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Adam wrapped his arms around Olive’s waist, rolled her onto the bed and hovered over her. She squealed and smiled. She wanted to do this, and god, it made his blood sing. She was looking up at him, big eyes taking everything in, searching his face. Her skin was pink with excitement, her chest heaving just as much as his. Fucking perfect. Fucking precious.
He wanted so much to let her see everything that weighed on his soul, the whole, messy depth of his feelings for her, the years of yearning for this. His hips arched against her before he could control himself. Later. There would be time for that, but not yet.
He leaned down, pressing his chest against hers, and kissed her, soft but insistent. This was not exactly what he had planned, how he had ever envisioned this happening, but he had a new plan, a new strategy that would help her relax a bit first, help her feel more comfortable. And he was so, so delighted to get to work on it.
Her lips were soft and she pressed up to him, needy, just as insistent as he was. It was hard, nearly impossible to believe this was happening. This was real life. His life. He smiled into her kisses and slid his hands up her arms, gripping her biceps to steady himself.
Suddenly Olive gasped, flinched, and her lips fell away. Adam froze. Then, like she was confused about it herself, she tried to kiss him again a moment later.
He leaned back, pressing his thumb to her lips instead, brushing it softly across her mouth as his fingers cupped her cheek.
“You okay?” he breathed, trying to focus. He felt lightheaded and like he was drunk, every muscle aching with the strain of trying not to just ravish her in two minutes, but that had been…odd.
“Mmm,” she hummed lightly, happily, but her eyes had fluttered closed and her head tilted to one side. She was still flushed and her breathing was fast but there was something off. He hadn’t spent all that time obsessing over her for nothing, he knew all her little ticks—the ways she showed joy, but also the ways she showed discomfort. Something about this was still not right and he would not proceed unless she was enjoying it too.
He frowned, a knot forming in his stomach. “Did I hurt you?” He was very quickly sobering up as concern squeezed out lust. He brushed a hand down the arm that she had turned towards, pressing his fingers against her skin, not as hard as before, but hard enough to elicit—
There—her face scrunched up in pain.
He rolled off of her immediately and sat next to her instead, one leg under himself and the other hanging over the side of the bed.
“Adam, don’t,” she said, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. “Come back. It’s nothing.”
She didn’t flinch when he turned on the bedside lamp, just turned her head, curling away from him.
“Hey,” he whispered, planting one hand on the bed on the far side of her, so she couldn’t roll away completely. “I just want to look.”
His heart was thumping hard against his ribs, waves of anxiety pulsing through him. He leaned down and examined her bicep. There, with the light on it, he could see the faint darkening of a fresh bruise. It looked…he frowned…it looked like a set of fingers.
“Olive,” he breathed, “I’m so sorry, god, I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
He rolled her over to examine her other arm and she didn't fight it. He’d squeezed the other side just as hard. God. If he’d hurt her, he would never forgive himself. He—
But there was nothing on her other arm, not even any redness. He brushed his lips over it, then over her forehead. Her eyes blinked open again finally. He frowned down at her, his chest tight.
“There’s a bruise on one of your arms.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I… Olive… Wh… Don’t apologize. I’m not mad at you. Sweetheart…” He pressed his lips to her cheeks, first one, then the other, and ran his hand up and down her side. She shivered. “I’m not mad at you. Please don’t cry.”
She was crying, though. She curled away from him, wrapping her arms around herself, and it gave him the perfect view of the bruise again.
He stared at it. It was dark. Several clear, strong fingers wrapping around the back and a big circular thumb print on the front. It looked like his hand, but as he stared at it, he realized the coloring was wrong. A fresh mark, something he’d done just moments ago, would still be red on her skin. This…
His brain completely shut down momentarily as a wave of rage washed over him. If he hadn’t bruised her in his overeager excitement at their first time together…then who did? Who had had their hands on her? Who had dared to touch the woman he loved?
“Olive.” His voice was low. A growl. It frightened even him. He cleared his throat and tried to sound softer. “Olive? Sweetheart? Look at me.”
She buried her face further into the duvet and mumbled something.
He kissed her shoulder blade, trying to get close to her. “Sweetheart, what?”
“I can’t,” he heard her say.
He turned out the bedside lamp then climbed over to lay down facing her. He kissed the top of her head, her temples, her shoulder again, anything he could reach.
“Come here,” he whispered, trying to get her to put her head on his arm and snuggle against him. She was cold, wearing only knee socks and her underwear.
