Page 49 of Birthright (Sinners of New Orleans #4)

FORTY-EIGHT

Olivia

I wipe down the bar counter for what feels like the hundredth time today, polishing the already gleaming surface until my arm aches. Everything's too clean now. Too perfect. The floors shine like they never have before, tables arranged with military precision, not a speck of dust anywhere.

No trace of what happened.

My eyes drift to the spot where Roman fell. Where his blood pooled on these old wooden floors. Now it's just...clean. Like he was never here.

Sam must have sent people to clean up the place while I was in the hospital, because when I returned, it was as if nothing had ever happened here.

The place was restored and spotless. Not that it has stopped me from cleaning like a madwoman.

Despite not being able to see the damage, I still can't shake it from my mind.

I pause mid-wipe, staring at his empty stool by the corner of the bar. Roman always sat there, watchful, alert. Sometimes annoying with his constant vigilance, but always there. Always protecting me.

Until I decided I knew better.

"It should have been me," I whisper, the words escaping before I can stop them.

If I hadn't been so stubborn, so determined to prove I could handle myself, Roman would still be alive. Sam was right to keep me locked away. The moment I stepped out, everything went to hell.

My hands shake as memories flood back — the fight in this bar, the weight of the gun in my hands, it's empty click when I pulled the trigger, and then the look on Roman's face as Axel dragged the knife across his throat.

And then the shack by the swamp floods my brain with more memories. The feeling of Axel's weight on my body, the way his blood splattered all over me when I shot him.

I grip the edge of the bar as nausea rolls through me. I killed someone. Ended a life with my own hands.

What kind of person does that make me?

I remember the look in Axel's eyes when he realized he was dying. I did that. Me. The girl who once cried for a week after accidentally stepping on a frog.

Now I'm a killer.

And for what? Sam still left me. Roman's still dead. And I'm still here, scrubbing surfaces that can never truly be clean again.

My phone ringing is the thing that pulls me from my head. My mother’s name flashes on the screen, and my insides churn, remembering that I never even told her I was in the hospital. Sam had called her to make sure she knew I was okay. But I never talked to her.

“Hi, Mom.” I answer.

“Ohmigod, Olivia! I’ve been so worried!”

“I’m sorry, I should have–”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you hear your voice.” The lack of a guilt trip surprises me. “How are you doing?”

That simple question causes a flood of emotions. Tears I’d thought I’d run out of begin to pour from my eyes and I heave a sob.

“Oh, Livvy.” My mom’s voice is gentle, unlike her. It sends me back in time to when I was a little girl and she was the one I ran to. Suddenly, I’m desperate for her to wrap her arms around me and tell me everything's going to be okay.

“Tell me what happened,” she prods, and so I do. I tell her everything, save for witnessing Sam murder someone. I tell her I fell for someone I shouldn’t have. That I didn’t heed her warnings, and I let him get under my skin.

I tell her about Roman, and how he died for me.

I tell her about what almost happened in that shack in the Bayou.

I tell her about how my heart shattered when Sam left me.

“I’m sorry, Mom. You were right; I never should have moved here. If I would have listened to you, I’d still be home and safe and–”

“No,” she interrupts, startling me. “I wasn’t right, Olivia. I was scared. I’ve always been scared. But not you. What you did was brave. I’m sorry I didn’t see that before.”

“How… how is this brave?”

“Because it would’ve been easier to stay here. It would’ve been easy to stay with Rhett, even though you didn’t love him. And I’m not naive, Olivia. I know you never loved him. I think I just wanted to pretend you did because I wanted you to be happy.”

A new wave of tears builds as I listen to my mother.

“Sometimes, love is hard. Not because you have to change yourself or force it to work. Love is hard because you have to face yourself. Your deepest fear. You have to be vulnerable. I’ve never been able to be vulnerable…

with anyone. That’s why it didn’t work with your father.

And Richard and I are happy, but we’re not in love.

It sounds like you found something bigger than I ever have. ”

“How can you tell?” I ask.

“When he called me...” She sighs thoughtfully. “He was so upset with himself, apologizing to me for not protecting you. He was putting himself through hell over this situation. And I can hear it in your voice too. You only do that when you truly love someone. So, do you?”

I think about it for a long moment. Replaying her words.

Do I love Sam?

I’ve tried so hard not to. Pushing him away or keeping him at a distance all in an attempt to not fall for him. Afraid that he’s too much like my father.

But he’s not my father. My father didn’t care about my mother the way Sam cares about me. He could’ve chased her to Montreal, he could’ve fought for her. But he didn’t. But Sam came for me. And then he pushed me away. But not because he doesn’t love me. Because he’s scared.

“Yeah,” I finally say.

“Good. Then fight for him.”

And for the first time in my life, I actually think my mom has good advice.