Page 57 of Mending Hearts
Ollie leans into it for half a second longer than strictly necessary. That does something sharp and painful to my chest.
The officers finish up, exchange a few more words with venue security, then step out to handle things on their end. The room exhales collectively.
People start peeling off in ones and twos.
Eli comes in briefly, face drawn, eyes still too bright. He squeezes my shoulder, then Ollie’s. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “About all of this.”
“Not your fault,” Ollie says immediately.
Eli nods, jaw locked. “I’m heading out with my family.”
“Go,” I tell him. “We’re good.”
Drew leaves soon after with his partner, both of them subdued. Seth lingers until Vinny gives him a look that saysI’ve got this, and then he heads out with the rest of the band.
The room empties until it’s just me, Ollie, Vinny, Miles, Rosa, Luis, Marco, and Lindy. There’s also a couple of people I don’t know, who’d arrived with Ollie.
Miles glances at his watch. “We should move before anyone outside gets ideas.”
Vinny nods. “Back exit’s clear. For now.”
I look at Ollie. He looks back at me, eyes wide, raw, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache. He’s freaking out. Fuck, so am I. But he looks like he’s about three seconds from bolting if I don’t anchor him to something.
I make the decision before I can talk myself out of it. “Come back to mine,” I say.
The words hang there for barely a beat. Ollie doesn’t hesitate. “Okay.”
Okay.
Rosa’s eyebrows go up again, but she keeps her mouth shut. Marco gives Ollie another quick hug. Lindy squeezes his hand.
Ollie murmurs goodbyes, thanks everyone for coming, apologizes unnecessarily. He hugs Marco’s wife—Carol, I realize belatedly—and nods politely at a guy I don’t know, who I assume must be Lindy’s husband.
Miles steps in front of me before I follow. He lowers his voice. “Be careful.”
“With him?” I ask.
“With yourself,” he says quietly. Then he pulls me into a hug. “I love you.”
“I know,” I say, voice rough.
We move as a unit through the back corridor, Vinny in front, Ollie and me in the middle.
There’s a crowd outside—smaller than the front, but still there. Phones, whispers, a ripple of recognition.
Ollie’s hand slides to the small of my back. It’s instinctive. Protective. Intimate.
Public.
My breath catches so hard I almost stumble.
Twelve years. Twelve fucking years, and he’s never touched me this way in public. I can feel the heat of his palm through my jacket, steady and sure.
What the fuck does this mean?
We reach the car. Vinny opens the door, ushering us inside before anyone can get too close.
The door shuts. The world goes quiet again, and Ollie and I sit side by side in the back seat, close enough that our knees almost touch.