He reached over and tugged on the duvet that fell over the side of the bed behind her until he could wrap her up in it. When it was tucked snugly around her shoulders, she finally looked at him.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I know you wanted to…you were ready for…and I wanted to too…I—“
“Olive,” he cut her off. “Olive, it’s fine, we can still…if you want to later, but…what happened to your arm? I thought I hurt you, but…it was somebody else, wasn’t it?”
She blinked rapidly, frowning. “I can’t…I can’t tell you.”
“You can tell me anything.” He brushed her hair back gently and searched her face. He could see the trouble there, something eating away at her, she was clearly distraught. “Olive,” he said, very quietly. His chest hurt. “You can tell me anything. And I’ll believe you, okay? I promise. Whatever’s wrong, I’ll believe you and I’ll help you fix it. Okay?”
She took a deep, shaky breath and fresh tears started to flow.
“Olive,” he whispered. “Olive, Olive, sweetheart…”
He pulled her against his chest and she let him, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder and shaking. He nestled her there as tightly as he could, arms around her and cheek to the top of her head. It killed him to have her crying in his arms for a second time in one day.
As he thought about finding her in the room earlier, before dinner, after her talk, the thought dawned on him.
“Was there more to what happened after your talk, Olive? Did someone hurt you?”
Her crying worsened and he let the subject drop. He wouldn’t get any answer out of her like this. Instead he focused on making her feel safe and letting her cry it out. He tried to take deep steadying breaths, hoping the rhythmic motion of it might be soothing for her, even though every bone in his body was ready to inflict violence on whoever had hurt her.
It felt like ages, but her tears finally slowed as she exhausted herself. She sniffled and hiccuped, but the intensity of her reaction was waning. Adam kissed her forehead and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Stay here,” he ordered softly, before climbing out of bed. In a few quick steps he found his undershirt and put it back on, then he grabbed his black shirt off the floor and the tissue box.
She sat up slowly, pulling the duvet with her. She only had one edge of it and it did nothing to cover her front. She angled her arms over her chest instead, suddenly shy again.
He dropped the tissues next to her, then shook out the shirt and rolled up the hem, “Here,” he said, holding it over her, looking discretely away to give her some privacy. He let go when he felt her reach up into the shirt and pull it down. His hands fell to her face and he kissed her head. “Hang on a sec. I’ll be right back.”
In the bathroom, he wet a washcloth and filled a glass of water. She was still sitting where he’d left her when he returned to the bed, several used tissues next to the box.
He handed her the glass and quickly swept the tissues into the trash.
“Have a drink,” he ordered. She sipped once, then had more when he prompted her to. “Good, sweetheart, that’s good. Here, wipe your face. You’ll feel better.” When she didn’t move to take the washcloth, he knelt beside the bed, wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and did it for her. He could see her sigh, but she stayed quiet. “Better?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light, but she just looked away.
“Hey,” he said quietly, elbows on the bed, leaning towards her. “You don’t have to tell me anything, okay? But I want to know what happened, even if you think it’ll make me angry or make me not like you or whatever doubts are going through your head, okay? I won’t force you to do anything, but I want you to know that the one thing I want most in life is to help you and support you and take care of you. More than winning grants, or doing successful science, or eating broccoli. Okay? So consider that while I go get you some more water.” He kissed her head again and swiped the glass out of her hand.
In the bathroom, he took a few seconds to release the tension that had been building in him, tightening fists and flexing muscles. If she hadn’t been in the other room he might have punched something, but he didn’t want to scare her. Instead, he wrung the rest of the water out of the washcloth, squeezing it as tightly as he wanted to squeeze this mystery person’s neck. Then he hung it up to dry, refilled the glass, and went back to the bedroom.
At first he didn’t see her. She wasn’t on the bed anymore. He scanned the room until he found her in the seating area, in one of the arm chairs facing the windows. He padded over to her quietly and set the glass on the coffee table.
“You okay?” he asked, running a hand over her hair.
She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes and just shook her head.
Then he noticed that she had her phone in her hands and one earbud in.
The other arm chair was full of all the conference things he’d hastily hidden away when they’d returned from dinner, so he grabbed the rolly desk chair and brought it over to sit facing her.
“Olive, please talk to me, will you?” He leaned on his knees to get closer. “I’m so worried.” He brushed fingers over her cheek. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”
Her eyes snapped up to meet his. “No, Adam, no.” Her voice was rough and scratchy from crying. “Of course not.”
“Okay. Because if you want to be alone, I can—“
Her hand clutched his forearm. “No,” she said sharply. “No. Stay.”
