⚠️ Trigger Warning: This chapter will be graphic in regard to suicide.

A/N: If you feel this chapter will trigger you, please skip it. The gist of it is that Ollie is broken because of this incident and feels like it is his fault.

Always remember that you are loved, you would be missed, and that help is available to those who need it:

Suicide Prevention Hotline:

1-800-273-8255

www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

To Write Love on Her Arms:

www.twloha.com

The wind refused to let up. Round two of last night's snowfall had started, and the combination of the two was now sending drifts of snow across acreage that looked like waves of white. It was hard to walk, and there were times I wondered if my feet were on the ground or if the wind was in control. So long as it kept me toward the swinging barn door, I could handle falling on my ass a few times to get there.

My heart sank the moment the words left Mikah's mouth. In fact, I couldn't bring myself to speak a word for a good five minutes, because what was someone supposed to say? Sorry for your loss? I knew firsthand it didn't help. It felt weird to be on the other side of it when there was a room filled with tears for someone I had never met. I didn't make Mikah go into detail, but what little he offered after the confession regarding their dad was that Ollie was alone on the farm the day he found him, and Ollie has refused to come home ever since. It didn't take rocket science to piece it all together after that. His nightmares and lost sleep all stemmed from that day, and in particular, the barn that he had holed himself up in all morning.

How could I have missed the signs Ollie was hurting this badly? Shouldn't I, if anyone, have caught it? Ollie never offered more information on his dad than what was necessary, and that was the same with the men I worked with at Mulligan's. It was easy to tell that Henry Mulligan was loved by everyone who knew him, but no one spoke about him unless they had to. And for all the comments that Ollie had made about him, I knew he'd lost his idol the day his dad died.

With my hands full, tears frozen to my neck, and crunchy snow beneath my feet, I had to finish crying before reaching the double doors. The sympathy for Ollie needed to be left outside with this snowstorm, because I understood how much it hurt to see someone else hurt because of your own shortcomings with depression. It's not supposed to rub off, but it does.

Now standing outside the door that looked like it could blow away at any moment, I pressed my face into the blanket from Kit's bed to dry my face of the mess I'd made. After a deep breath, I pulled the door that was still attached to both hinges and entered the barn.

It looked massive from the outside, but with many pieces of farm equipment being stored here, it wasn't as big as I thought it would be. The slamming behind me caused me to jump and gasp. It didn't seem to stir Ollie, if he was in here somewhere. The smell of winter's fresh snow and pine was now left on the other side of the door. My nostrils were flooded with the smell of rotten wood, hay, leather, and outdated fuel. I had a feeling that the vintage red tractor I was maneuvering around was the culprit of some sort of fuel leak. With the day being overcast and gray, the windows gave minimal light to figure out where I was going, but it didn't matter. It didn't take long to find him.

Sitting along the only portion of the wall that had space available, Ollie—who appeared freezing even though he was in his coat and hat—sat with his knees drawn to his chest. His muscular arms were wrapped around them, shaking from the cold, and his head was dropped so I couldn't see his face. My lips quivered at the sight of him looking almost childlike—innocent. The deep breath I took made my lungs ache.

I approached Ollie slowly, not knowing what kind of temperament he would choose with me, knowing something he clearly wanted to keep to himself. I didn't fault him for that, but I also knew how Ollie could get when angry with me. Preparing myself for the worst, I dropped to the hay-covered ground in front of him, now seeing that he was clutching a pack of cigarettes in one of his hands.

"I hid these out here when I was fourteen," he said without raising his head, squeezing the package tighter.

"I won't blame you if you smoke one right now," I said. "I promise I won't take them."

Ollie's head lifted, and it took everything in me not to burst into tears at the sight of him. Just as I had been last night, Ollie's eyes were swollen, stained red. His tears glistened down his cheeks, that were just as pink as his cold nose that was running from crying. With a shaking head, he turned my offer down.

"Took me months to get my hands on a pack. All my friends were doing it. I smoked one cigarette from this package the day I got them, coughed until I puked, and didn't touch them again until the day I found..." He stopped himself before finishing the sentence.

I frowned, and it told Ollie that I knew the truth about his dad. Now knowing he was approachable, I took Kit's blanket and wrapped it around him. He pulled it tighter, still shivering. No blame there; it was freezing, especially with the draft coming in from the broken door.

"All this time you were taking away my hurt, and I should have been trying to take away yours," I whispered. "You could have told me. The nightmares..."

"I killed my dad, Sloan," he said with narrowing eyes. "It's not something I boast about, especially to the girl I'm bedding."

Trying to brush off the dig at me, I shook my head. "A suicide is not your fault."

Ollie sniffled, and I could hear the amount of snot he had sent to the back of his throat.

