Page 37

I settled beside Olivia on the jagged surface of the rock. Olivia's silhouette was hunched, a figure carved from shadows and pain against the backdrop of Paradise Key's faux tranquility. My gaze traced the line of crimson that ran down her arm.

"Hey," I murmured, reaching for her wounded arm with hands that had steadied guns and soothed skinned knees with equal proficiency. "It's just a graze. You're going to be alright."

She didn't lift her head, but her hands dropped, revealing eyes red-rimmed and haunted. The bullet might have only kissed her skin, but something deeper had been punctured.

"Olivia." My voice was soft yet carried the weight of a mother's heart. I rested my hand between her shoulder blades, feeling the tremors coursing through her.

"Mom," she whispered.

"It’s okay," I said, giving her space to breathe, to piece herself back together.

She exhaled a shaky breath that carried the weight of untold stories. "That night," Olivia started, "with Mark… the beach was ours."

I watched her closely. Her hands, once steady, now trembled as if they held the fragile pieces of her heart.

"Go on," I urged, my tone a tempered blend of command and comfort.

"Mark… You were right; we were together." The words spilled out haltingly. "The sand was cool, the stars like a blanket over us." She paused, gulping air as if it could fill the void Mark left behind.

"Olivia." My prompt was soft, yet insistent.

"His skin," she continued, "was warm against mine, alive with every heartbeat." I sensed the raw passion that had fueled their forbidden rendezvous, the urgency that pulsed beneath Olivia's confession.

"Then what happened?" I steered her gently back to the path of her recollection.

"He rejected me." The words hung in the air, stark and unembellished. "We were kissing and holding hands. But then, suddenly, he just… turned cold. Said things. Mean things. Hurtful things. He didn’t want to be like me. He wasn’t like me, he said. I didn’t understand. Up until then, he had seemed to be into me. Flirting, and then the kissing. How could that be nothing?" Pain etched deeper lines into Olivia's youthful face, a sorrow that seemed to transcend the physical pain.

I pieced it together—the heated whispers, the touch of skin on skin, and then the icy aftermath. Probably fueled by a mother who had other plans for him.

"Doesn’t sound like it was nothing," I said. “Sounds like he was scared, perhaps.”

“Scared of what?” she said, then broke down in tears. “I didn’t… I don’t understand what I did wrong.”

"Hey." I drew her in close, my arm a shield around her quaking shoulders. "It's okay. Let it out."

"Mark told me…." Olivia’s voice was a serrated edge, sawing through the silence. "…I was nothing. A mistake."

That word, “mistake,” struck a chord, reverberating through my entire being. I tightened my hold, anger and sorrow warring within me. Mark's rejection was a wound far deeper than any graze from a bullet.

"Olivia. He was wrong." My words came out measured, each one deliberate.

"Was he?" Doubt clouded her eyes.

"Absolutely."

I hated that she hadn’t felt she could tell me this earlier. Had I not been listening? Should I have seen this? Guilt gnawed at my insides as I watched her struggle, her pain a tangible thing between us. I wished I could take it away, all the pain.

"Mom…."

"Shh, I'm here," I murmured, but the comfort sounded hollow to my own ears. I had been there yet so far away.

"Sorry," she mumbled, looking away. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m so sorry.”

"No, Liv, I—" A knot of sadness lodged in my throat. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

She drew in a shuddering breath, lifting her head from her hands.

"Mom, what if they all judge me?"

The fear in her voice cut through the silence like a knife. “I thought if I stopped Marcus, then maybe they’d stop thinking bad of me. That’s why I ran after him, but he shot me, and now I’m… I did nothing. I changed nothing.”

"Let them try." My words, firm and sharp, sliced the night air. "You have me, Liv. No matter what."

"Even if—" Her sentence hung unfinished, choked by the unspoken. “They think I killed him? That’s why I didn’t tell you or anyone else what happened that night. I thought they’d think I killed him because of his rejection.”

"Let them try," I repeated, my support unwavering.

"But the blood…." A single tear traced its way down her cheek. “You saw the blood. On my shirt.”

“Tell me where it came from.”

“We went to the small pier. We sat down, and there was a nail sticking out—an old rusty one. He cut his finger on it when leaning back on his hand. It was bleeding, so I took off my T-shirt and gave it to him. I was, after all, wearing a bikini underneath, so it wasn’t a big deal. I let him wrap it around his finger until the blood stopped. He threw it back at me when we got into the fight, and I took it and ran. I swear that’s what happened. I didn’t think anyone would believe me.”

I reached for her hand, grasping it tightly. "I believe you. Someone else killed him. Mark's gone, but you're here. Alive. And that's what counts."

"Is it enough?" Doubt laced her words, a whisper barely audible above the rustle of palm trees.

"More than enough." I held her gaze, willing her to believe. "You're enough."

Olivia nodded slowly, her eyes holding mine. "I just don't understand why anyone would want to hurt him?—"

"Me neither." I cut her off, not wanting her to spiral again. "But we'll figure it out. I promise you."

"Okay." It was a frail agreement, but it was something.

Silence settled between us, but my mind raced, piecing together Olivia's jagged confession with the island's grim past.