Page 93 of Alik

She could be with her father.

I told her to call her father if I wasn’t back by nighttime. It’s nearly nighttime.

But the car…

When I step through the back door, something catches my eyes by the lake, and I hang my head with relief when I see Olive on the little wooden dock.

Fuck.

She has to stop doing this to me.

Ihave to stop doing this to me. I’m becoming as much of a nervous wreck as she is.

A warm laugh slides out of me, and I rake my hand through my hair as I realize the truth to that.

I go to my car to get the flowers then walk to the dock where Olive is lying on her side on a blanket, her head propped on a pillow. She’s facing the sunset that casts shades of red and orange over the lake, so it isn’t until I step onto the dock that she seems aware of my presence.

She turns her head my way and smiles, starting to sit up, but I lay down beside her and ease her shoulder back to the blanket. I rest the bouquet in front of her and unleash a mountain of tension when she gasps and brings the petals to her nose to inhale a deep breath.

She flips over, bringing the flowers with her and hugging them tenderly to her chest. “What are these for?”

What are they for?

I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t have an answer.

Every Friday for the past eight years, I’ve walked Johnson Street collecting payments from three businesses for the Bratva in exchange for our protection. And every Friday, I’ve walked by the same flower stand without any thought. Today, the red roses caught my eye.

“They’re lovely,” she says when I don’t answer her. She brings the flowers to her nose again, and I relax with my head resting on my arm.

“I wasn’t sure which was your favorite.”

“I don’t have a favorite. But I love these.” She sets the flowers down then lays her head on her hands. “The last person to buy me flowers was a nurse when I was in the hospital because she pitied me for having no visitors.”

Olive laughs, but there’s a hint of sadness to it. Her lips relax into a content smile. “I’m really glad that isn’t my last memory now. Thank you.”

I close my eyes and lean toward her so that my forehead presses to her chest. She strokes my hair in a caress full of so much adoration, it twists my stomach. I’m sure she thinks I want it, but all I really want is for her not to see the guilt on my face.

She’s talking about the hospital bed I put her in. The pain I caused her that she still doesn’t know about. I hadn’t realized her family hadn’t come to visit her, and I suppose I didn’t care at the time, but I did check in on her. Not out of care. Out of obligation. I was her executioner, checking to see if she still had a pulse.

And those hospital flowers that brought her bitter sadness… Those weren’t from a nurse. They were from me. Nothing more than a ruse to get into her room unnoticed.

“Where did you learn to draw?” I ask like a coward instead of coming clean.

“Practice.” She doesn’t miss a beat. Doesn’t sense the guilt I feel inside. “And YouTube videos.”

“You don’t have a formal education?” My brow furrows as I lift my head to look at her. She just laughs.

“Formal education? You mean like an art degree or something?”

“Crazier things have happened.”

She shakes her head. “Drawing is just a hobby.”

I rest my hand on her hip and snake my thumb under the waist of her jeans to feel her warm, smooth skin. Her scent tickles my nostrils and has me breathing in, eager for more. She smells better than the roses ever could.

“I see… Well, I enjoy your art. I’m sure others would too.”

Her lips tug. “Possibly a few. But not the graphic sketches.”

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