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“I thought I could trick myself into doing the show, but I panicked. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“No one blames you for what happened. At least not anyone that truly matters. Tyler and the PR team already did damage control and fixed the narrative. I’m just thankful for the woman at the bar who brought you to safety. It could’ve ended up much worse.”
Thank goodness for Emery.
“I feel bad for her, though,” Kelly continued. “The paparazzi has been at the place trying to get an exclusive interview with the bartender from that night, but it was reported that the owner fired her for the disruption that happened.”
“She was fired?”
“Yeah. At least that’s what’s being reported.”
Shit.
Emery was already struggling with life in her own ways. Leave it to me and my demons to make her life even worse off.
“I gotta go handle something,” I said abruptly, shooting up from my bed.
Kelly arched an eyebrow. “Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”
“I have to make something right, that’s all.”
“Okay, well if you need anything, let me know. I’ll get back to answering these emails for you and all that jazz.”
“Thanks, Kelly.” I started to head out of the room but paused as I looked back to my assistant. Behind her organization and kindness, I saw it. Her pain. I wasn’t the only one mourning the death of my brother, that was for sure.
It was no secret that she and Alex had been getting closer and closer each day before the accident. I wondered what they would’ve been if they’d had more time. I wondered if they were supposed to be a love story with a happy ending. I wondered if she blamed me for his death like the rest of the world did.
She was his type to a T too. A beautiful woman with a heart of gold. During her free time—which was limited—she was either volunteering at food shelters, giving back to the inner city, taking part in equality protests, or meditating for better tomorrows. They were so much alike—she and my brother. Shit, she and Alex were probably meant to be, up until life got in the way.
Kelly never showed her sadness in front of me over the loss of Alex. She simply handled every angle of my life with care and tact. She never brought up the shit that the rest of the world brought up and did her best to make my life easier. I wished I could do something to make her life easier too. Because I was sure when she did grieve, she crumbled on her own.
“How are you doing, Kelly? You know, with everything. How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
She laughed. “Maybe.” She brushed her hand against the back of her neck and gave me a smile that was soaked in sadness. “I’m still breathing, though, and I’ll call that a win.”
That seemed so simple, but oddly enough I’d found breathing to be one of the hardest things as of late.
“All right. Keep breathing. Did you eat breakfast today?” I asked.
She shifted a little in her seat, which was enough of an answer for me. “I have time before I have to handle this. Let’s get breakfast.”
“Oliver, I’m fine,” she said warily. I wondered how many times a day humans lied to one another about being okay.
“Yeah, I know you are. Now come on. Let’s go get breakfast.”
10
EMERY
When morning came, I awakened to my doorbell ringing. My body ached from exhaustion, and my eyes were probably still swollen from the amount of crying I’d taken part in, but still, I was able to get out of bed. Silver lining.
I headed toward the front door and was shocked to see Oliver standing there when I opened it. He gave me a slight smile that looked more like a frown, and in his hands was a giant houseplant, along with a card.
“Hi,” he breathed out, making me confused as ever. His eyes were heavy, as if he hadn’t slept much the night prior, either.
“Hi?” I rubbed my hand up and down my arm, nerves rocking throughout my entire system. “What are you—”
“I owed you a houseplant,” he said, cutting in. He held the beauty in my direction, along with the card. “Figured I’d toss in a card too.”
“You didn’t have to do that, but she’s beautiful,” I said, smiling down at the new plant.
“She?”
I nodded. “Plants are alive, just like humans.”
“Do you name them, too?”
“No, I leave that up to Reese. That one on my coffee table is Bobby Flay. The spiky one in the bathroom is Guy Fieri.”
He gave me a half grin and nodded but didn’t say anything else. His brows pulled in as he rubbed his hand against his cheek.
“Is there . . . something else?” I asked, not sure what was keeping him standing in my doorway.
