"I want you here, Oliver. I love you," he says. "I don't like playing this role. But I will if you force my hand."
"I got it."
He nods, accepting my response. "Thank you. For fixing dinner. I'll clean up."
That's our usual arrangement. I cook. He cleans. With Luna here… I guess we can alternate.
"This is an opportunity, Oliver. Treat it like one."
Whatever. I stand. Move toward the stairs.
He says, "I love you," again.
I know I should reply. Say it back. Tell him I appreciate that he puts up with my bullshit.
But I keep my mouth shut until I'm in my room, my music loud enough to muffle any fucking sound.
Six more weeks of sobriety.
Six more weeks of torture.
After that, I don't fucking know.
I'm not sure it matters. I don't know how the hell I'm going to survive another six weeks.
Chapter Five
Luna
My brain is fried. I'm completely unable to finish my European History reading. Even my chem textbook is incomprehensible.
I look for something to do. Anything. Stay busy rearranging the minimal decoration in the room.
Mr. Flynn's old office. He worked from home a few days a week for a while. Not anymore. Now, the space collects dust.
There's a couch. A desk. A bookshelf with a mix of business texts and thrillers.
Oliver's books or a shared love? It's hard to imagine the two of them sharing anything beyond a willingness to die for Daisy.
I text my best friend. Ask if she minds if I crash at her place. Tell her I already have Oliver and Gabe's permission. Offer a vague explanation about my parents fighting.
She says yes immediately. She doesn't push for details. Just leaves one of those we can talk whenever you’re ready notes.
I can tell her anything. That is true. But I can't dive into this. It's too heavy, too painful, too fuzzy.
Finally, Mr. Flynn knocks on my door with towels, blankets, a roll out bed.
"Your parents understand," he says as he arranges the bed on the hardwood floor. "They'd rather have you home. But they understand."
"Sure."
He nods. "As far as I'm concerned, you can stay as long as you like."
"Oh." My stomach flutters. "That's very generous. Are you sure?"
"I'm glad to have someone here. To keep an eye on Oliver."
Oh.
He opens his mouth like he's going to continue his explanation. Then he stops. Shakes his head. "He needs the company. And he won't take it from me."
"It's different. With parents."
"Yeah." He lets out a knowing chuckle. It's more sad than anything. Wistful, maybe. "I'm sorry. About your parents."
"Thanks."
"Can I offer advice?"
"Depends what it is." I sit on the couch. Pull my legs into my chest.
Mr. Flynn, I mean Gabe leans against the wall. The same way Oliver does. "With your mother's assets, it might get ugly. Especially if it's not a mutual decision."
"She didn't tell you?" I swallow the bile that rises in my throat.
His voice softens. "I didn't ask."
"She's found a younger woman. Allison has. Her secretary."
He just nods. Not surprised. Or upset. Or filled with the fire of a thousand suns. "You're angry?"
"Of course."
"I understand that. But, as someone who's been on the other side—"
"That was different."
"Maybe," he says. "But I still stood there, watching it tear my kids apart, completely unable to help."
I bite my lip. I'm not going to feel bad for her. Under any circumstances. She made her bed. She can lie in it.
"I just… know it's got nothing to do with you. Or how they love you."
"Yeah."
"I'm sure you'd rather talk with Oliver. You can whisper secrets about evil parents."
"He doesn't think you're evil."
Gabe makes that hmmm noise. So much like Oliver's but so different too. "If you do need anything, let me know. You're part of our family, Luna. You're always welcome here."
"Thanks."
"Are you going to be okay on the mattress pad? You can take my room if it's not—"
"It's good, thanks." I'm already imposing enough. Even if he wants a free babysitter.
He nods sure. "I'll tell you what I tell my kids. If you ever need anything, call me. I might be mad. I might be disappointed. I might call the police in the morning. But I'll do whatever it takes to help."
"Thank you." My chest tenses. The parental affection is too much. Too familiar. "Good night, Gabe."
"Good night." He closes the door. Moves to his bedroom.
Quiet noises fill the space. The soft murmur of traffic outside. The low mumble of Oliver's grunge music. The light breeze.
All these thoughts racing through my head.
I try to focus on studying for my chem test, but my head keeps racing.
Eventually, I give up, gather a towel, head to Daisy's bathroom.
It's immaculate. Everything in shades of pale pink and light turquoise. Her dainty collection of makeup. And the massive red bag I keep here.
My silver shampoo and conditioner.
I practically live here. I did. All summer.
But this is different. My best friend isn't here. Oliver is.