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She made the call.
Olivia had expected Carson to get nothing more than a ruined night and a hand slap. Underage drinking at parties happened often enough in Lark Springs. And then on Monday while he was complaining about how the police had broken up the party, she would tell him, “If only the school had voted for my project, you and your alcoholic friends would at least be able to go somewhere for shoes and pencils.”
Reporting them seemed less funny when the football coach suspended Carson and his friends from playing the last game of the season. The team lost and didn’t go to state that year.
Olivia would’ve taken the secret that she’d made the call to her grave, but when Carson started asking around, trying to figure out who’d turned them in, Becca caved and blamed it all on Olivia.
So much for loyalty.
The head cheerleader cursed Olivia out in the middle of the hallway. Carson’s friends called her Olive Oil for the rest of high school. Whenever someone was having a party, they added #DontTellOlivia.
Some of the people at school rallied around her: her honor student friends, the religious types, and the counterculture crowd. They just loved to see the popular kids get in trouble. But the whole thing was more attention than she’d ever wanted.
She tried to tell Carson she was sorry, that she hadn’t meant for him to get into so much trouble. One day before school, she stopped him in the hallway and launched into an apology.
He just looked at her coldly. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear anything from you ever again.” He stalked off and left her standing there in the hallway.
He may have seriously meant those words and refused to speak to her for the rest of high school. It was hard to tell whether his inattention was due to continued anger or just a case of the popular guy not talking to unimportant people. Either way, she didn’t approach him again. It was better to lay low than risk his anger again.
Her senior year, the football team went to state, and her past deeds were forgotten by most of the student body. And yet every time Carson looked at her—gazing for a second longer than was casual—she knew he hadn’t forgotten.
And now she not only had to see him, she had to ask him for a favor.
Olivia’s hands felt slick with sweat. She wiped them on her pants and reminded herself that she wasn’t asking for a favor on her behalf but on Matt’s. Even if Carson still hated her, he liked Matt enough to hire him. Judging from what Matt told her about his job, the two seemed to be friends. That had to count for something. Carson wouldn’t send a friend to jail. He’d let Matt pay off the debt.
She climbed out of her car. The scent of pine trees and cut wood was everywhere. Only a little of the chill of spring was left and would soon be giving way to summer. The guest house was made of the same faux logs as the main home, but its small size made it look much more like an actual cabin. Empty planters huddled to one side, waiting for something besides dirt. A shovel leaned up against a stack of boxes.
She stared at the guest house’s front door. Her legs didn’t want to move. During the last two years of high school, they’d been programmed to avoid Carson and apparently still had that muscle memory.
This is for Matt, she reminded herself, and trudged up to the front door. The shutters on the windows were closed. Music played from somewhere inside, an old pop song. She drew herself up and knocked.
No one answered. She waited, looking down at the black pants and filmy red blouse she’d changed into. If she had to face her nemesis and beg for mercy, at least she was going to look good doing it.
She knocked again, louder. Still no answer. Carson had to be home. His truck was out front and music was playing inside.
Had he seen she was the one standing on the doorstep and hadn’t opened the door because he still refused to speak to her? He wouldn’t do that, would he?
Then again, maybe he would.
She knocked so loudly that if Carson had had any neighbors, they would’ve heard the noise too.
And he still didn’t open the door. This was great. She’d driven an hour out here to have an important discussion with Carson, and he wouldn’t even answer his door.
Well, she wasn’t going to drive back home without speaking to him. And she couldn’t just leave thousands of dollars on his doorstep. At the very least, she ought to put that inside.
She tried the doorknob. Unlocked. She opened the door.
Carson had turned the living room into a weight room. A universal gym dominated the area with a bunch of free-standing weights lined up beside it. The room did have the remnants of furniture. A clutter-covered coffee table sat by the front door, and a gray couch had been pushed so close to the back wall, it seemed to be edging toward the hallway that led to the rest of the house.
The kitchen was off to the side, its countertops covered in tools, electronics, and stacks of paper. Definitely a bachelor pad.
She stepped inside. “Carson? It’s Olivia Travers. I need to talk to you about Matt.”
She heard a soft thump from the hallway, the sound of someone moving around. And yet Carson still didn’t come out.
She took another step inside. “I know you’re there. Can I just have five minutes of your time so we can talk?”
No sign of him.
