“I’m in college. It’s the designated time for drunken revelry.”
Rory took a clean glass out of the dishwasher and filled it with ice from the fridge. He measured out vodka, Kahlua and milk, then dumped all the contents into a martini shaker, watching her through narrowed eyes as he mixed and cooled the ingredients. “I made it light.”
She kept her attention on his face as he transferred the icy, light brown concoction back into the glass. “You know,” she started. “If we’re going to…”
“What?”
The pink climbed from her neck to her cheeks, making her skin flushed and even more sexy than usual. “Well, if I’m d-dating someone who works at a bar, I’ll probably have a drink once in a while, right?”
His cock grew uncomfortably heavy over the word dating. I’m going to take this girl on dates. Bring her home afterward. Have her all to myself. Was this even reality? “Yeah, you probably will,” he said, his voice low. After a moment’s hesitation, he slid her the drink across the counter. “Sometimes I equate alcohol with bad decisions. My own, especially. But you helped me make a good one tonight and…I just want to do the same for you. As often as I can.”
Her gray eyes were inquisitive, always reading between the lines. “You’ve probably seen a lot of people make bad decisions in the bar.” A beat passed wherein he said nothing. “What about at home?”
Rory tried to clear the sudden clutter in his throat. “My dad drank some,” he said, turning away to put the bottles back in their places. “A lot, actually.”
“Where is he now?”
“We don’t know,” Rory answered, still unable to look at her. “My mother is in Bayside, though. Living with her sister back in Queens where she grew up,” he said, trading one uncomfortable subject for another. He couldn’t seem to keep himself from telling Olive the shit in his head, though. Not when she projected total understanding and a lack of judgment that made him forget things like secrets and uncomfortable truths. “Her birthday is next week, actually.”
Olive studied him. “Are you going?”
Rory shook his head. “I never go. I…can’t.” Finished with his task of putting away the bottles and closing the cabinets, he stuck his hands on his hips. Breathed in and out. “I haven’t gone to see her since everything happened. Since I went away when I was eighteen. So I’ve missed more than a couple.”
“That’s a long time.” She slipped her hand around the cocktail but made no move to pick it up. “Why do you stay away?”
As always, when he thought of his mother, he remembered the look on her face in the courtroom the day he was sentenced. She’d raised three boys and lived with an abusive husband, so she’d known disappointment well. Still, he’d never seen it line her face more deeply than it had that day. “Jamie and Andrew weren’t living in the house when it happened. I was the only one left here with my parents. I could run interference with my father. Make sure I was home when he was drinking and feeling mean. He’d stopped putting his hands on her by then or he knew what would happen.” Rory rubbed at the ache in his sternum, but the friction only made it worse. “There was nothing to stop him once I was put away, Olive. I can’t believe I left her alone with him. If I’d been there, I would have saved her.”
“Rory,” she whispered, her face pained. “I’m so sorry for your mother. No one should have to live in fear like that. But you can’t punish yourself for something that happened so long ago. Even if you hadn’t gone away, you couldn’t have stayed here forever. I don’t know your mother, but I’m sure she wouldn’t have wanted to put the responsibility of protecting her on you. Not indefinitely. It wouldn’t have been fair.” Olive kept coming toward him until she laid her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You’ve been feeling guilty enough to stay away for six years. If you ever tell me again you’re a bad guy, I’m going to…to…”
Rory tried to be quiet about letting go of the breath he’d been holding. “What, sunbeam?”
“Pout. I’ll pout.”
Jesus. Rory had never felt lighter in his life. He’d just told this girl the ugly truth about his family and how he’d been carrying the responsibility for his mother’s pain…and she seemed to have found something beautiful in the midst of so much ugly. She hadn’t even taken the time to think about whether or not he was to blame, simply declaring he wasn’t. God, how tempting it was to believe her, but he’d been packed to the gills with regret and guilt for so long, he could only let a small degree of it go. “How will you pout? Show me.”