Page 69 of Light My Fire Three Times
Her eyes flick to mine, then away. Her fingers twist in the edge of the blanket as if it’s the only thing tethering her to the ground. For a long minute, the only sound is the fire popping and the clock ticking on the wall.
Then, soft, hoarse, “It’s Richard.”
I freeze. Richard. Of course, it’s Richard. The name hits as a sucker punch, and I don’t even know why. I’ve always thought he was bad news, but hearing his name come out of her like that… like it physically hurts her? That’s a whole different level.
“What about him?”
Her throat works as she swallows. “He contacted me again. Asked me to come back, made me feel like shit…”
I feel something hot burn through me, fast and sharp. Rage, yeah, but under that? Something else, more, I’ve been pretending wasn’t there.
I want to tell her he’s an idiot. That nobody owns her. That if he so much as breathes wrong near her again, I’ll put him in the damn ground. But I keep it together. Barely.
Instead, I reach up, real slow, and brush the tears from her cheek with my thumb. Her breath hitches, and for a second, it’s just us. The world outside, Richard, all of it… gone.
“Olivia,” I say, low and rough. “You’re here. You have your coffee truck now. You have a life.”
Her eyes meet mine then, and damn. I’ve seen a lot in these eyes over the last few days—fire, sarcasm, steel. But never this. Vulnerability. Fear. And something else flickering under the surface. Maybe she wants to believe me.
“I don’t feel like me anymore,” she whispers. “Every time he texts me, I feel… small. Like I’m right back there. And I hate it. I hate that he still has that power over me.”
I don’t think. I just moved up onto the couch, right next to her. My arm slides around her shoulders, pulling her in. She doesn’t resist. If anything, she melts into me.
“You’re not small,” I tell her, fierce now, because if I don’t get this out, I’ll explode. “You’re the strongest damn person I know. Richard’s nothing. Less than nothing. He can’t touch you. Not while I’m here.”
She lets out a shaky laugh against my chest, and it does something to me. Something I don’t want to name, because once I do, I can’t take it back.
But the truth is already here, whether I admit it or not. I care about her. More than I should. More than I ever planned to.
And when she tilts her head, looks up at me with those tear-streaked cheeks and eyes so full of pain and trust, it damn near undoes me, I know. I’m in trouble.
Because no matter what I said before, no matter how many times I told myself to keep it light, keep it fun… I like her. Hell, I think I like her more than anyone else ever has before.
And that scares the crap out of me.
Her breathing evens out after a while, soft and steady against my chest. I don’t even realize how tightly I’ve been holding her until the tension in my arms finally eases. She’s out. Exhausted.
I should move. Let her lie down properly, maybe grab a pillow, make myself scarce. That’d be the smart thing. The decent thing.
But I don’t.
Instead, I sit there, watching the firelight flicker across her face, and for the first time in a long time, I feel… still. No need to move, no need to talk. Just this. Her, warm against me, safe.
She looks different in this way. Softer. All that sharpness, that armor she wears so well… it’s gone.
Before I can stop myself, my fingers lift, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. And then… I don’t stop. I let my hand trail gently through her hair in careful strokes. I’m afraid she’ll wake up and catch me.
I’m so caught up in her, this quiet, impossible moment, that I don’t even hear the door until it clicks shut behind me.
“What the hell?”
Leo’s voice slices through the silence, and I jerk my head up so fast it makes my neck snap. He’s standing there in the doorway, snow still clinging to his boots, two takeout cups in hand, steam curling up from both.
My stomach drops.
“Leo,” I say, carefully standing up, as if I can block his view of her. Not that it matters. He’s already seen.
His eyes cut from me to Olivia, curled up in my blanket on the couch, then back to me. There’s something hard there, something I don’t like.
