Page 189 of Accidental Theirs
I groan. “No, I’m not going to hit you. I’m just trying to figure out where you stand with Olivia.”
“Why do you care? You don’t want this.”
“You don't know what I want. And besides, I want Olivia happy. She won’t be happy if you don’t fall in line.”
“Fall in line? So, I have to do this now?” He finishes his drink and pours another, splashing some in my glass, too.
“Nobody said that. But I know that she’ll be upset.”
“You think so?” He looks down into his glass, swirling the amber liquid around.
“I know so. I know my girl.”
“Ourgirl.”
I stare at him. “You mean that? You’re in this?”
“I’m in it.” He pauses, rubbing a hand across his face. “I’m in it so fucking deep.”
“So, you do care about her.”
“Of course, I do. But I’ve only ever been with Sophie long-term. Everything else has just been a blur of trying to forget. Opening my heart again... it’s not easy.”
“Nothing worth doing ever is, Sebastian.”
I’m seriously giving advice to one of my main competitors. I’m keeping him in line, keeping him with Olivia.
Why am I doing this?
Because I love her. Because she’s everything to me, but maybe she’s like a hurricane. One man can’t contain that.
“I’ll talk to her.”
That’s all he says on the matter, even after three more drinks, but he does talk about Sophie.
“She was so beautiful.” His words slur around the edges. “So much fun. Like Olivia, but not quite. They’re so different.”
I let him babble, drunk in my own right. “I’m crashing on your couch tonight.”
“Oh, sure, there are blankets and pillows in the linen closet.” He waves a hand as if he couldn’t care less.
I start setting up the couch, stumbling slightly when I stand up too suddenly.
“Do you think we go on?”
I’m surprised by his words because he’d gone silent, and I was wondering if he’s gonna puke. He’d had at least two more drinks than me, and I feel nauseous.
“What?”
“After we die. Do you think there’s an afterlife, and Sophie’s waiting for me?”
“No. At least not like that.” I shake my head. “I think we go on, but it’s like... through a veil. They just watch us. Want the best for us.”
At least that’s what I’d told myself when I lost my grandfather, who I’d gone fishing with every Sunday for my whole childhood.
“Do you think she’d be happy? About Olivia? I hate the thought of her being upset with me, watching on, hating it.”
“She’d love Olivia, I’m sure.” I don’t know anything about the woman, but my head hurts and I’m emotionally exhausted.
