Page 91 of Our Own Light

Why in God’s name was Floyd trying to pick a fight right now? Oliver had been trying to help him feel better!

“What’s the point of saying something like that?” Floyd asked.

“What do you mean, ‘what’s the point?’ It’s a fact!” Oliver spat, unable to contain his fast-rising temper. “Floyd, why are you picking a fight? Why are you pushing me away?”

Floyd bent over to pick up his shovel, but before he could scoop up even one shovel’s worth of coal, Oliver snatched it from him and threw it aside.

“Talk to me!” Oliver shouted.

“Not now, Ollie,” Floyd said curtly, pushing past him to retrieve his shovel again.

Oliver hurried ahead to block him.

“What the hell happened over the last week, Floyd?”

“Nothing.”

“You were barely yourself with me!” Oliver yelled, fury and sadness swirling inside him, making his voice shake. “And now you’re pushing me away!”

“What are you talking about? No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are! Can you really not see it?!” Oliver yelled, and Floyd’s only response was to curl his lip. “It’s about Matt, isn’t it? You’re mad because I’m not Matt.”

“Ollie, that’s enough,” Floyd snarled.

“Matt is dead, Floyd! Jesus Christ, why am I being forced to compete with someone who will never be anything less than perfect in your eyes? Matt can’t ever mess up because Matt isn’t here! But I am! And, God, I am fucking trying to be with you. I’m trying to be... to be perfect for you!” Oliver felt a tear roll down his cheek and quickly wiped it away. “I am in love with you, sweetheart! I am here and I am alive and I am in love with you.” Another couple of tears escaped. “And I think you love me, too.”

Covering his mouth with his hand, Floyd turned away. Oliver could tell that he was fighting to hold something back—whether crying or yelling, Oliver wasn’t sure.

More tears tumbled down Oliver’s cheeks. He let them. He let them because they kept coming, one after another, and there wasn’t any point in trying to hide them anymore.

Lowering his voice to a whisper, Oliver stepped forward and said, “Floyd, sweetheart, please stop pushing me away.”

After a moment, Floyd turned to face him, tears in his bright blue eyes.

“I need you to leave.”

“What?”

“I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

“Sweetheart, please—”

“Go home, Ollie.”

Oliver wondered what exactly Floyd meant by that.

Floyd turned to pick up his shovel. Oliver stood frozen for a few seconds, still trying to accept what Floyd had said.

And what Floyd hadn’t said.

After retrieving his pickaxe and shovel, Oliver started down the corridor. Fuck. Floyd was hurting. Oliver knew he was hurting. Why wouldn’t he let Oliver comfort him? Why was he putting up these Goddamn walls?

When Oliver reached the elevator, he froze, Floyd’s words echoing in his mind. Go home, Ollie. Christ, that would be the easier route, wouldn’t it? Head home. Hell, head back to New York. Embrace the future that was supposed to have been his and forget Rock Creek had ever happened. But...

But Oliver loved Floyd.

Leaning against the wall, Oliver let out a sigh. Maybe Floyd would come around. Maybe once he had some time to himself, he would want them to make up, like he had wanted them to make up after they’d had the fight in the music store.

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