Twelve | Ollie

"I'm sorry," I stood from the desk, "but... what?"

Hallie's story left me speechless. Those four words were all I could manage. Of all the things I thought were about to spill from this woman's mouth, that was not it. She fell eerily silent, pressing her back into what little free wall space this room offered with a glossy gaze she refused to lift from the floor. I was glad she wouldn't look at me, because I didn't know how the hell I was supposed to react to that.

"It was a decision she made, and there was no talking her out of it. I would have never tried either. I think she knew she was going to get her heart broke but didn't realize just how bad."

I pressed my folded arms to the top of the metal filing cabinet, dropping my head down to take a breath I hadn't realized I had been neglecting. My chest was tight, taking in too much air and letting it out with a loud sigh. It all made sense now, and yet made little sense at all. One thing was certain, I fucked up when I accused Sloan of ill intentions.

"I've been fucking terrible to her."

"Yeah," Hallie said. "You have. The one thing she has left is that school. Her dream guy didn't work out. Her career needs to. I'm a mess myself and keeping us both above water," she paused, which caused me to look up. Her eyes held tears ready to release. "I can't do it much longer. Maybe it's selfish of me to think that way, but I'm exhausted. All the work I've done to get her this far, you tanked."

The whole situation made me sick. When the door of the office burst forward, I had never been so relieved to see Mikah.

"Are you going to work today?" Mikah peered at his watch. "Jason is getting his ass kicked in that kitchen with noon rush!"

Hallie and I shared a look, one that said we were both thinking of Sloan and nothing else. I understood why she was depressed, but how the hell was I supposed to do anything about the circumstances for it if Sloan didn't just tell me herself? But I understood exactly why she didn't tell me, probably better than anyone.

"What's with the silence?" Mikah asked. "Did you finally knock one up?"

"Suck a dick," Hallie countered, folding her arms across her chest.

I tried to withhold a smile when Mikah's brows lifted with her audacity. Speechless Mikah was my favorite Mikah, and I had half a mind to offer Hallie a job if she could put up with his shit. He needed to be put in his place more often. It would do him some good.

Hallie lifted her purse from the desk and tossed it over her shoulder. "She works at Thomas Jones' Consignment on the westside."

"What am I supposed to do?" I took a step forward. "She hates me, for good reason, and I'm not sure I can talk her into going back into the classroom after the way she left. It changes nothing. I can't give her special treatment."

"You got through to her once." Hallie shrugged. "I have faith you can do it again. And if you don't, I'm sticking with that plan of shoving your toothpick through your dick."

Mikah laughed, being the only one to find it funny. Hallie grabbed him by the shirt in a tight fist and yanked him further into the office so she could move past. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving just my brother and me standing in a cloud of disturbed dust.

"Where do you find these chicks?"

"Here." I groaned, dropping my head back to the filing cabinet. "Mulligan's Bar & Grill, the one and only. I need to walk away from this place and all the bullshit that comes with it."

"Yeah, I've heard you mention that before." Mikah said, bitterness etched into his deep voice. "Nothing like throwing the legacy down the shitter with the rest of your family."

I didn't have it in me to fight today. Mikah played the biggest hand in shitting on his family, and he loved shitting on me in particular. If it wasn't for our similar DNA, I would have denied being related to the prick. We couldn't be more alike and more different at the same time. This was probably the longest conversation we had in over a year and neither of us wanted to continue it. The door slamming again signaled Mikah's absence from the room, lessening the raised testosterone a little.

Even if Mikah didn't want to hear it, I stood by what he said. Mulligan's was the only thing keeping us together, and it needed to end. One of us had to walk away from it, and I wanted to be that person first. Kit only came around when it was convenient, and none of us were making money on it because we couldn't agree with the correct way to run it. I was one of the best chefs in Chicago and was being held back by a bartender that wouldn't agree to change the goddamn menu out of spite. Illinois was feeling less and less like home every day.

I sighed heavily, looking around the old office with my lips curling downwards. The desk was filled with pictures of my family. From trips to Wrigley, rides on tractors, Halloween costumes, boy scout camping trips, and even some old prom pictures of Shelby and me. Every single one of those pictures displayed genuine smiles and candid laughter. It seemed like so long ago the Mulligan family was actually happy. Now we were all a mess, and the only proof left of the life we once knew was time-capsuled into this office. I saw it in Mikah's face too when he came through the door we always kept shut. There was a time when we played under that desk.

