Dark Wild Night (Wild Seasons #3)(96)
Author: Christina Lauren

Oliver leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “And how did he take that?”

“Not very well. He said we’d talk about it more, but I have no intention of changing my mind. If they want my input, that’s where I stand.”

He nods. “That’s good, I’m proud of you. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re right.”

“I’ve also been thinking a lot. About us.”

The quiet that follows is a terrifying abyss, but I just wait, needing him to show me that we can talk about this again.

“Okay,” he says, finally. “What have you been thinking?”

“That I’m so, so sorry about the other night,” I say. “I got scared.”

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head as he studies me. He’s tired and unshaven, and it doesn’t look like the last few days have been very easy on him, either. “You don’t have to apologize for being scared, Lola.”

I shake my head. “I messed up.”

Oliver stands, reaches for his jacket on the arm of the chair, and slips it on. He puts on his shoes and picks up his phone. “You’ve worked your entire life for this; it’s understandable that you’d be protective of it. It’s understandable that you wouldn’t want to let it crumble.”

He takes a few steps toward me, close enough that I have to tilt my chin to look up at him. “What hurt,” he continues quietly, “was how you thought it would be easier to drop me. How easy it seemed for you to make that decision right there, on the spot.”

Tears prick at the surface of my eyes. “It’s not easier. It’s awful.”

He nods. “And I messed up, too,” he says, eyes holding mine. “I hate that I went out with someone else, even if I had no intention of touching her.”

My heart rips. “I want to go back to the way it was,” I whisper, trying not to break out in a full-on sob.

“I don’t think we can do that,” he says, looking down at where his fingers absently reach for a strand of my hair, letting them slide down to the ends. I feel more tears burning in my throat, behind my eyes, and my chest goes tight. “I don’t know that we should.”

“Oliver, don’t.” I reach to wipe my face, but he grabs my hand, slipping his fingers between mine.

“No,” he says with sweet urgency. “I mean I think we need to come from a more open place next time.” He rubs his fingers over my palm, massaging. “I think we need to come from a place where you talk to me instead of letting me be the one to pull everything out of you.”

I swallow, and then swallow again, trying to process what I think he’s telling me. “You’re saying we can try again?” He looks up, stark blue eyes flicking back and forth between mine. “You want to be with me still?”

A tiny smile pulls at his mouth. “I never stopped wanting to be with you. I just needed you to figure your shit out.”

I let out a snorting laugh through my tears, relief making me feel a little shaky and hysterical. I nod quickly, wiping my face, trying to get my shit together now, in front of him.

“Stop,” he says quietly. “This isn’t what I mean. I don’t mean you should hide when you’re emotional. I mean you should recognize that I’m the guy who wants to see how you’re feeling. To hear about it.”

I hiccup, managing a hoarse, “I’m feeling relieved. Very, very relieved.”

He chews on his lip, watching where his thumb rubs my cheek. “Look, Lola, I meant it when I told you I don’t need easy or perfect. But I do need to know . . .” He trails off, his brows pulling down as he frowns a little. “I just need to hear that you’re not going to do that again. It really wrecked me.”

“I won’t.” Even the thought makes something grow tight and brittle inside me. I reach forward to put my free hand on his chest, for grounding. I can feel the firm, steady duh-dum-duh-dum-duh-dum of his heart under my palm. “I couldn’t.”

Silence fills the space between us, and I know there’s so much more to say, but I sense we aren’t doing this now. Still, I know we’re going to be okay because the weight of the quiet isn’t suffocating. It’s just Oliver + Lola again, quietly putting words together in their heads.

“How are things going with Junebug?” he asks, reaching with the hand that isn’t holding mine to tuck my hair behind my ear.

I sniff, looking over his shoulder. “I’m about three-quarters done.”

“Do you like it?”

Wincing a little, I admit, “Not yet. But I will.”