Page 72 of Waking Olivia

“That detective left me a message,” he finally says. “Apparently, you aren’t returning his calls.”

“I don’t want to talk about that either.”

“Liv,” he says gently, “you’re going to have to talk about it eventually.”

“No, I won’t.”

“But why? You said yourself you’d never planned to try to find your brother as an adult. I know this whole thing has been a shock, but does it really change anything?”

He waits, and I know him well enough to know that he will ask, and ask, and ask until he’s finally gotten the truth.

“It’s not the possibility that he’s dead. An adult version of Matthew would be a stranger to me. It’s that if they are right …” My voice catches, and still he waits. “If they are right then he would have been so little, and so scared.” The sentence ends on a rasp, and I feel this odd grief come over me, pulsing against my eyelids, my jaw, trying to wrench itself free of my skin. My heart begins beating too hard, a race it can’t win.

He scoots so that his body is tight next to mine, a welcome line of warmth, and puts his arm around me. I bury my head into his chest, relishing the feel of his fleece beneath my skin, the firmness of him under it, his smell and the sound of his heart so close to my ear.

“I would do anything to fix this for you,” he says quietly, “and it kills me that I can’t. Tell me what to do.”

It takes me a minute to reply. “You already make everything better,” I tell him. “And you’re the only one who ever has.”

He stills at the words. His breath, his pulse seem to stop entirely. I look up at him and his eyes meet mine. I don’t know what this is to him, but to me, it’s something far beyond running or lust or even friendship. When did he become so important? I know all too well that it’s not safe to care about anything this much.

I see panic, quiet and fleeting, pass over his face before he looks away. “Good,” he says quietly, “I’m glad I’ve been able to help.”

We ride back to the stables in silence. I’m equal parts embarrassed and angry. I don’t know why I told him what I did. What did I think it would accomplish? I hang Trixie’s tack up and begin to brush her, hurrying through it in my eagerness to get away from him.

“So are you going out with Evan again?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, without interest, “maybe.”

“You didn’t have a good time?”

I could spend longer on Trixie, but I decide that tonight I’m cutting corners. I pass him on my way out of the stable. “It was fine.”

He follows me. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t need to date anyone twice. I’m not into relationships.”

“I don’t believe that anymore,” he says. “You’re as much a relationship-type girl as anyone I’ve ever known.”

I glare at him. “No, I’m not.”

“So on a night like this one,” he says, “can you honestly tell me that you’d rather be alone than have one other person with you to experience it all with? Even the lamest possible future you can imagine — sitting in a living room like my mother’s and watching reality TV — don’t you want to be with someone for it?”

I’m angry, and sad, and it’s all welling up in my throat and my chest and my head, making me feel like it can’t be held in.

“Yes,” I hiss, coming to a halt. “Yes, and if I told you I wantexactlythat — the two of us together doing every single lame thing we do — what would you say?”

The breeze rustles between us, only emphasizing the vast silence on either side. I want to hate him for making me spell it out, but there’s something so wary and yet so vulnerable in his face that I can’t.

But if I could cry, I’d cry right now. I’d cry and I’d beg him to see me the way I want him to see me. To admit that all these things, every minute we spend together, are the highlight of his day, his month, his year, his everything, the way they are for me.Please admit it, Will. Please.

“I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely, beginning to walk away. He draws his fingers toward his palms in tight fists. “I shouldn’t even have brought this up.”

“Did you like sleeping with me?” I call after him. His body jerks to a halt. “I know you’ve stayed with me. Before the last meet. And the last time we were in the hotel. You stayed when you didn’t have to. Did you like it?”

He hangs his head. “Olivia, I’m notallowedto like it. I’m your coach. And that’s all I’m ever going to be.”

He wants away and I want to kick myself for my stupidity. Did Ireallythink he was going to abandon his job and his hot girlfriend for me? I’ve got no family, no money, a criminal record, and there’s a strong possibility that I’ll lose my scholarship before I graduate. I start fights, can’t account for what happens when I’m asleep, and I’m incapable of any emotion but anger most of the time.

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