"Did I, um, do anything?" I ask. The words are so quiet I'm not sure if he's heard me.
"You took a swing at me." He chuckles. "But I kind of deserved it, under the circumstances."
"Sorry," I murmur, looking for signs of damage. "Did I hurt you?"
"No, I sort of knew what I was getting into. You're hardly known for your even temper."
I roll my eyes, and then force myself to ask the other question. "Did I talk?" I don't want to know what I said, so God knows I don't want him to know what I said.
"A little." He hesitates, and my stomach drops. "You were really upset. You kept saying something like 'I left' over and over, but I couldn't understand it."
I steel myself to look at him and find the exact emotion on his face that I don't want to see.
Pity.
I'm inclined to just walk out of his apartment right this minute, except I'm barefoot and I have no idea what part of town I'm in.
"Then you just sort of collapsed."
"Why were you there?"
His shoulders sag. "I shouldn't have been. I thought you'd be stressed out about the time trial and would run, so I waited. I just thought if I saw it firsthand ..." He sighs, shaking his head. "I don't know what I thought. I didn't expect anything so extreme. Do you know what the dream was about?"
"No," I whisper. I stare at my hands, gripping the coffee cup so hard that they are drained of color.
"Maybe you should try to remember. Maybe that's the key to ending all this," he says. "Did you talk to the counselor?"
"She was a moron."
"I'm guessing you say that about 95% of the people you meet."
"Well, it's true of about 95% percent of the people I meet, so I'm okay with that statistic."
"You need to talk to someone," he insists.
I ignore him. Therapists are for people with little problems. Therapists begin to drown the second they hear about me.
"So how did I end up here?" I ask.
He rubs his temples as he begins to pace. "Your door was locked. I could have woken you, but I was scared that you'd ..."
"Freak out?"
He nods. "I didn't know where else to take you. I put you in my room and I slept on the couch. But this is bad. You absolutely should not be here. I could get fired for this."
"It's not like anything happened," I argue.
"No one is going to believe that, Olivia," he sighs, turning away. "Not with you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap. "Just because a few guys on the team ask me out doesn't make me the team slut."
He rubs his eyes. "I wasn't trying to imply that you were," he groans. "You're attractive. That's all I was saying."
A tiny warmth weaves its way through me. It shouldn't. I shouldn't care what he thinks. "I'm attractive, huh?"
He walks away. "Don't worry, your personality ruins it. Let's go. You're gonna make us both late."
My eyes slide toward him as he drives me to my apartment building. It's almost unfair how pretty he is, with that jaw and that hollow under his cheekbones, the ruggedness of his face contrasting with his soft mouth.
"Oh, shit," he says as we pull up. "I forgot you're locked out."
"I keep a key under the flower pot to the right. Just in case you ever happen to be stalking again."
"I wasn't stalking," he growls.
"I guess I never thanked you," I say reluctantly, "so, um, thanks."
"I can't keep you from doing what you're going to do," he says quietly, "but if you tell anyone, I'll probably lose my job."
///
"I would never tell anyone." I start to remove his T-shirt and he stops me.
"Just keep it. You being seen leaving my car is bad. You leaving it half-naked would be worse."
20
Olivia
When Will walks onto the track a little later, I avoid his gaze. He seems to be avoiding mine as well. He's in a shitty mood and barking at almost everyone as we warm up. Everyone but me. "Higher kick, Olivia," is all he says and even that is lackluster and unwilling.
"You can't do that," I tell him quietly.
"Can't do what?"
"Don't start treating me differently. Don't act like I'm fragile."
"I'm not."
"Bullshit, Will. You're in a crappy mood today and God knows when you're in a crappy mood I'm the first person you bust on, but you aren't saying a word to me. I'm not fragile. Nothing that you've seen is new for me."
"You're normally crying about how hard I am on you," he sighs. "I can't win, can I?"
"A, I don't cry, and B, I like Asshole Will. He's a known commodity."
"If I'm such a known commodity," he says, his mouth lifting on one side, "you'd know not to refer to me as 'Asshole Will.'"
I walk away, wanting to laugh and yet feeling unsettled. I know how to be angry at him, but I don't know how to feel this. Or even what, exactly, this is.
After the warm-ups, Peter comes down to the track with the men's team following him. They'll do their time trial first. I wish it were us. My stomach plummeted the moment he walked down here, and it's going to remain swimming and nervous until this is done.
"You're pale," says Erin. "You can't be nervous, you're the fastest girl here. You're the only one who shouldn't be nervous."
"Things go wrong." My voice is tense, and for some reason even talking seems to rock the uneasy thing in my stomach and make it feel less stable.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, because you sure don't seem to think a lot of things through, but you need to think less."
I scowl at her.
"I'm serious. Let your mind go blank. Say it with me." She crosses her legs and puts her hands in the lotus position. "Ommmm."
"Please shut up, Erin."
"That's super un-Buddhist of you."
"You know what else is un-Buddhist?" I warn. "Punching someone in the face. So stop talking." Erin doesn't tend to get scared off by me the way she should, and I doubt I've scared her now, but she does, for once, stop yammering.
Will motions us down from the bleachers, looking oddly anxious given that he just has to stand there looking pretty. It's not until we're lined up and I catch his quick glance that I realize he's anxious for me. I hate that. I don't want anyone hoping things for me. It's bad enough when I only disappoint myself.
The gun goes off and I stop thinking. My mind stops running and my body takes over, pulling me through as if directed by some outside entity. This is my meditation. This is how I let my mind go blank.
My legs pump and I feel that rasp in my chest that warns me I've gone out too fast and I don't care. I ignore it because I want this. I want this more than I've ever wanted anything. I want to show Will that I am worth his effort. In five weeks' time, in his own abrasive way, he's done more for me than anyone I've ever known.
I see him standing by the bleachers, watching, and I don't look around me. I don't even look at the finish line. I pass it, and I am first, and the whole time he is the only thing I see.
21
Will
She was brilliant.
She was absolutely fucking brilliant today.
And the truth is I'm not surprised. I need to get out to my mom's, but seeing Olivia's performance today has given me tunnel vision. I want to solve this for her. I want her to become the person she's capable of being. I realize it's naïve. Her family has probably spent the last decade trying to fix it, so there's no reason to think I'll be any more successful, but I have to at least try.
I pull up her student records again. Will she be pissed that I've called her parents? Undoubtedly. Do I give a shit? Not really. The nightmares have to stop. I think about her in that neighborhood in the middle of the night, not even awake, and I feel sick. It's just a matter of time until she gets hurt.
But there are no parents listed anywhere in the file, no home address, and the only contact I can find is a grandmother somewhere in Florida. Why are her parents not listed? No aunts, no uncles, no siblings? The more I try to solve the mystery of Olivia Finnegan, the more mysterious she becomes.
Resignedly, I dial her grandmother's number. The chipper voice on the other end informs me that I've reached Sunset Springs Assisted Living. For a moment, I think I've dialed wrong.
///
I ask for her grandmother by name.
"Are you a family member?" the woman asks.
"No, I'm calling about her granddaughter."
"I'm sorry, sir, but we have instructions to only pass calls through to Miss Anya from family."
I grip the phone tight, trying hard to rein in my impatience. "Look, this is kind of important. I need to get in touch with someone and she's the only contact number we have."