A bit of the pressure that had been building inside his chest unwound with her words. Whatever was going on, at least she still wanted him to be with her. He could deal with anything else, but he didn’t think he could deal with leaving her alone like this.
He laid a hand over hers where it still held his arm and brushed his thumb back and forth in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. It took him a minute to realize she was listening to something he couldn’t hear. Her face was impassive, like stone.
Then suddenly her whole body tensed. She hissed.
“Olive?”
A few more beats and her eyes looked watery again.
“Olive?” He squeezed her hand.
She held up a finger, then fiddled with whatever she was playing on her phone. Finally she stopped it and pulled out her earbud. She handed him her phone.
“I think you really would have believed me if I had just told you what happened,” she said. “I didn’t think you would at first, not earlier, but it doesn’t matter. I realized something and…now you don’t have to take my word for it. I…I think you’d rather know about this than not know about it. Even though it’s going to hurt you.” She stared at him for a moment. “It’s not my fault, but I’m still sorry you have to learn about what happened.” She stood up, wrapping her fingers in the hem of the t-shirt…his t-shirt…hers now.
“Just push play and listen and it’ll explain everything. I…I don’t want to hear it again, so I’m going to go wait in the bathroom. Just let me know when you’re done.”
She kissed his cheek and walked away. Adam stared after her, then looked down at her phone like he was holding a lit hand grenade. He blew out a frustrated puff of air. He’d wanted answers and now here she had laid them in the palm of his hand, but he was scared to know the truth. She made it sound so ominous, like it would shatter him.
Then the image of those finger marks on her arm flashed through his mind and he stuck her earbuds in his ears and pushed play.
There were muffled sounds at first, a few voices and shuffling things. He thought he heard Malcolm but wasn’t sure. Then it was quiet again for a beat. Then…Tom. He listened as Tom talked to Olive. It must have been after their panel. Tom’s voice turned bitter…then…fuck. It was a video, but the phone must have been laying down with the camera against the table, or in her pocket, because there was only blackness. Still, between the audio and the bruise on Olive’s arm, Adam could picture exactly what was happening.
And he knew, he knew right then, that he was going to commit murder.
He kept listening, listened to Olive’s voice grow more and more upset, listened to the disgusting things Tom said to her. Finally it was quiet.
There were still several hours left of the recording but judging by the muffled shuffling noises, Adam guessed that Olive had completely forgotten to stop the recording. He fast-forwarded, heard the hotel room door slam, heard her crying, fast-forwarded again, heard the door open and close, heard his own voice… “What happened?”
He hit pause. He knew everything from that point. He left her phone on the coffee table and went to find his own. There were a few quippy messages from Holden. Opening the texts, he wrote: Need to talk. Know where Tom is?
Holden didn’t immediately reply, which meant he was likely occupied. Or drunk. Or both.
Adam considered calling the police. This was serious. There was audio proof of what had happened. And of course the evidence of assault on Olive’s arm.
Olive.
In his anger he’d almost forgotten she was waiting for him. He slipped his phone in the pocket of his pajama pants and knocked on the bathroom door.
“Olive? Sweetheart? Can I come in?”
He held his breath, waiting for a reply, but instead she cracked the door open and eyed him. Seeing her again brought tears to his eyes. He didn’t know how she was still standing, after the day she’d had. She was so strong. So fucking beautiful. He couldn’t handle it.
“Olive,” he breathed, letting that one word say everything he was feeling.
She opened the door the rest of the way and flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and pushing her face against his chest. Adam held her like a vice, like his life depended on it. Hers too.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair, “I had no idea…I…god, Olive, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Fuck. Of course you’re not okay.” He felt her laugh tearfully in his arms. “I believe you, okay? I believe you. He was wrong. I completely believe you and I’m going to kill him. I’m going to strangle him so he can’t ever say another word to you, break every bone in his body so he can never touch you again or lay eyes on you or—“
“Adam.”
It took him a minute to realize that she had pushed back and was looking up at him.
“Don’t give yourself a heart attack. Take a breath.”
He did, his body following her orders unbidden, without any conscious thought. He leaned back against the wall, pulling her with him. She leaned against him, body soft and heavy with exhaustion.
He put his hands on her face and searched her eyes. She looked…surprisingly better. Not whole, not like the Olive he knew from California, from before this conference had changed everything, but better than earlier when she’d handed him the recording.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, but this time he meant for the way he’d been rambling. “I just…” He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, thinking, deciding. His hands slid down to her shoulders. Yes. There was no other way. He had to. He couldn’t keep it from her anymore. He looked into her eyes and it felt safe. Right. “I just love you so much and…I’m here for you. I’m going to take care of everything. And take care of you.”
