“Not to me. Not to your wife.” Octavia steps closer to me. “To them. Say it until they listen. Until they believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“That her death is not their fault. That the distance you keep, how cold you are with them, is not their fault. That you still love them.”
I freeze. “I’m not…” Distant. Cold.
Fuck.
“Yes, you are. And I get it, I do. You have your own nightmares. You should visit a therapist, in fact, but it’s not your kids’ fault, and they shouldn’t think it is.”
Hit by another wave of cold, feeling as if I’ve been punched in the gut, I struggle to catch my breath. “You serious right now?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” Her blue eyes flash with anger—or sadness? But maybe I’m seeing things.
I lick my dry lips. “You don’t know—”
“I’m not sure this will work out,” she interrupts me. “Me working for you.”
I put a hand out, slamming it into the wall to steady myself. “What the hell?” I chase after my thoughts. “I thought you needed a job.”
“I’ll figure something else out.”
Heat rolls through my chest. I take a step toward her, my hands in fists. “You’re not going back to the garage to ask fucking Jasper for a job.”
“Stop.”
I stop, my blood boiling at the thought of Jasper insulting her, Ross touching her. And then I realize she has tears in her eyes.
“Please…”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You have the best kids. And I totally love them. But I can’t do this with you anymore.” She steps around me and picks up her light coat.
I realize with horror that she’s about to walk out.
“Octavia.” I struggle for calm. “Wait.”
“For the record,” she says, her voice strained, “Adam is not my boyfriend, even though he did get a weird message, like you did. I don’t have a boyfriend, and if Ross has gone crazy and is threatening you both, then it’s better for you, better for your kids, if I quit now.”
Jesus Christ. “Octavia.” I run my hands through my hair. “Look… I’m sorry.”
She’s buttoning up her coat. Her fingers still.
“Don’t go,” I say. “The kids need you. I’ll…” I close my eyes, exhausted. “I’ll try harder. With them. With you, Tay. I swear I’ll try.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak for so long I’m sure I blew it. Didn’t manage to convince her to change her mind.
To give me another chance.
Not even sure what I’m promising her. To talk to the kids? To be more polite to her? Not to want her? Not to touch her?
Finally she turns around to face me. “You will come eat breakfast with us,” she says, and I frown. “And dinner. You will play with your kids. And you will tell me about Emma.”
Is she serious? “Look…”
“That’s the deal.” Her gaze is direct, determined. “And if it’s not enough, you’ll go see a therapist.”
God, she is serious.