, staring down at the palms of his hands.
Reluctantly I ask, “How much did she tell you?”
He looks up at me warily and I know she must have gone into detail.
“She said you showed up yelling demands. She said you were extremely unpleasant.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “She said you were a mess. That she could smell the alcohol on your breath, so she refused to let you go to me. She said that she thought it would be my breaking point. She said that she knew when my father passed, I’d be a mess and I didn’t need another one.”
I take a seat next to him on the bed, waiting to see if he’ll stop me. He doesn’t. Even though the words hurt, I knew they were true.
He continues, “She said you told her she could choose whether or not to tell me you stopped by.” He looks over at me, brows knitted tightly together. “It shouldn’t have been her choice, Willow. Why give her that power over us?”
Us.
“She said she could fix you.” I shake my head, my face scrunched in anger. “As if you were a broken bone and she could set you back into place. I hated her, Ollie. Right then and there I hated her. But then she somehow got my number and called me a year later…” I have to look down at my hands. I can’t look him in the eyes with what I need to say. “Beth told me that when she met you, you had been missing a part of yourself and she could never place it until I showed up that night. She said that it all made sense.” I peer up to find all his attention fixated on my words, my mouth.
I pause. Admitting it will make it all too real.
“What?” he breathes.
Taking a deep breath, I say, “I realized that without me, you weren’t alone. You would have her. You still had Dean and Phoebe and Taylor. She said the more time you spent with her, the happier you became. That your laughs were real again, and I believed her. I was a drunken fool that night.” I feel the need to look away from his intense gaze, but I don’t. “I was scared about being back, so I had a few drinks to calm my nerves. She was right when she said that I would have only made things worse for you. You were better off without me around. You still are.”
He’s staring at me like I’ve grown two heads. “No one’s better off without you, Will. No one.”
My palms start to sweat and my heart beats rapidly in my chest as he stares at me for the first time with a new understanding.
“I sat outside all night,” I tell him. “I stayed up until sunrise, then a homeless person kicked me off their bench.” I laugh a little at the memory. “I waited for you and for the past few years, I thought it was because you didn’t want to see me, and the worst part was…I didn’t blame you. I did this to us.”
He stands then, running a hand through his hair. He walks over to the now bare wall in his old room and stares at it, his hand covering his mouth. I approach him slowly.
“I’m so sorry about Beau,” I say softly. “He was a great man and an even greater father.” I walk toward him until I'm standing at his back. “He was a hard-ass and difficult most of the time, which is totally where you get it from.” He drops his head at my words, and I know he’s smiling. I smile some too. “He lived a full life and spent most of it loving his family. I used to get so jealous of you, because you had a father, and I didn’t. I’m sorry that you know what that feels like now. I’m sorry I didn’t run through the hospital shouting your name. I’m sorry I’ve been a terrible friend to you. You deserved better than getting stuck with me as one.”
I laid my hand softly on his arm. He tenses, but he doesn’t shrug me off. Taking it as an invitation, I slide my arms around his waist, resting my forehead against his back.
“I’m so sorry, Ollie. You have no idea how much the thought of it keeps me up at night.”
When he doesn’t make any move to push me away, I only tighten my grip on him as if expecting him to slip through my fingers like sand in an hourglass. I can feel his heart pounding on my forehead.
“I never wanted to be another one of your ghosts,” he whispers, his voice coming out pained. After a moment of silence, I go to pull away, but his hands catch mine. His hold is firm—desperate. I keep my arms wrapped tightly around him.