"You see that tire?" Ollie pointed to an old, rubber tire that was propped against an upright beam. It had seen better days, used until all the tread was gone. My head bobbed. "It used to be a swing. A kid down the road had a tire swing in his barn, and I begged my dad for one just like it. I was about eight. My dad said it would be in the way, and that he hated heights and wasn't going anywhere near the second story beams. But I wanted it, and I got what I wanted, so I climbed my ass to the rafters with my rope and tied it. I climbed this barn like it was my own personal playground."

I knew where this was going, and even though I tried not to cry in front of him, it couldn't be helped. Seeing Ollie this upset was killing me, and I couldn't think of one damn way to make him feel better other than to listen and let him get it out.

"You don't have to finish." My head shook. I didn't want him to be more upset than he was.

"I walked in here right as he did it." His face flooded again. "Did Mikah tell you that?"

I stilled.

"The tire on the ground and the rope not hanging anymore were the first things I noticed. I looked up, locked eyes with him, and he still walked right off that beam. It happened so fast."

As Ollie bowed his head to sob, I moved quickly to wrap myself around him. His whole body was shaking, and now I understood it wasn't because he was cold. I pressed my lips to his neck and held him as tightly as I could, wishing I could make him forget a scene that etched its way into his darkest of nightmares.

"It's not your fault just because you hung that rope, Ollie. It hung there for years. You are not to blame for wanting a swing."

"It's not my fault for hanging the swing," he agreed, unwilling to look at her and barely able to catch his breath between heartbroken gasps. "It's my fault because I wanted Mulligan's. He killed himself because I wanted our restaurant, and he was going to lose it. The bank was about to foreclose."

"Ollie..." I frowned, sick that he in any way thought this was his fault.

"Mom hated the restaurant." He sniffled, shielding his entire head with his arms so I couldn't see the shame he wore. "It took all his time, and it was so far away, but he loved it and refused to give it up. It was his dad's. They'd been selling mom's family's land just to keep it, and it got to a point where if they sold anymore acres, the farm wouldn't show income. I didn't know, and I was throwing my own money into renovating it to make it mine."

I reached for Ollie's hand, taking it away from his head and gripping it hard. "It's not your fault," I said, continuing to repeat what I knew to be true.

"He didn't even have the balls to tell me he was behind in the payments. It was all I fucking talked about. We don't know if he did it to give us insurance money, but if he did..."

"Suicides don't receive life insurance." I sighed, understanding.

It made sense now. In the months I had worked at the bar, Penelope had never shown her face there. If she hated it, that was understandable. Neither had Kit—an equal owner. The only way for that to happen was for the three Mulligan children to purchase it. Kit likely opted out of any sort of say because she had no interest, but knew how badly Ollie was hurting and wanted that legacy. Mikah, on the other hand, always lived in the shadow of Ollie and now had two things he loved.

"I wanted something, and he couldn't give it to me. He was afraid to tell me..." Ollie's head shook with more sobs.

"That does not make it your fault," I said again. "Ollie, you're a good person. It's not wrong to want the restaurant you grew up cooking in with your dad and grandpa."

"I would have been angry with him if he told me. I did not know he hurt that bad, and I would have thought of myself not getting what I wanted versus him losing a place he loved too. He knew I was selfish. That's why he couldn't tell me. He would rather end himself than tell me the truth. I killed my dad. And it was for nothing. I get no say in it. Everyone there hates me."

This wasn't working. Ollie had this mindset for almost two years and never shared it with anyone. I wasn't about to change his mind in a half hour. Wrapping myself around him again, I held him and let him get out what he needed to. There was lots of weeping, mixed with lots of self-blame. Obviously, today was a step in the right direction. He came home, and he entered the barn he'd been avoiding. But the people inside did not know just how stuck in his own mind he was. Not only did he believe he killed his dad, but his mother's husband. He thought he killed Kit and Mikah's dad, his employees' beloved boss.

We sat in the cold for almost an hour before his panic attack turned to small sniffles and huffs. He leaned himself back into the side of the barn, staring at the tire like it was going to move on its own. Even through the wind, I could hear Ollie's stomach rumbling for food. It was well past noon now, and he hadn't been inside all day. That reminded me of something else I'd brought with me.

Sticking an almost frozen hand into the pocket of my coat, I withdrew a zip-lock bag with a poppy seed muffin enclosed in it. Well, at least it was a muffin. Now it was a smashed baked good in a bag. It was still edible, and I held it out to Ollie to help with his hunger.

"Wow." He sniffled, showing a hint of a smile. "Last night's fruit pizza, and now this. I thought I was a shit baker, but your baking skills are scary as fuck."

It was almost too painful to laugh, but we both did. I didn't have the heart to tell him Penny made it. Ollie opened the bag with a sigh and shared what was left of the muffin with me. With that, our discussion of his depression was over. I knew this was how he functioned—making jokes, which made me smile and helped to forget my own sadness. He was now doing the same thing to himself. With a joke about a baked good, Ollie put his wall right back up.