Olive stared at the picture until her vision blurred. He’d never really left her, had he? To a degree, she’d known that. Known that he’d escorted her bus to school, driven past her building. Having proof that he’d missed her, that he’d never checked out of their relationship…it was powerful knowledge. She’d never truly been abandoned by Rory. Not even for one single day.
Rory’s name was highlighted, meaning he’d been tagged in the pictures. After only a moment’s hesitation, Olive tapped on it and was taken to his profile. Nothing had changed. He still had the same picture of them behind the school. They were still listed as In a Relationship. He probably hadn’t logged on once since she’d made the accounts. He’d never had any use for social media…
No. Wait, he had been on Facebook. Olive’s hand slowly came up to cover her mouth.
He’d checked in at the milkshake shop. Every day since she’d thrown him out.
Oh God. She’d thrown him out of her apartment. Out of her life.
How could she have done that? She was in love with this man. Fierce, unmovable love—and he felt the same for her. Not being in his arms at that very second was agonizing.
While you’re out living that life, remember I’ll be out there somewhere. Living for you. And if you want me back for one day—one minute—I’m yours. And I’ll do it over and over again, no matter how many times you decide this is wrong afterward. I’ll wait around to worship you, sunbeam. Any time you want me. Do you understand?
Olive stood fast enough to send her chair flying backward. She hadn’t lost him yet. She could fix this. God, please let me be able to fix this. When Rory told her he would wait indefinitely, she believed him. She trusted him. He would never hurt her again.
She would never hurt him again, either.
And she’d start by keeping her promise.
Olive fumbled with her phone until she found the right contact and hit send. “Jiya?” A hum of reservation was her only greeting. Fair enough. Jiya was loyal to Rory, and Olive was grateful for that. He deserved to have people in his corner. Still, thank God they’d traded phone numbers the day Jiya had driven her home from Rory’s house. “Can you tell me the address for the birthday party?” Silence passed. “Please?”
A moment later, Olive leapt up from her chair and drew Leanne into a hug. “Thank you for helping me pull my head out of my ass.” She squeezed her friend hard. “I owe you big time.”
With that, she ran from the library, backpack in hand.
“I still don’t see any comments,” Leanne called after her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rory’s hands protested as he turned the bolt connecting the table to its base. He was beginning to strip the metal by twisting the screwdriver over and over, but he was enjoying the strain in his hands. It lessened the pressure in his chest by one percent—and for now, that was just enough to keep him from falling off the deep end.
Finally, he dropped the screwdriver and sat back on the floor. He looked around at the overturned tables. Old ones that used to grace the dining room upstairs but had since been retired to storage downstairs. Every single one of them had been flipped over, the bases detached and refastened, the tops sanded down. He’d been in the basement of the Castle Gate since last night completing the task. The chair legs were next. That might prevent him for another couple hours from going to find Olive. Just to see her. Just to make sure she was all right. Was one glimpse so much to ask?
He buried his head in his hands and felt stickiness oozing from his palms, blood mixed with grease that he quickly wiped on his jeans.
Rory was in hell. How he’d managed to survive since Tuesday without seeing Olive was beyond him. Could he manage it for the rest of his life? No. No fucking way. He had to leave town. If he saw her with another guy, rationality wouldn’t be an option. Hell, he was bleeding and sweating in a dark basement—he wasn’t rational now.
Just like he’d been doing for the last seventy-eight hours, he replayed the scene in Olive’s apartment. How she’d been white as a sheet when he’d come out of the bedroom. How she’d jumped when he spoke. He still had a suspicion that something happened before he woke up. That he was missing a piece of the puzzle. Still, there was no denying that he’d hurt her. She’d been harboring pain since the first time he’d left—and Jesus Christ, knowing that he’d hurt Olive in any way was like nails driving into his skull. He’d missed it. He’d missed how badly she’d been affected by their break-up. If he’d known, if he’d had a fucking inkling, he would have spent every second reassuring her. Now it was too late.