Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

“Andy—”

“Listen to me, okay? Because you really need to hear this. I’m not the same helpless little girl I was two years ago. I’m Laura Oliver’s fucking daughter. I don’t run away from things, and I don’t need you to rescue me.”

Mike looked like he didn’t know where to start. “Helpless little girl?”

“That’s right,” she said. “I’m not the same person. The sooner you realize that, the better it’ll be for both of us.”

Mike looked confused. “Andy, I’m not here to save you. I’m here because your mom will rip apart the world with her teeth if Clayton Morrow comes near you.”

Andrea shook her head, though she knew that Mike wasn’t exaggerating. “He won’t hurt me.”

“He’s not Hannibal Lecter, Clarice. He doesn’t have a code.”

Andrea didn’t have a comeback for him. She was suddenly so damn tired. Every step forward felt like it was followed by two steps back. She couldn’t help Star. She couldn’t find Emily Vaughn’s killer. If Compton sent Andrea to get details from Ricky about the farm, she would probably fail at that, too.

“Andy.”

She shook her head, silently begging herself not to cry. Tears would cancel out everything she had just said. The last two years would have been for nothing. Pushing Mike away would have been for nothing.

“Baby, talk to me.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t do this with you. I need to do my job.”

He reached for her hand.

Andrea flinched when he accidentally tweaked her wrist.

“Andy?”

She turned away from him, silently running through a string of expletives. Fucking job. Fucking farm. Fucking Wexler. She should’ve punched him in the fucking throat. Broken his fucking hyoid and sent him to the fucking hospital.

“Andrea.” Mike was standing in front of her. His chest was puffed out, fists clenched. “Did somebody hurt you?”

She couldn’t stop herself. She pressed her forehead to his chest. The relief was immediate, an almost weightlessness as she let him take on some of the load. His hands lightly cupped the back of her head. She could feel his heart pounding. He was waiting for a sign that it was okay to hold her.

Andrea would not let herself give him the sign.

“I’m okay. Really.” She lifted her head. “I took care of it. I don’t need you to save me.”

His hands fell away. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because I need it to be true.” Andrea felt tears well into her eyes. She wiped them away with her fist, furious with her body for betraying her. “I’m not your bossy older sisters who constantly need you to bail them out, or your mom who expects you to wait on her hand and foot. I’m a thirty-three-goddamn-year-old woman. I can take care of myself.”

“Sure.” He stepped away from her. Her shitty words had the intended effect. He took another step, then another. His head was nodding. His arms were crossed. “I get it. Loud and clear.”

Andrea swallowed down the apology that rushed into her mouth. She could say just about anything to him, but his sisters and mom were way too far over the line.

There was nothing to do but twist the knife. “I’ll see you around.”

“You bet.”

Andrea walked away. Her back could feel the heat of his glare until she turned the corner. She couldn’t imagine what Mike was thinking right now but, for her part, Andrea’s only thought was that she was turning into her mother.

For all of Laura’s darlings and my loves, she could sometimes be a stone-cold bitch. It made sense considering how she’d grown up, and especially considering how Clayton Morrow had damaged her. Over the years, Andrea had watched her mother switch the coldness on and off like a freeze ray—one day celebrating Christmas with the family, the next day telling Gordon it was over. This was how her mother protected herself. When people got too close, she pushed them away. If Andrea was going to keep claiming her mother’s steely resolve, she had to claim the damage it left in its wake. Two years of fighting to become a stronger person wasn’t going to change the basics.

Wherever you go, there you are.

Mike’s rental car was parked in front of her motel room door. She knew it was Mike’s because he drove so many different rentals that he always hung a rabbit’s foot from the rearview mirror to help him remember which car was his.