“Adam,” she breathed, her voice thin and barely there. A tiny, thin line divided her brows, the one she got in the lab or in seminars when she was trying to figure out the logic behind something. “You don’t mean that.”
He frowned at her. “Don’t mean what? That I love you?”
She nodded, swallowing heavily.
“I have never been more serious about anything in my life.”
She shook her head and tried to pull away. He held her in place, arms locked around her lower back. “But you…Holden said…I thought…”
“You thought what?”
She frowned. “Holden said there was a woman you’d been hung up on for years. A woman from the department that you were in love with.”
“Yes,” he looked at her, trying to understand why she was confused. “You.” He kissed her quickly. A light brush of lips. “That’s you. It’s you. I’ve always been hung up on you.”
“I thought there was someone else. Someone you really wanted to date, not just fake date.”
“You,” he said again, as emphatically as he could. “You. Olive Smith. The amazing girl I met crying in the bathroom. You.”
She gasped and blinked at him for a moment. A smile fought it’s way onto her tear-stained face. “You do remember.”
“Of course I remember.” He brushed fingers across her cheek, massaged behind her ear, curled locks of her soft hair around his fingers. “You remember? I thought you didn’t.”
“I always remembered, but I…I didn’t realize it was you until a few weeks ago. I couldn’t see you, I never got your name, I just…I always thought of you as The Guy. The guy who changed my life.” She leaned heavily against him.
“Changed your life?”
She nodded and looked up at him almost bashfully. “If we hadn’t talked…if you hadn’t said what you said, I don’t think I’d have decided to pursue a PhD. I wouldn’t be here now without your reassurance that day.”
Adam’s heart stopped. He could feel it pounding one moment and then the next moment…silence.
He breathed her name. “Olive. I…I…”
“I love you too, Adam.”
He didn’t have time to worry about his heart because she was kissing him and god. God! If he had died and this was the afterlife, he didn’t care. He was happy. He knotted his fingers in her hair and held her close.
“I thought…I…isn’t there someone else?” he said, gasping for breath between kisses.
She pressed her hands to his chest and looked away briefly. He snagged her chin with two fingers and pulled her face back.
“That was a lie. I thought you could never like me like that, so I lied. I didn’t want to get hurt. It was stupid. I’m so sorry. I was talking about you that day. It was always you.”
Adam held very still and Olive didn’t move. He was very tired. Extremely worn out. Had been on the verge of having sex and then come down. Had been on the verge of committing murder and then come down. Now his brain was understandably having trouble processing what she was saying.
She… What she’d said had been about… All this time she’d…
Piece after piece fell into place, glances, touches, things she’d said, all fitting together finally in a way that made sense. In a way that was…
Perfect.
Without warning he spun them around. She gasped, suddenly finding herself smashed between his body and the wall, his lips on hers, pushing, pushing. Her fingers gripped his shirt pulling him closer. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get enough air, but he didn’t care. All he needed was Olive.
He murmured her name, felt her hips rock against him. “I need you,” he whispered. “I need you now.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself up closer to his face. “You have me. I’m right here.”
His hands slid down, cupping her, lifting her up. Mine, mine, mine his brain hummed. Mine.
She wrapped her legs around him and he carried her back to the bed.
“I…Olive…I need you…”
“Right here,” she soothed, rubbing circles on his neck, scratching his scalp.
He laid her down gently and pulled off his shirt before leaning over her. If she was scared, she didn’t show it. He took a few deep breaths, knowing he needed to be gentle, needed to ease into things carefully. The last thing he wanted to do, after everything, was hurt her.
“Are you sure?” he whispered, mouth pressed to her neck, hands tugging at her shirt.
“I’m sure.” Fingers skated up his spine. “I need you too.”
“I’m here, Sweetheart. I’m right here.”
She shivered and he pressed himself against her body to make her stop. He rubbed against her and she rubbed back, so wet.
“I want to start with something special,” he said, smiling. She looked confused when he pulled away from their kiss and knelt down at the side of the bed.
“Where are you?” she asked, twisting to keep her eyes on him, anxiety in her voice.
On the floor his phone was vibrating with texts. There were so many things to take care of. So many things to fix. But right now they were here. She wanted this. He wanted this.
He grabbed her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the bed. “It’s okay,” he told her, running his fingers over her skin, kissing her in new and exciting places. “I’m here. I’ll always be right here.”