Page 41 of Growing Memories (Valley of Sylveren #2)
Chapter Twenty-Three
Life had seen fit to give Ollas a second chance, and he’d royally fucked it up.
Eunny might have offered her help out of guilt, but things had been progressing between them.
She’d even come to like him, in a way. Slowly been opening up, been comfortable enough around him to share the secret of her magic.
To do some light apothecary work. The way she’d agreed to help with the delegation plant experiments despite their provenance—surely, that had meant she’d felt… safe?
Certainly, she’d been interested in him enough to look past her guilt.
To start to see him as more than her childhood friend.
He should’ve been content with that. Patient.
But no, he’d pushed, and now he’d gone too far.
All those kindly feelings Eunny held for him?
Good chance they were all firmly past tense.
In the beginning, she might not have believed herself worthy of his forgiveness, but Ollas and his foolish actions had made sure of it at their end.
Rushed her to try her magic, gotten himself injured in the process.
Buckled to impatience instead of creating a situation more likely to have success.
At so many points leading up to that moment in the greenhouse, he should’ve chosen different. If only he could try again.
A scoff pushed past his lips. He eschewed the warmth and happiness of the Heartwood, taking the outer stair up to his apartment, his gaze directed at his feet so there was no risk of eye contact and forced pleasantries.
Once inside, he shut himself into his room, slumping at his desk. He held his head in his hands.
Try again? He’d do it all the same. Nothing would change. It couldn’t. He couldn’t. He’d been in some kind of love with Eunny since the day they’d met. Objectivity? He didn’t know the word. Not when it came to her. Ollas would choose her every time, even when he wasn’t wanted. Even when it hurt.
Love you?
The look of pure horror on her face when she’d grasped how serious Ollas was, how he felt about her, it would haunt him for the rest of his days.
It would hurt less if she’d taken his quietly confessed love and thrown it back in his face.
If she’d laughed, scorned him. Anything but her horrified disbelief.
The way she’d looked at him as if seeing the truth for the first time, understood him for the first time, and been scared by what she saw.
They held two truths, diametrically opposed.
Ollas could never believe she’d want someone like him, and Eunny was repelled by his forgiveness.
Couldn’t bring herself to accept it. Maybe she would forgive herself once she realized how the fault was shared, or maybe the truth would make her hate him.
He’d loved her forever. Couldn’t stop, wouldn’t even know how to begin.
But hurting her? That, he could do something about.
Heaving a sigh, Ollas pulled the short stack of papers he’d brought from his office and set them in the middle of his desk.
Graelynd University was looking to fill an adjunct position for its Initiate level botany class.
Adjunct pay was shit, but he wasn’t exactly high level at Sylveren, either.
The prospect of going down to Graelynd didn’t appeal, though.
It wasn’t far enough away, and he didn’t relish the thought of going anywhere that might take an interest in his old nickname, even if it was well past being newsworthy.
He flipped to the next letter. His Magister One research was always an option.
He could find temporary work in the mountains again as he had during his Adept Two years.
The University always had a list of items in need of procurement or transport, and that paid well, too.
If he approached the Sentinels, they’d likely take pity on him and find a way to use him, but…
no. No, the connection between his old ranger work and the botched rescue was still too close in his head.
It would be hard enough to tear himself away without being bombarded with memories of Eunny.
But Ollas couldn’t stay here. No matter the outcome.
The greenhouse disaster had made him fully realize his bias.
Even after all this time, he still wanted to save Eunny.
To help her be whole again. Only, she didn’t want or need him or his “help.” All he did was rip open old wounds, pour salt onto their memories.
The kindest thing he could do was let her go instead. Remove himself from the equation.
A knock sounded on his door. Ollas ignored it.
“Olly.”
He ignored that, too.
“Ol- ly,” Gransen’s voice lingered in the air.
The mountains sounded good. Gransen had been known to visit Central from time to time, but altitude made him sick. Ollas would find peace there.
“Ollas, I’m coming in. There’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but for the sake of your delicate sensibilities”—the door opened and Gransen came in, one hand over his eyes—“cover up.”
Gransen peeked between his fingers and saw Ollas frowning at him.
“What are you doing here?” Ollas asked.
“I live here, remember?” Gransen walked over and plucked the stack of papers from the desk. “What’s this?”
“Granse! Give me that.”
The younger man fended him off with his pointy elbow, seating himself upon Ollas’s desk. “Did you forget to tell me that you’re moving?”
“I’m not in the mood, Gransen.”
Something in his voice caused his friend to sit up. Gransen set the papers aside, expression going solemn as he looked Ollas over. “What happened?”
“It’s… Eunny and me. We, um, we— I did something.” Ollas’s sigh turned into a groan. “I hurt her.”
Gransen waited.
“She— She trusted me with something, and I took it as something else.” Ollas hewed to his side of things, refusing to betray Eunny even more. Those details didn’t matter; the core of the problem had always been Ollas. His enthusiasm, his ignoring things like patience or boundaries.
Gransen listened, unspeaking save for the dramatic movements of his brow. When Ollas finished, Gransen sat perfectly still for a moment, chin in hand, eyes squeezed shut.
“Okay, so this does sound kind of bad,” he said. He flapped a hand at Ollas when he made a mournful sound. “But it isn’t ‘pack your bags and move’ kind of bad. What’s wrong with you? Since when is Ollas Nevin, the Homegrown Hero, a chickenshit?”
“Don’t,” Ollas growled. “Don’t call me that.”
“No, we’re doing this.” Gransen stood up, pointing accusingly at Ollas’s chest. “I know that people were annoying about the nickname, but Ollas, you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t then and you haven’t now. Whatever happened with Eunny?—”
“You weren’t there. For any of it. You didn’t see?—”
“I don’t need to see! Because I know you. Whatever happened, you feel worse than you should. Or, you’re painting it as worse than it ever could be, because that’s who you are, you asshole.”
Ollas shook his head. “She probably hates me now.”
“She doesn’t, and she doesn’t mean what she said earlier, either—that stuff you overheard.” Gransen sighed. “Just give her a moment. Eun runs a bit hot, you know? But she doesn’t actually leave things unsaid. Not important shit.”
“Maybe I don’t really know her at all. Maybe you don’t, either.”
Gransen punched him in the shoulder. The still somewhat tender one.
“Ow.”
“Earthen take you,” Gransen said, exasperated.
“Go say you’re sorry, and if she’s actually going to dump you, make her say it.
Or let her, since you’re feeling so repentant.
But give her a chance to speak instead of react.
” He snatched Ollas’s job opportunities from the desk and skipped out of reach.
“Granse!”
“Pity party’s over. We’ll re-evaluate these if there’s a need. A real one. Not while you’re still wallowing.”
“I don’t even— She’s not at Belle.”
“Ollas.” Gransen simply sighed, the sound violent enough to shake his frame. On that enlightening note, he turned around and left.
Ollas stared after his friend. “What the…?”
Eunny was done with him, at least for the moment. Didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want anything to do with the magic she hated so much.
Gransen had charged him with getting answers. With talking to Eunny, giving her a moment to process that which Ollas had already had the comfort of knowing. She deserved that time, and so did he. Time, and one last try with all honesty bared.
He had to find her.
Where would she go, still reeling from a confrontation with her magic?