Page 83 of Ruined

“This is how he gets when he likes someone,” Luca tells Oliver and me in another theatrical whisper. This time, Nico seems too busy fidgeting with the slider and drinking his beer to notice.

Moments later, the doorbell rings, and Oliver’s friend, Lane, walks inside. Behind him, Mason looms like a guardian, a hand on Lane’s shoulder as he looks out over the living room.

“What the fuck,” Oliver whispers. “Mason wasn’t invited.”

“Does it surprise you that he came?” As far as I can remember, Mason has never been one to adhere to rules—especially not rules he has incentive to break.

“No, but…”

“It’s okay. Let’s go say hi.” I guide Oliver toward them with a hand on the small of his back.

“Ugh, fine.” Oliver grabs my wrist and slings my arm around his side, as if he wants me to plaster myself to his body and give him the strength he needs.

I’ve seen Mason a couple of times since that unfortunate encounter at the café by the Waterfront Park. Kim kept her promise in telling him what happened, why we broke up, and why I just disappeared from their lives. Even so, his opinion of me doesn’t seem to have changed much. The only person he seems truly fond of is his boyfriend, Lane, though it’s obvious he cares more about Oliver than he lets show.

Oliver shifts briefly from my side to give Lane a hug.

“No hug for me?” Mason asks, unbothered on the surface, but I know he’d rather Oliver were happy to see him.

“You weren’t invited,” Oliver says.

“Yeah, but I wanted to come.” He slides an arm around Lane’s shoulders, and now and again, his thumb grazes the choker around Lane’s throat. “Wanted to see what your old place was like.”

I give a shrug. “Well, if you want, you can come see what his new place is like.”

Mason narrows his eyes. “Your place, you mean?”

“It’s ours now. You can come for dinner if you like.”

“Sounds boring.”

Lane gives Mason’s hand a squeeze, looking up at him with a smile. “Sounds nice.”

A silence follows where Mason’s gaze flicks between me and Oliver, analyzing the way we stand, the way my hand lies gently on Oliver’s shoulder. Finally, the tension in him dissolves with a sigh, and he rolls his eyes.

“I still think it’s insane—this whole thing.” He waves a hand at us. “But you seem happy, so… fine.”

“So you’ll come for dinner?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Maybe. If Lane wants to.”

Lane smiles brightly up at him, which settles everything.

The party gets louder and busier as the drinks flow. People are everywhere, and at some point, Oliver takes my hand and leads me into his old room. Nico said the last roommate moved out, so it should be fine as a temporary refuge. The place has the same furniture as when Oliver called it a home. It’s tidier, though, and it’s missing his PC.

We climb onto the bed and put our backs to the wall, bodies lined up.

“When I first came here, this place smelled like you,” he mumbles.

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t know why at first, but months ago, I found the cologne you use in the upstairs bathroom. I asked Luca, and he said it was Hunter’s, the guy who never leaves his room.” He shrugs. “Anyway, when I first moved in here, I hated that scent. It was like the universe was mocking me or something.” He gives a small laugh. “I thought it was because I was always thinking about you, longing for you. But… then I met you, and now you’re here.”

I take his hand, and he weaves our fingers together—my rough and hairy ones meeting his slender and smooth ones. I squeeze his hand and don’t speak; I just let him say what’s on his mind.

“I still can’t believe it. Sometimes I have dreams where you’re gone again, and I’m thirteen, at Mom’s house. But… I’m not afraid anymore that it’ll happen. That you’ll leave.”

“Good.” I bring our hands to my mouth and kiss his knuckles. “I won’t.”

His voice grows thick. “I missed you so much. Sometimes I missed you so much I could barely stand it.”

“I know. I’m so sorry, Oliver.”

“It’s okay.” He glances down, picking at a loose string on his pants. “I know why now.”

“Knowing why doesn’t make it okay, but I’m here now. I’m with you.” And I’m not running anymore. I still feel guilty sometimes, but that guilt doesn’t overpower my desire to be with him and to be what he needs.

His eyes are glassy as they gaze into mine. “I want a kiss, Daddy.”

Needing no further encouragement, I lean in and capture his lips, and while the party continues on the other side of the door, Oliver crawls into my lap and brushes our noses together. I take him into my arms, into a cocoon of love and safety. Whimpering into my mouth, he presses closer—always warm, always hungry, and always mine.

“Love you, Daddy.”

“Love you too, sweet Ollie.”