The Road To Heaven (Allendale Four 3)

44

Oliver

It felt like old times, driving fast as hell down the highway toward Oceanside, boys in the car. We were only missing one person, but he’d opted out and I didn’t know how I felt about that yet.

“So what’s your plan?” Anderson asked Jackson. He’d told us to get in the car and drive.

“You know where the warehouse is?” he asked me. I nodded. “Go there. Hopefully we’ll find Paul and teach him the lesson we should have a long time ago.”

None of us had seen Justin in years, but he and Heaven made their peace years before. He packed up while we were in college, unable to live in the oppressive town any longer, and moved to a city more receptive to his lifestyle.

“Allendale’s changed so much,” Jackson said, his voice carrying in the wind. “I guess we forgot the rest of the area is still stuck in the past.”

None of us wanted to see Amber or Ginger hurt and we certainly didn’t need old wounds exposed. Not while things were finally back on track.

When we pulled down the street that led to the warehouse, Oliver slowed. There was a small crowd assembled out front, and a man with dark brown skin and wavy hair stood on the loading dock speaking to the group that included several photographers and journalists.

“We did not realize the wedding in question was for two women, and the instant we did we made a fast decision not continue business with the couple in question.”

“Is that him?” I asked Oliver. He’d seen Paul the day before with Heaven.

“Yep.”

“Oceanside isn’t trying to be like Allendale, who has to bend to the whims of movie studios and celebrities. We don’t want their money or their way of life. We’ve always been a close community. Moral. Ethical. And we’re not changing.”

“God, he’s repulsive,” Anderson said, leaning against the Jeep. The audience clapped and cheered at his statements and he continued to answer questions from the press.

“Are you going over there?” I asked.

“I think we should.” He leveled his gaze at me. “You okay with that? Taking a public position?”

I nodded. “Hell yeah I am.”

Paul noticed us before we got across the parking lot, his eyes trailing us with slight recognition. Emily stood next to him and nodded at Oliver. She recognized him from the day before. His smug expression faltered slightly, but he smiled down at the crowd and said, “Looks like we’ve got some heathens in our midst.”

“Heathens,” I muttered. “It really is like being back around Heaven’s dad.”

“Is there something I can do for you?” Paul called.

“Yep,” Oliver said, pushing through the crowd. He wanted the press to get a good shot of him. “We just came by to get the deposit back for my friend’s wedding tomorrow—which will no longer be held in Oceanside. Not because she’s not welcome. The beach is public property, you can’t run her off, but because like Paul said, you don’t want outside money. You don’t want tourists or visitors or people supporting your shops. That’s fine. Come back to Allendale where the small-minded people don’t venture.”

“You’re one of those boys Heaven Reeves hung around with, back in the day, aren’t you?” Paul said. A sly smile twisted on his lips. He glanced to the back of the crowd where Anderson and I stood. “And you’re the Olympian—one the members of her little harem.”

“Did you say harem?” a photographer asked. Murmurs rolled through the crowd.

Anderson’s fists clenched and I felt my heart race, anger welling up inside. Oliver seemed to have it under control though, he easily jumped up on the dock and stood in front of Paul.

“Let me tell you something; you can stay down here in your closed-minded, bigoted town, wallowing away in poverty and religious self-righteousness. My friends and I have faced your specific brand of hatred before and each and every time we win because our lives and relationships are built on love and respect, not hatred and pettiness.”

“I know who you are,” Paul said. “Do you really think your clients will support you once they find out you share her with four other men? What do you think the Olympic committee will say? Or the major league soccer association. Yeah, I know about Hayden Pierce, too.”

The crowd shifted and a figure emerged, jumping up on the platform behind Paul. Spencer.

Fucking asshole.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Oliver said, eyeing Spencer. “You’re happy to have an attempted rapist and harasser in town rather than people in a committed relationship. Sure, that makes sense.”

Paul crossed his arms over his chest, puffing it out. He wasn’t small, but he looked ridiculous next to Oliver.