Page 42 of The Wrecked One

The shower water was running in the background as I sat on the couch and messaged her. As I did my best to remind myself Oliver was struggling, and he wasn’t truly trying to hurt me.

Me: I know the truth.

It didn’t take long for Gwen to decrypt my message and get back to me. Seconds, in fact. She’d probably already chatted with Carter and he’d given her the heads-up Oliver knew the truth, which meant I’d more than likely be in the know, too.

Gwen: I’m sorry.

Me: Now I know why you didn’t press so hard when I said you shouldn’t come with me.

Gwen: Yeah, well, I was worried about my dad ruining the trip by tracking us down if I did go with you. That wasn’t a lie.

Gwen: Buuuut I’d never have let you go alone if I didn’t know you’d be safe.

Me: Somewhere deep down, I knew. All of it, I think.

Gwen: Mad at me?

Me: No, but Oliver’s mad at me. Well, maybe mad is the wrong word. He’s in pain. I’ve never seen him like this. We used to argue all the time, but this is . . .

I wasn’t sure what to say or call it. Not broken. No, that wasn’t quite the right word.

Gwen: He cares about you. That hasn’t changed. Time heals all wounds, right?

Me: I wasn’t even . . . you know, and I’m not healed yet.

That fact kept tripping me up, because the journalist in me felt there was a story there. A truth to uncover. Another reason I was a-different-word-than-broken myself. Did something happen to me in the past I’d blocked out?

Gwen: I can’t imagine what you’re going through.

Me: I hope you never have to imagine/experience it. No one should. Too many do.

Me: How do I get through to Oliver?

I needed to change the subject before I had a meltdown on Oliver’s father’s couch.

Gwen: Just be yourself.

Me: So, drive him crazy?

Gwen: I mean . . . now that I know the truth about you two . . . when you drove him crazy before, it usually led to you two naked between the sheets. Not a bad plan. Iffff (and when) you’re ready for that.

Me: I used to get naked by his bed as my wave-the-white-flag moment, my signal for a truce in the arguing. Don’t think that’ll work this time.

Me: Side note (important one, too)—he touched me. I even purposefully touched him.

Gwen: Define “touch.”

Me: He grabbed me to save me from falling into a 30ft hole in the ground and wound up on top of me. So, hero-touching. And I put my hand on his shoulder, and he put his hand on mine. (I know, it’s the thing of romance novels. Notttt.)

Gwen: Or the textbook definition. We can text Savanna and ask. She’s the expert now. Her book does release next month.

Me: Thanks for making me smile. It feels good. Very much needed.

Gwen: But really, that’s progress. Maybe Oliver can help you as much as you can help him.

Me: And if he doesn’t want my help? Because he doesn’t even want me here.

Gwen: Men don’t always know what’s good for them. He’ll figure it out.

---