Page 39 of Five
My stomach spins with butterflies. I have a feeling—and I can’t decide if they’re good butterflies or the kind that are going to make me puke—that Oscar may actually be The Oliver’s brother. I had known it was a possibility when he said his brother’s name, but this is practically irrefutable confirmation.
Before I can argue further, Caroline emerges from the bedroom and takes me by the arm, dragging me back with her. “I’ll get her packed.”
“Caroline…” I hiss as we enter my room. “There is no way I’m going with him. I think he may actually be Oliver’s brother!”
Caroline grins and waggles her eyebrows. “All the better. Think about it, babe. Forced proximity with five hot guys who just want to rail you.”
“Oh, my God! That is not even the point! That is completely, one hundred percent beside the point! Caro, there is serious stuff going on here. I can’t be distracted right now—“
Caroline stops me by taking hold of both shoulders and forcing me to meet her gaze. “That, my friend, is exactly why you need to be there.” Her tone is more serious than I’ve ever heard it. “Aside from the fact that a distraction might be a good thing and it’s been entirely too long since you had any kind of relationship…Neve. I saw those texts. Oz needs to be able to focus on this thing without worrying about you. And I could tell from the moment I said your name outside that station this morning—he’s going to worry.”
“He doesn’t even know me.”
“He knows enough to be both attracted and worried. Now get packing.”
I stop arguing. She’s right. This is bigger than me. And surely I can hold my own in a group of five guys. If I get there and don’t like them, or don’t want anything to progress, well, then…I’ll simply tell them that. Easy peasy.
“I’ll grab my bathroom stuff,” I say, subdued. “Just toss some comfy clothes in there since I won’t be going anywhere.”
“Comfy. Right. Okay.”
I stick my head out of the doorway. “And can you please grab Nicholas?”
Oscar watches from the doorway, his brow furrowing as Caroline grabs the framed photo from my dresser. Caroline waves the frame. “Neve’s brother,” she reminds him. “She doesn’t go anywhere without him.”
“I don’t go anywhere without Jamie Fraser, either,” I add. “I hope you’re okay with a cat.”
He eyes the cat, who is hiding beneath the bed and peeping out, occasionally batting my or Caroline’s ankles as we walk back and forth. “Yeah, I think we’ll be okay. Where did the name come from?”
Caroline and I exchange looks and a small, secretive smile. “Because he’s a sexy ginger boy, that’s all,” I explain.
“Oh. Okay.” He scratches his head.
“He’s my service cat,” I continue. “I’ve had a cat ever since Nicholas disappeared. They help with my anxiety, especially at nighttime.”
After Nicky disappeared, I began having night terrors. After speaking to a child psychologist, Mom got me my first orange cat, the breed known for its goofy and loving ways. Rupert had died at the ripe old age of seventeen, and after several months of grieving, I found Jamie Fraser in an animal shelter. He was a touch-loving animal, sleeping on my chest or curled up around my neck like a scarf. His bulk was like a weighted blanket for me, quelling my fears and worries, and his purr served as white noise that lulled me to sleep.
Finally, we’re ready. As we’re leaving, a work van pulls in, taking the space Oz just vacated. “They’ll fix your doors up,” he says. I nod, my mind already skipping ahead to what comes next.
We go to the police station first, where Caroline retrieves her vehicle and leaves for work. She hugs me tightly first. “Call me; I mean it,” she instructs.
“I will.”
“Like, all the time.”
“I said I will.”
“Love you, babe. Have fun storming the castle, ‘kay?”
I snort. “Right. Love you, too.”
Oscar and I go inside the station, Jamie Fraser in a carrier next to my hip. “I just need to wrap up some work and check my messages, and then I can leave for the day.”
“Make sure you listen to mine.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “I’ll definitely do that.”
Several hours pass, during which I snack on a candy bar and a Coke from the vending machine, and Oz spends most of the time on the phone or tapping at his computer. At one point, he turns his monitor toward me, showing me a stilled-video image of my car outside the boutique. Beside it, a man stands with his back to the camera, leaning toward the vehicle as if he’s peering into the window.