Page 71 of The Unravelings

“Why do they have movies? Aren’t they obsolete?” I clear my throat, trying to shake the terrible memories of that night out of my mind. For now, at least. “I mean, who even has the players for them anymore?” I quip, blowing out a ragged breath.

The last thing I want to do is stare at his wide, dark eyes, taking me in from head to toe. Like he’s memorizing every inch of Oliver and trying to unravel him until Olivia jumps out and says hello. She won’t, though. Olivia is locked down deep inside me. At least, the girl he used to know. Something sparks in his pupils as they dilate, and several breaths spill from his nose until he shakes his head and clears his throat.

JJ blows out a heavy breath. “Seeing you like this… It’s you, but it’s—” His breath hitches in his throat. “Not you. Even wrapping my head around the fact that you’re still here and hiding…”

“This is who I am here.” My mouth dries out when my eyes dart, checking over my shoulder. “I have to be Oliver.” I emphasize the name Oliver, trying to convey without words that I need his discretion. Even if he doesn’t think he owes it to me.

“There’s no one around here, no surveillance or cameras watching us. You and me,” he murmurs, noting the way my eyes dart around the shelves. “No one comes back to this section, anyway.”

“Then why are movies here?” I raise a brow, thankful for the subject change.

A small smile falls across his lips when his eyes dart to the shelves of DVDs.

“Because you never know when someone might need them.” There’s a sadness that clings to his words as he stares at the titles instead of me until he clears his emotions away and turns to me. “Now, shall we? I unfortunately have to go somewhere after this.” He gestures toward a small room behind us with half-glass walls, giving me a peek inside.

“Sure,” I grit out, huffing as I walk past him and into the room.

So, this is it. Out of the public eye and straight into the study room.

Just him and me.

20

Olivia

My gaze bounces from one corner to the next, taking in the rectangular study table that sits in the middle of the study room with two to-go coffee cups resting on the wooden top and a small bag that reads—Jenni’s Cafe.

My favorite café in town. The place I used to sneak to when I was craving good coffee and a donut before class in high school.

“Where do you have to go after this?” I question, prodding for answers. That’s what an agent would do as I meander further into the room.

“Sit. Then we’ll talk,” JJ basically commands as he closes the door softly and clicks the lock into place.

Great. Locked in a see-through prison with my demanding-ass murderer. How could this day get any worse?

JJ slowly makes his way across from me at the table. Never taking his sharp gaze off me. When he sits, he blinks several times again, taking in my almost unrecognizable face.

“I got your favorite coffee. Or…” He scratches the back of his neck with uncertainty. “You still like southern pecan with loads of sugar and too much sweetness? Right? Or has that changed?” An uncertainty sits on the tip of his tongue, like he’s not sure what to say or think.

I frown. “There’s nothing wrong with sweet coffee.” My eyes lock on the coffee cup, and my suspicions rise. “And no, that hasn’t changed.”

“Good. I also got you this…” Slowly, he pushes the bag across the table until it’s in front of my face. “You still like too-sweet donuts, too, right? Because I…”

“Yes,” I say, swallowing hard and trying not to let his sweet gesture soften me up.

I peek in the bag and practically drool at the sight of my favorite donuts wrapped in paper. The scent of cinnamon and maple wafts from the bag, and my stomach growls with anticipation.

But I hold off from reaching in and tearing into the sweet treat. Despite JJ’s claims that he has nothing to do with my death, I have to be cautious. It could be tampered with or poisoned.

“You remembered what I like? After all this time?” I whisper, closing the bag of donuts so I don’t give in to the temptation.

“I never forgot a single detail of our lives together,” he whispers, scraping a hand through his dark locks. “Your breakfast order. Your coffee. Your favorite dinner. Your favorite TV show. Your favorite romances. You may have died, but my love for you didn’t.” Tears shimmer in his desperate eyes as he watches me closely now, taking in the rigidity of my body.

Heat billows through me, staining my cheeks. My eyes dart toward the ground. Focus on your shoes. Focus on the carpeted floor. Don’t focus on the fact that he remembers everything about you and seems to be locked in his memories. Don’t focus on the tears glistening in his eyes again, with true sadness seeping through.

“Oh,” I whisper and clear my throat. “So, how can I get my grades back up?”

“By coming here,” his voice cracks, drawing my gaze back to him. “Don’t miss a study session, and I’ll fix it.”