Olivia

I used to think Max and I were one in the same. That we were both sitting at the bottom of the pit, hand in hand. And maybe at one point we were. But I've learned something about him. He may have dark days, but he always looks for the light. He's always searching for an answer, a way to make things better, to see the bright side.

He's not waiting for the other shoe to drop, he's creating his own noise instead.

And that's exactly what he did for me on that cliff tonight. He reminded me that it's okay to feel. And more than that, he made me smile. Dancing with him in one of my darkest moments allowed a light to shine through. Allowed me to feel something different than the pain I had only moments before.

He gave me hope. The one thing I feel like I'm always losing. He brought it back as he held me against his chest, his smooth voice singing against my ear. We didn't say anything else. We didn't have to. He was there, he was present with me, and that's all I needed.

But now I'm sitting at the edge of the lake, Sam by my side, my mom's ashes within his grasp.

"I'm sorry I ran, Sam," I say quietly, looking out at the vast stillness of the water.

"Don't apologize, Olive. You had every right to bail, you hear me?"

I nod slowly, my eyes naturally drifting to his. "I wasn't ready to let go. To feel the empty in knowing this piece of my life is actually closing."

His hand is in mine, his eyes soft as he looks at me. "We don't have to do this right now."

"No," I shake my head. "I'm ready. I need this."

"Okay." He nods.

"Can you just...can you tell me about her first? About who she was before she let herself get lost?"

"I don't even know where to begin," he exhales, shaking his head back and forth.

"Maybe try from the beginning?" I ask, trying to offer him some sense of support. I know this isn't easy for him.

He nods. "Yeah, okay. The beginning. I can do that." He takes another breath, the air lifting his shoulders before dropping with a heavy fall. "I met your mom when we were kids. She moved in a few houses down, with a family who already had two foster kids. She was the third. Your mom and I...we just kind of connected. I don't know how to explain it, but we both just filled this spot in each other's lives."

I can't help but smile. I know that exact feeling he's referring to.

"But your mom, she was guarded. She had been through a lot, bounced between a few foster homes over the years and never liked to make friends because of it. She never knew when she'd be on to the next. But as one year turned to two, she began to set roots, to open up. She and I spent nearly every day together. And your mom," he hesitates, smiling to himself. The glisten in his eye right now has me thinking of the mother who used to smile that bright. "Your mom was a free spirit. She wanted to see the world. To travel across the country in an old pickup truck driving twelve hours a day. She wanted to hit every famous landmark on the map. And that was only the beginning."

"She wanted to do all of that?" I ask, a slight veil of disbelief falling over me. I knew she was a bit of a free soul, I saw it hidden beneath the weighted walls she painted herself in. But I never knew she had so much hope. She was a dreamer.

"Yeah. I thought she was crazy, but each and every time she came with a new plan, and watching that light in her eyes as she shared it, I don't know, it kind of made me want to jump on that train she was on."

We both stand quietly for a moment, taking in the woman she used to be.

"So what changed?" I ask, not sure I'm ready to actually hear the answer.

He hesitates, looking down at his hands as if the answer lies etched across his palms. When his eyes connect with mine, he takes another deep breath.

"She met a guy. He was older. She fell fast. Real fast. It all happened in some whirlwind of a summer. He had a lot of money, promised her a lot of things, a lot of those dreams she imagined."

"What happened between them?"

His eyes drop, his face falling just slightly to the side, dipping with sympathy.

It's that very look that has it all connecting. I get it. "She got pregnant," I state flatly, holding my breath for his confirmation.

He nods slowly, sitting up a bit straighter to close the distance between us. "Yes. But Olive, I was there. I was the first person she told and you have to know that the emotion on her face when she told me was joy."

My heart stops, my now trembling hands freezing at his words. "She was happy?"

"Yes. So happy. I had never seen a smile so big. She told me that she dreamed so many different things. She pictured and planned numerous adventures, but she never once dreamt of being a mom."

