Page 7 of Blue Line Love

She trails off, but I’m not about to let her just leave things at that. “You can’t what? Huh? What?”

Olivia turns her face up to mine, jaw set bravely but her eyes swimming with tears. “I can’t trust you right now, okay? And if I can’t trust you, I can’t be with you.” Her voice wavers but doesn’t break.

My teeth grit at those words. She really is just giving up on this? On me and Violet?

“So you’re leaving, then? Quitting?”

She shakes her head. “I said I wasn’t quitting. I’m still going to be here for Violet. But I’m not going to live here anymore. I’ll figure out an arrangement with my mom or maybe Quinn. She always ends up needing a house sitter when she’s out of town anyway, so what’s a roommate she already knows?”

She’s thought this through. Without even talking to me first, she’s ready to pack her bags. Maybe she’s already started.

“What if I don’t want you to go?”

“Are you going to chain me down?” she asks, laughing manically. “I’m not a prisoner.”

“I’m not trying to make you a prisoner; I’m trying to keep our relationship from imploding.”

Olivia laughs again. I can hear the pain in it, how incredulous she sounds. It’s like broken glass over my raw and bleeding heart.

“Too late.”

* * *

The rest of the week is a gradual descent from bad to worse. Olivia is an ice queen around the clock. She juggles watching Violet between finding every single trace of her things scattered around the house and spiriting it all away to the suitcases that remain open in the guest room.

Little by little, they fill up with her stuff. I glance at them through the crack in the door whenever I pass by in the hallway. It’s like watching an hourglass fill up in reverse. Every item that goes into the suitcases is one grain of sand taking us closer to the end. To a separation that can’t be undone.

The whole time, she dodges my attempts at conversation. I try to make dinner for the two of us: an Italian pasta with homemade sauce that I had to Google and then watch several YouTube videos on.

Her response? I’m getting takeout with Quinn.

I call a babysitter at the last minute and do something I should’ve done the moment this shit went nuclear: hit up Marcus and Dante for advice. Pulling up our group chat, I send them a text. Yo. Rockford. Be there in thirty.

In response, I get two near-immediate thumbs up.

I get in my car and drive. Rockford is half an hour away, over on the wrong side of the tracks. It’s where I’d play hooky and get in trouble with other neighborhood hooligans as a kid. The kind of place you can throw rocks and smoke weed in cars and no one in hearing range will bat an eye.

Now, it’s an abandoned park. Well, more like an abandoned lot with a misplaced seesaw and a non-functional water fountain. Marcus, Dante, and I used to meet up here to shoot the shit and blow off steam the first few years after we signed with the Bulls.

Back when we were fresh meat in the game, things seemed so much easier. It was just play hockey, chase women, rinse and repeat. We’re navigating different waters nowadays. It’s good to come back here and be reminded of where we came from.

Marcus and Dante are sitting on the open tailgate of Marcus’s truck when I pull up. There’s a cooler between them with sodas and beers iced inside. I tug out a Coke and crack it open.

Marcus eyes me up and down. “Dude, you look like shit.”

“Fuck off,” I grumble. “This week sucks.”

“How? Violet just had a sweet birthday party. You got Olivia all nice and cozy in your house. Seems to me like you should be on cloud nine.”

“Yeah, what’s the problem?” Dante chimes in.

I sigh. “That woman that was at the front door at Violet’s party? Y’all remember her? Well, she claims she’s Violet’s mother and that we’re married.”

Dante splutters on his drink as Marcus just gawks at me, dumbfounded. “What the—? No. No way,” he says. “Like, it’s obviously a fake, right?”

“I wish I knew.” I swallow hard. “She had some documents. Pictures, too. I said she’s not getting anywhere until it’s proven she’s even Violet’s mother.”

Marcus puts his beer down and folds his hands in his lap. “Reese… is there any chance it’s real?”

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