Page 113 of Second Sin

Olivia’s still here.

I find her in the living room, curled into the corner of the couch with a mug between her hands. Tea. Christ, I didn’t even know I had tea. She must’ve found it buried behind the whiskey and aspirin.

Broken glass is gone. Bottles too.Even the blood on the carpet from where I cut my foot—scrubbed out like it was never there.

She looks up when she hears me. No smile. No guarded expression either. Just...stillness. Presence. Like she belongs here and always has.

"Hey," I say, voice hoarse.

She sets the mug down and reaches for my hand. "Come here."

I move without thinking. Sit beside her.

She tugs gently until our legs touch. Until her palm is flat against my chest. Until she leans in and kisses me.

Not desperate. Not full of hunger or heat.

It’s steady.

It’s real.

Her mouth moves with a kind of reverence I’ve never known. Like she’s not trying to prove something or take something, just be here—with me. All of me.

When she pulls back, her hand stays on my cheek. Her thumb brushes the corner of my mouth.

I can barely breathe.

"So fucking sorry," I mutter. "Hate that I put you through this shit. Never wanted to hurt you."

Her hand stays on my cheek. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch.

“The person you hurt the most,” she says gently, “was yourself.”

“Still…” My voice cracks.

“We’re fine, Sebastian. You and me. We’re okay.”

Something in my chest gives. Not all the way, but enough. Enough to let her back in.

She kisses me again. Deeper this time. Still slow. Still careful. Like she’s reminding me I’m here. That she is too.

Then she shifts, sliding into my lap. Straddling me without hesitation, without fear. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Her hands find my hair, curling tight. Mine go to her waist, holding her there. Holdingthis.

I don’t deserve her. Not even close. But she’s here anyway.

And I’ll take it. Hold her like she's the only thing keeping me from going under again.

The last few days were a blur of whiskey and noise in my head I couldn’t shut off. Self-loathing thick enough to drown in.

But now?—

Now I can breathe.

She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her eyes scan my face like she’s searching for something. Or maybe checking to see how broken I still am.

“You need to call Coach,” she says softly. “And Kane. Let them know you’re okay.”

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