Page 28 of The Shift Between Us (Covewood #2)

Chapter Thirteen

Luke

S leeping next to someone you care about is probably one of the best feelings in the world. I kept a respectful amount of space between us, but I could still feel her warmth underneath our shared blanket as I drifted to sleep.

The sound of “This Is How We Do It” by Montell Jordan plays for the second time, and with my eyes still closed, I stir awake, twisting around until I’m facing her, and reach over to nudge her awake. “Liv, turn off your alarm.”

I feel nothing but chilled silk sheets. My eyes snap open, and the slightest hint of blue shines through the window, revealing how early it is.

I look toward the bathroom to see the door is left wide open with no Olivia inside.

She left her phone, sitting on the nightstand, still plugged into the charger. Where is she?

I reach over to turn her alarm off, exhaling a frustrated breath at what time it is, and turn to lie on my back.

Now with the alarm off, I can hear the beat of another song playing somewhere in the house.

I recognize the song instantly and jump up, throwing the covers off my body, and rush through the house.

I follow the music until it leads me into the kitchen to witness a sight I regret seeing. I stand in the doorway, my mouth falling open, as I watch my grandmother, Aunt Andy, Jerrica, and Olivia all dancing together to “ Back That Thang Up” by Juvenile .

Aunt Andy is shimmying her shoulders side to side as she flips sizzling bacon in a pan, singing the words unapologetically loud.

Jerrica is twerking toward my sweet grandmother, who isn’t so sweet after all with the way she’s moving her hips.

I will forever be traumatized. I might even go blind for the rest of the day from this sight.

My gaze lands on Olivia, whose messy bun is bobbing on top of her head, as she sways her hips along to the music while stirring a bowl of what looks to be pancake mix in her arms. I smile at the sight and how she becomes lost in her own little world of baking.

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossing in front of my chest, and watch her. Only her.

I don’t think there’s anything else that can consume me quite like witnessing Olivia in the kitchen. It’s been the only time in the past that I’ve allowed my eyes to linger, since she never seems to notice. It’s a beautiful sight to see her so clearly in her element.

Her back is to me now, and she starts scooting herself backward, humming along to the music, mixing the bowl in her hands.

I wait to see if she’s going to stop, but she keeps moving.

I reach out, placing my hands onto her shoulders, and she shrieks.

Olivia turns around quickly, her hands losing their grip on the bowl of pancake mix, which goes flying into the air, the batter landing on top of my head, shoulders, and chest.

The bowl clatters onto the floor as everyone in the room turns toward our commotion.

I blink my eyes as a bit of the batter dangles from my eyelashes, and I have to use my fingers to scoop it off my face.

Olivia’s hands shoot up to her mouth in shock, Aunt Andy’s eyes are wide in surprise, and Jerrica starts laughing hysterically .

“Luke! Are you okay?” Nonni asks, moving toward me before bending over to pick the plastic bowl up off the floor that had luckily missed me.

My tongue darts out, tasting the flour and cinnamon flavor. “Yeah, I think I’m in one piece.”

“Did we wake you?” she asks, placing the bowl into the sink before turning to look at me.

“I’m pretty sure you woke up the whole house,” I snicker, a soured feeling swirling inside my stomach at the thought of my dad being awake and having to face him at some point today.

Olivia is pressing her lips together to hide from laughing, and I use it as a much-needed distraction. Her plan for fake dating me was to help me get through this weekend, to find a way to take away the stress, and I’m going to hold her to it.

“I got it,” Olivia says when my grandmother goes to wipe up the mess, taking the rag from her hand and patting my chest. “I’m sorry,” she says frantically, concern showing in the dip between her brows.

I place a hand onto hers, stopping her movement, and she looks up at me with wide green eyes, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

“It’s fine, Liv.”

“But I feel bad. I woke up super early and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I figured I could help out with breakfast, and since your Nonni shared her family’s secret recipes with me last night, I shared one of my baking secrets with her.

” She takes a roll of paper towels into her hand before wiping my shoulders and neck.

“Your kitchen dance moves are a secret?” I ask, brow arching, loving the way she scrunches her nose at me.

