Emmy & Oliver - Robin Benway Page 0,92

cracks in your heart.

Oliver sighed again, still sounding shaky. His breath brushed against my collarbone as he spoke. “You think I’m crazy.”

“No, I don’t,” I said. “I think you’re a kid who got put into a shitty situation that can’t be solved. But I don’t think this will end with everyone getting what they want, Ollie.”

Oliver nodded and then sat up a little. His eyes were swollen and I pressed my thumbs against his cheeks to mop up the tears, just like he had done for me that night on the swing set, when he told me that coming home was like being kidnapped all over again. He looked up at me, his face tired, and I kissed his eyes, the leftover salt water stinging my lips. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“For what?” he whispered back.

“Just that you have to go through this. That I can’t help you.”

“You help every day,” he murmured, then found my hands with his and twined our fingers together, holding them between us.

“Do you want to lie down for a minute?” I asked, and he nodded.

We lay on my bed in the dark for a long time that night, Oliver’s head on my shoulder and my legs tangled with his. Once the lights were out, I raised the blinds again so we could see out the window. It was a full moon that night and its light cast through the room, throwing blue shadows against my desk, my clothes, my bed.

Oliver was quiet next to me, his fingertips stroking up and down my arm. “Can I tell you something?”

“It’s a little late to start asking that question,” I teased him, but I kept my arms tight around him. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“Remember last night when we were outside with Drew and he was saying that he was jealous of me?” Oliver paused for a few seconds. “The truth is that I was jealous of him, too.”

“Why?” I asked him.

“That night at the party. He had this huge house and the fact that his parents are married and he has this cool older brother that’s, like, always there for him. I thought he had it so easy. And plus, he’s known you all these years and I haven’t. He got to spend all that time with you.” Oliver shifted a little against me and I could feel his chest tighten. “You don’t think I should go see my dad, do you?”

“No,” I whispered back. “But that’s just because I’m scared.”

“Why are you scared?”

I looked at him, trying to be brave. “Because I’m scared you’ll leave with your dad and I won’t know where you are again.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said, and he kissed me as if to ground himself, to prove that he would stay. “I would never do that.”

“And I’m scared that your dad is on the run from the police and you might get hurt.”

“He would never hurt me, Em.”

I turned so we were facing each other, sharing my pillow. “He hurt you enough the first time.”

He didn’t say anything after that, and I ran my hand under his shirt, stroking his stomach, then rested my arm in the curve of his hip. “Are you going to tell your mom?” he asked.

“No,” I whispered. “Are you going to tell yours?”

Oliver hesitated too long for my comfort. “You should,” I said. “You should tell someone besides me. Like, an actual adult who can make things happen.”

“I know. But I keep picturing him sitting all alone in the restaurant, waiting for me and . . .” Oliver’s voice caught a little and I wrapped my leg around his, curling closer to him. “I just can’t do that,” he said when he could talk again. “I can’t have that image in my head.”

“Okay,” I whispered, even though nothing felt okay, not at all.

Oliver closed his eyes and was about to say something else when his phone started to buzz. “Shit,” he muttered, and then he was up and trying to find it. I snuggled into the warm spot he had left behind, smelling his shampoo on my pillow, trying to slow my brain down from its breakneck pace.

“It’s my mom,” he said. His voice was raw after crying so hard. “She wants me to come home.”

“Okay,” I said, sitting up a little. “Do you think she’s going to tell my mom that you came over?”

“I’ll make it sound like we were just studying if she asks about it,” he said. “Can I?” He