Unable to stand it anymore, I slapped the light switch to off. I came to terms with being unhappy on the other side of the door. I was already telling myself I wouldn't make the mistake of coming back in here again.

There was a dull ache behind my eyes as I moved across the crowded restaurant. We were in for a busy evening if it kept up like this, and Hallie's little story session about Sloan hadn't helped one bit. I stopped at the bar before walking back to the kitchen, where Mikah noticed me loitering in his personal space.

"What?" Mikah growled, picking up a bottle of Malibu to combine with a glass of orange juice.

"I need you to make me a drink. Anything. Pour me a shot."

"You're working!"

That may have been, but my kitchen staff was going to suffer solely because I had a bad day. Clearly, my salty attitude was affecting others, and I didn't want to make a habit of everyone hating me. Sloan hating me right now was bad enough. I could live with Mikah hating me, because the hate I felt in return was far superior. The drink wasn't just for me. It was for everyone who had to deal with me today. The other benefit would be that it would hopefully dull old memories and new ones of Sloan Smith.

"Mikah," I sighed, knowing I didn't have it in me to argue, "tell me you didn't walk out of that room and pour one for yourself."

Mikah stilled, his lips forming a hard-pressed line. I knew I was right and pulled a shot glass for myself from the stack. I placed it beside the mixed orange juice drink.

"I did whiskey," Mikah confessed. "Grab me a shot glass too. I need another."

"Fine."

"Fine."

It didn't matter what I poured him, or how many Mikah took for himself, so long as it took my edge off. I wasn't prepared for any of this today.

>>

The outer village wasn't somewhere I spent much time. The roads were enjoyable and felt more recluse than inner Chicago. They allowed me more freedom with the Harley. The rain had stopped a few hours prior, and the roads had since dried, making it an ideal drive. As soon as I had gotten my first job as a head chef fresh out of culinary school, my first purchase was a Nissan Ultima that was purely supposed to be used for the longer drives home. The gas mileage was a major bonus. The bike, however, was constantly calling my name for a ride. I needed the bike and smooth asphalt to clear my head and allow me to breathe what little fresh air the city offered.

Work had been a blur all night with my thoughts focused on Sloan. Two of my fingertips had bandages around them to prove it. I couldn't get what Hallie said out of my head, and I needed to know if it was the truth. I knew it was, but I needed Sloan to confirm it. And I needed a clear head if I was going to talk to her again.

Thomas Jones' Consignment was probably the last place I thought I would park the bike. I was just going to drive by it, maybe see if I could spot Sloan through the floor to ceiling windows that covered the entire front of the old building. My stomach was in knots the moment my feet touched back to the pavement of the parking lot. There were two cars sitting outside, and I had no clue if one of them belonged to my former student. I had never heard of this business before tonight. It was within a long line of similar-sized businesses, a few pawnshops, a laundromat, and a Thai buffet that looked a little sketchy. All the businesses were already closed, and yet this one still had lights on.

One foot at a time, I walked towards the consignment shop, stopping about twenty feet from the doors when they opened to reveal a man and woman on their way out. She looked exhausted after a night of work, her eyes sunken and tired, her brown hair tied back and messy. She was dressed more casually than I had seen her before, but less homeless than the day we met, wearing an orange tee and a pair of jeans that hugged what little curves she had. When she finally looked my way, my chest felt like it was going to burst from holding my breath, unwilling to let it go.

My eyes immediately were drawn to Sloan's, just as hers did the same in return. It caused her to halt her steps while the lights turned off one by one behind her. My hands dove awkwardly into my pockets, my chest already tight with regret for showing up like this. Those eyes of hers narrowed with her arms cradling herself. I couldn't even blame her. I could feel the heat of her hatred all the way over here.

When the alarms of the business were set, the man beside her turned, startled to find that they weren't alone in the lot. "Sloan?" the man asked, eyeing me carefully.

His hand moved to the small of Sloan's back—a protective measure that was completely unnecessary. Although, something about his hand intimately placed on her made me take a few more steps forward.

"I want to talk," I said, finding more confidence than I had a minute ago.

Sloan's eyes rolled hard. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Fine." I shrugged, still keeping my hands in my pockets where they were forming fists. This guy was keeping his hand on her like she needed protection from me, and she was allowing it. "You can listen."

For a second, I wondered if these two were a thing. I doubted it. I just couldn't picture this guy to be her type. It was someone who felt comfortable enough to touch her more than a coworker should. She didn't even seem to mind or notice. She was just trying to move away from me as fast as she could with her human shield trying to keep up. Sloan began digging through the purse that crossed from one shoulder to her hip, looking for her keys, as she walked towards one of the two cars. The man followed her instead of walking to the car adjacent to it.