“It makes baking fun for me, and so I figured we could use some this morning. I’m trying to bond with your family, okay?!” She smacks my shoulder, her hand lingering for a second, giving me a slight squeeze.

There is a playful look twinkling in her eyes, her lip tucking back into her teeth again, her fingers running through my hair as she cleans away the batter. Huh, that’s new.

I smirk down at her and ask, “Did you pick the song?”

She shakes her head, looking over at Jerrica, who’s busy whisking eggs. “Jerrica picked the clean version thankfully.”

I chuckle, and before I can overthink it, I grab Olivia’s shoulders and pull her into a hug.

“Luke!” she squeals as pancake batter squishes against her light-pink tank top and matching pajama bottoms. I take my nose and trace the side of her jaw, leaving a trail of batter on her creamy skin.

She lightly shoves me away, looking down at her messy clothes, and huffs in frustration.

My family laughs, their eyes lingering on us for a moment, before they return to cooking breakfast. I look back at Olivia and realize that I’ll never be able to look at pancakes again without imagining the dusting of freckles across her cheeks, the plump curve of her lips, the way her eyes dip to my mouth and back up to mine.

The movement is so fast that I’m not sure if I imagined it.

“There’s your payback for pouring pancake batter all over me.” My voice sounds a bit like scratchy sandpaper that’s scraping against the fine line of our friendship that I’m desperate to buff away.

Everyone goes back to their tasks, and I take another step away from Olivia.

I give her an apologetic smile and shrug my shoulders, as if saying I’m messing with her, because I am.

Olivia shifts on her feet, and I can tell by the way she’s staring at me, arms crossed, she’s itching to say something.

“I’ll go get cleaned up,” I say, pointing a thumb over my shoulder, and book it out of the kitchen.

After showering and putting on some clean clothes, I make my way through the house and follow the smell of bacon and coffee.

“Luke.” Everything in me freezes at the familiar voice. A voice that’s raspy and weaker than I remembered but familiar all the same. “You came.”

I turn to face my dad, and my hands start to tremble, so I shove them into the pockets of my jeans. My heart is beating in my throat in a way that I haven’t felt in a long time.

He’s sitting in a wheelchair, and a nurse is standing behind him with a kind smile on her face as she pushes him closer to me. I want to tell her to stop, to not push him any closer, but instead, I clench my jaw so tight I might break a molar.

The first thing I notice is how thin he looks.

His facial structure is hollow, and his clothes appear to hang off his body.

His skin is pale, a mixture of snow and ash.

His salt-and-pepper hair hangs loosely down his jaw.

He looks nothing like the man who I used to fear.

Yet that same fear somehow still clings to me.

“It’s good to see you,” he says with a tired smile.

“Is it?” I ask through gritted teeth.

I stand there in silence for a long while, my father and I in some sort of stare-off. The nurse frowns as her eyes sink to the floor. Some people are uncomfortable with silence. Not me. The silence between my dad and me is something that’s familiar.

I’m trying to think of something to say, but I keep asking myself, is it even worth it? Right now, I don’t think it is. My words never mattered to him before. Why would they now?

I let out a shaky breath, feeling like the shards of my past are piercing through me.

I had hoped this would be easier, that I could say, ‘Oh, hi, Dad. I’m sorry you're dying, so I came to fix things between us. Let’s forget all about that time you beat me so badly I couldn’t get out of bed and go to school the next day. ’

“I, uh…I’ve been wanting to talk with you,” he finally says, breaking the silence.

“About what?” I stare into the black pits of his eyes.

“This cancer for one.” He waves an arm around his body. “About a lot of things, really.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve had my whole life to talk about things, and you never did.”

His brows pierce together, making it seem like my words were a blow to him. “You’re right. There were many times within the past few years that I picked up the phone to call you, but I let my doubts get the best of me.”

And when he did finally call you, you hung up on him and never gave him a chance , my subconscious reminds me. I shake the thought away, finding it harder to let go of the anger inside of me. It’s the one thing that’s protecting me right now.

“Luke, there you are—” My grandmother stops mid-sentence, halting in her place, her eyes moving between my father and me.

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” I announce, turning to leave. I grab my jacket, ignoring their calls for me to wait, and let the door slam behind me.