Page 25 of Finding Olivia (Trace + Olivia 1)

“Wow, that was deep,” I laughed.

“Are you laughing at me?” He feigned anger.

“Yes,” I stifled a giggle. “So,” I dug my fork into the pasta shell, “what was it that caused you to stray off your path?”

He sighed, looking out into the trees. “You know how the other day you didn’t want to talk about something?”

“Yeah,” my brows furrowed.

“Well, I don’t really want to talk about it,” his green eyes had darkened so that they shone like emeralds.

“Oh, okay, it’s no big deal,” I took a bite of the stuffed pasta shell and moaned in pleasure.

“One day, I hope to tell you, but not today,” he shrugged, “just like one day I hope you’ll tell me why your smile’s so sad but how you still manage to have this sparkle in your eye.”

I started to choke on the pasta. I did the whole coughing-sputtering thing and no doubt my face turned an unattractive shade of red.

Swallowing a sip of the sweet tea he’d poured into the lid of the thermos, I asked, “Why do you say my smile is sad?”

“Because it is. You smile like you’ve been hurt and you’re just holding the pain inside, not letting it go, but you want to…you definitely want to be free,” he pointed to me, “and that’s where the sparkle comes from.”

I tried to get my breathing back to normal after nearly choking to death.

I was completely shocked by what Trace said. Most people didn’t notice the pain that I kept carefully hidden, and the fact that Trace had picked up on it so quickly, blew my mind. I didn’t think he’d noticed much about me. Apparently, he was far more observant than I gave him credit for.

I knew it was silly, since I didn’t know him, but I found myself wanting to open up to him, and tell him everything. It wasn’t like I really had that much to tell and I felt like I had to tell someone.

“My dad,” I whispered.

“Huh?” He asked, wiping tomato sauce from his lip.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. It wasn’t like this was some big secret. My dad didn’t abuse me…at least not physically, but I always found it hard to talk to people about him. I felt like they always thought I was making it up, since he was a preacher and supposed to be all about God, kindness, and whatnot.

“My dad, he’s the reason I’m sad,” I answered. “He’s very controlling. That’s why I came here for college, instead

of staying in New Hampshire. I needed to get away, and find myself, but I haven’t been doing a very good job,” I chuckled humorlessly, plucking at an invisible piece of lint on my jeans. “I don’t know why I’ve let it bother me so much,” I shrugged. “It was just hard, growing up and always being told what to do, what to say, and how to dress. I was expected to be the perfect child and my mom the perfect mother, while he was the perfect preacher, father, and husband. But he’s none of those things,” I sneered, shaking my head. “He’s mean and a bully. Maybe it was selfish, and maybe it was weak, but I had to get away. I have to try to find who I am, but what if I can’t?” I looked over at Trace. “What if I’m just this broken girl that can never be put back together? What if I can never find who I really am?” I took a shaky breath, shocked that I had told him all of that. Maybe, it was easier to tell him because he was a stranger, and I didn’t fear his judgment.

“Whoa,” Trace’s eyes widened, “that’s some tough shit.”

“Tell me about it,” I shuffled my feet along the bench and took another bite of the delicious pasta shell. “I know a lot of people have to deal with a lot worse, so I feel bad complaining about it,” I shrugged, looking away from his inquisitive gaze.

“Olivia,” he grabbed my chin in his calloused hand and forced me to look at him, “it sounds to me like your father verbally abused you, and that’s not something to be taken lightly. That’s very serious, and people tend to overlook it, because it’s not always as noticeable.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” I smoothed my hands over my jeans. I wished he’d let go of my chin, because I was starting to feel warm inside, and pretty soon, I’d be begging him not to let go.

“Of course it matters, you’ve obviously been hurt by it,” he finally released me.

Unconsciously, my fingers went to the piece of paper in my jeans that contained my Live List. I never went anywhere without it.

“Olivia,” he murmured when I remained quiet, “I know you don’t know me that well, and you have no reason to trust me, but you can.”

I looked over at him, expecting his signature cocky grin, but it was missing. He was completely serious, and his green eyes were warm, inviting me to tell him everything.

Could I do it?

I had told him about my dad, but could I really tell him about my list?

I’d never shared it with anyone and it had almost become sacred to me.

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