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It keeps her out of a tense atmosphere and makes it so I have one less thing to focus on.
I want answers.
I need answers.
And I’m not going to be against letting my mates encourage Oliver into sharing them, if he decides to hold them in.
After all, what’s a little payback for the torment he’s caused me?
50
MAIA
Alex and I walk through to the living room, and I gasp as I see the bruising on Oliver’s face. It’s dark purple around his eyes, and there’s a huge bruise on the left side of his jaw.
There’s a pang of pain, some concern, and a little bit of annoyance, but I push that down.
This man is not Ryan, and I shouldn’t care the way I do.
Not that that difference means it’s okay that he’s been beaten up, but I shouldn’t be this bothered by seeing the evidence of it.
He is still a prick who has taunted me for months.
“I’m fine,” Oliver croaks in the same kind of way Ryan would.
I sway on my feet, and I can feel the weakness in my legs. I clutch at Alex’s arm, hating myself for letting the tsunami of emotions try to drag me down, and let him give me the support I need.
“Come sit, little butterfly,” Alex encourages, and when I don’t move myself, he gently leads me over to the big armchair. I lower myself into it as gracefully as I can, and when Alex moves away, a coldness seeps into me.
I’m tired. Exhausted, really. I feel like, ever since I’ve met the guys, it’s been non-stop drama. It would be so easy to blame the guys. To let Topher take the blame—the man would willingly assume it. It would be so simple to lash out at Ben—he’d take it and ask for another. Seb and Alex...
But, really, this goes all the way back to the beginning. It goes to Ryan, who I fell in love with. It goes to my “Aunt Emily”, who faked her own death.
It goes back to my parents—my mum, at the very least—who knew this family.
These secrets are deep seeded, and so many families are entwined in them. At this point, I think I have a bigger tie to all the conspiracies and dramas than the guys do.
And sadly, it’s from more than just my connection with Phoebe. Every single thread we’re exploring ties back to me in some way. As if I’m the centre of the conspiracies and secrets.
Maybe Fate was onto something when she thrust me into this world.
But my parents are dead, and Ryan’s dead, and Emily—Morgan—well, that’s too much to handle right now. I have nobody I trust that I can ask for answers.
So, Oliver will have to do. He’s already proven he won’t just lie or curb the truth to protect my feelings. I just hope he’ll share what he knows, even if it doesn’t follow the plan he’s created. I hope it doesn’t come to my guys needing to threaten or harm him.
But I can’t say I’m against it.
“Really?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at Topher, whose smugness is practically drowning me.
“It was well-deserved,” Topher says, a smirk on his face. Seb and Ben nod, each agreeing.
Oliver groans, and I glance over at him in time to see him shrug. “Can’t argue against it, really, Maia Papaya. I do wish your savages could’ve settled for breaking my nose once, though. I’ve got appearances to keep up with, and I do not heal as fast as they do.”
“It would be better if you were dead like—” Ben falls silent, looking at me, before glaring at Oliver. “It would just be better if you were dead.”
“Like Ryan?” Oliver taunts.
I hiss, and Oliver’s head snaps my way as two of my men growl. Seb is one of them, since he’s in my direct line of sight just behind Oliver, he can’t hide it, but I miss which of the other men acted up on my behalf.