"Do you want me to take you home tonight?" he asked, moving his hand to her upper arm. "I will."

"I can handle him, TJ. Go home. You had a long day. I'll see you early tomorrow."

He hesitated, unwilling to take his eyes off me or his hand off of Sloan.

"Really." She patted his back to stop his glare. "Go home. See your fiancée. He's no one."

Ouch. I cringed. I deserved that, and yet it still stung.

"Text me as soon as you get home."

"I will." Sloan gave TJ's shoulder a playful shrug. "Have a good night."

Sloan and I stood together quietly as TJ strode away. It wasn't until his tan Honda finally left the lot that I released the fists in my pockets. My hands ached, but nothing compared to the one in my chest as I looked at the woman I'd been mentally destroying without realizing it. It was my fault she looked the way she did, and the words I was trying to find to apologize for it were evading me.

"Take a ride with me," I said, blurting the demand and taking a meaningful step forward. I freed one hand from my pant pocket to motion to the Harley. We both looked shocked at the offer, because I definitely had not planned it.

"Uh?" Sloan chuckled, clearly realizing how awkward I was being. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Especially not on that thing."

"Don't diss my bike," I warned.

"Jesus," she muttered, with her eyes falling back to her purse to continue digging. "You are the most defensive person I have ever met. I am not obligated to like your motorcycle. Why the fuck are you even here?"

"I said I wanted to talk."

"And I said I don't."

Sloan moved towards the front of her car, removed the purse from over her head, and dumped the contents to the hood. She used a finger to sift through the items until she finally found her keys. She shook them as if to tell me she's done with this conversation.

"Sloan, please?" I watched her toss a bunch of unnecessary shit back into the bag. "I want to talk about what happened last week. Take a drive with me and let me apologize for being a dick. I won't apologize for all of it, because I am your instructor, and I need to hold you to the same standards as my other students. But I should have never made you feel like shit for the night we spent together."

Sloan said nothing, unwilling to look up as she selected the right key to unlock her car door. I dove between her and the door, blocking her from entering it and leaving me alone in the parking lot. I came this far and would be damned if I was going to let her walk away from me again.

"Ollie!" Frustrated, she looked up at the sky. She was doing everything in her power not to pay attention to me, and I would not give up easily. "I just worked a double shift. I'm exhausted. I want to go home."

"I was an asshole," I began the apology, holding my palms to the cool metal of her car door.

"You think?"

"Let me finish."

"No. Move!" Sloan tried moving beside me, using her hip to push me from my spot. I didn't budge. If I wasn't mid-apology, I would have found this little move cute. I probably would have laughed at her for thinking she had any weight to use against me. Now would be a very poor time for that.

"Ollie!"

"Take a ride with me," I repeated calmly.

"No."

Sloan moved until she was in front of me again and pushed my chest hard. Had the car not been directly behind me, that time I would have likely landed on my ass. Sloan had more strength than I thought.

"Take a ride with me."

"No!" She pushed again.

This time, there was some pain with her push. I was ready for the third time. As she drew back her arms and shoved them forward, I took her wrists. We locked eyes, feeling our skin coming into contact with each other's for the first time since the night in the bar. There was no time to overthink it. Sloan tried to retreat by taking a step back. I didn't release her, needing her to listen to what I had to say.

"Take a ride with me," I said once more. I didn't want to sound demanding or upset her further, because now I knew how to make this up to her. "Let me apologize. There's something I want to show you."

Her eyes glassed over. Within seconds, I could see the tears threatening to escape. I swallowed hard, hating that I knew the reason. A beautiful and talented girl like Sloan should not have to deal with depression and a dickhead like me.

"You didn't want to apologize before." She tried to yank her arms free, and I only tightened my hold. "Asshole is putting it lightly! You are a bitter, lonely, shit human! Why the hell has that changed suddenly? Why do you need to apologize to me right now?"

"Because..." I tried to stop her fighting me, but part of me wanted to allow her to beat the shit out of my chest. All those adjectives she used couldn't have been more fitting of the person I really was.

"Because why?"

I stood from my lean against the car, towering over her as I pulled her wrists upwards to get her to listen. Her glossy and startled eyes looked up at me as my frown finally freed itself. Something in the look we shared told her everything, because her pupils dilated, and her lips trembled while my jaw tightened. Neither of us wanted to say it, even though we were both thinking it.

"Sloan, you're a widow..."