Page 112 of Oliver

“Hey,” I mumble as Willow says with a smile, “So, we’re moving out?”

Nodding, I look around the space and grumble, “Yeah. But there’s so much shit.”

To say I’m overwhelmed would be an understatement, but I can’t just get rid of stuff without going through it. What if it’s a memory I’m not willing to part with?

Ramsay follows my gaze coolly before saying, “There’s no way you’re going to get through this in time.”

Hiding my frown, I say, “I know.”

Dick.

How does Willow look into his fucking icy eyes and see anything but derision for the world and anyone who deigns to be in it.

“So,” he says, raising that fucking brow, “let’s get a storage unit. Movers.”

He flicks his fingers and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I would but I don’t have any way of paying for it.”

I know I told Hank no but I don’t trust the ass to make decisions for me regarding what I should keep or throw away.

“Hm,” Ramsay says. “Did your mom have life insurance?”

“Doubt it. She barely worked. My uncle Hank said my dad left something. It’s not much, but it’ll work until I can get a job.”

“Hm,” he mumbles again, turning away. This time I do roll my eyes when he steps outside and pulls his phone from his pocket.

“Okay, where should we start?” Maeve asks while Diem stares at her like stars shine out of her ass.

“Um.” With a shrug, I point at a stack of boxes. Diem lifts the first to the ground and when I open it, I cough, waving away the dust mites.

“Oh,” I say, picking up the article of clothing and shaking it out. “It’s my dad’s.”

A wave of pleasure rolls through me as Diem says, “Your dad was a marine?”

Nodding, I place his uniform jacket aside and pull out a small box.

“Bad ass,” he says, and I smile. Inside is a ribbon attached to a gold pin and I run my fingers over the edges before placing it back in the box.

“I’ll think I’ll keep this one,” I say through the frog in my throat.

A half hour later, we’ve set aside a few boxes for donation when Ramsay reappears.

“Okay, pick out what you want to take with you now. The movers will do the rest.”

“What?” I ask slack jawed.

“They’ll be here tomorrow morning. The storage unit is in your name. I’ll send you the details.”

“What? How?” I say waving my arms.

With a smile, Willow slides her arm through his and says, “Just go with it. Money to Ramsay is like toilet paper. Easily found and discarded.”

Speechless I look between them and finally say, “Um, thank you.”

Ramsay picks an imaginary piece of lint from his shirt without responding and although he’s still not my favorite person, I concede, there must be a soft side in there somewhere.

“This is your mom?” Willow asks and I nod from where I’m sitting on the couch.

Although Ramsay arranged for movers to pack virtually everything and move it to storage, I couldn’t bring myself to leave all of it in the hands of strangers.

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