There it is. She never wanted me. She never wanted the life I forced her into.

"Hey," he pulls me back, "that wasn't all she said. She also said that not all dreams are meant to be planned. That sometimes, the most magical ones of all catch us by surprise."

My breath hitches in my throat, my eyes immediately coated in tears. "She really said that?"

"Yes. And you are the most magical surprise either one of us have ever gotten."

A tear falls down my cheek, the warm trail cooling quickly on my skin as it falls.

"So why did her life crumble to pieces if she was happy?"

There's that heavy breath of his. This is hard for him. What he's about to say is going to hurt. I can feel it.

"She went to your father. She was so excited to tell him. But his response was far from what she expected."

"What did he say?" I frantically question, sitting up to hear his response. He only hesitates though, the words fighting within him. "Sam," I say now. "What did he say?"

He's quiet for another brief moment, gathering strength. "He asked her how much she needed to make it go away."

I've never met my father, or more accurately, my donor. I never cared to picture the man who walked away without a second thought. But there's something about actually hearing the words. About knowing how much I wasn't wanted. And that aching pulse is gripping my heart, squeezing it so tightly I'm struggling to breathe.

"Olive, it's not that he didn't want you." That's exactly what it is. "There's more to the story. He had a wife. Your mom didn't know. Getting her pregnant wouldn't fare well for him."

"So, what? My mom wasn't good enough for him? I wasn't good enough for him?" The anger takes over, swirling with the pain still draining from my eyes.

"I don't know," he whispers. "Listen, I'm telling you all of this because if she truly didn't want you, she would have taken the money. He said he'd take care of her if she took him up on his offer. To make sure she never had to work again. But she turned it all down. Every cent. So the woman who left all those years ago, who wasn't able to find her way back to you, that's not the woman I grew up knowing. She wasn't herself and she hasn't been in years."

"Because of me," I state, continuing to piece everything together.

"What? No."

"Yes. She was left to raise me on her own, without anything. And to make ends meet, she turned to one of the worst possible options. If I was never born, she wouldn't have had to do what she did."

"Don't do that. Don't blame her decisions on yourself. Listen to me, she had options. I offered to help her and so did my family. But your mom is independent, stubborn, and filled with pride to a fault. The only thing she accepted was the house. An old family home that my parents insisted she take. And even that took years of convincing her. She only relented because she insisted she pay rent for it. And she was. She kept up with every payment. And she made it sound like she was doing okay. I really thought she was okay."

"Sam," I interrupt him this time. "It's not your fault either."

"I could have done more."

"She could have too," I say, letting the truth settle between us, letting the guilt slide to the ground. Her decisions are not our own. And for the first time, I feel okay letting them go.

He nods, the silence now creating a thick fog around us.

"Sam?" My eyes spring up as a thought crosses my mind. One that's been nagging at me. "Why did you stick around? After everything, why keep coming back?"

"When you were born, when I got to hold you in that hospital room, I don't know...I just...I didn't know how much you could love someone in such a tiny moment. And maybe it's crazy for me to feel that way when I'm not your–" he stops himself, his eyes getting caught on mine.

One tiny tear falls from my eye, one small glimmer of all the very immense emotions that are bursting inside of me.

"My dad," I finish for him.

It's strange actually. Sam and I have been in this weird unspoken relationship my entire life. He's always just been Sam. The one constant in my life. The one person who has never left me, who has stood by me, fought for me.

He's given up an entire life in order to stay in mine. And he held me in that hospital as a father should. He loved me without question as a father should. And he's always put me first.

"Sam," I say behind a deep breath. "You remember when I cut my head on a rusty screw on the fence in the backyard?" He smiles, nodding at the memory. "You were the one to show up that day. The one to rush me to the hospital and the one holding my hand while they stitched it up. You were the one to take me for ice cream afterwards. You also helped me dream up more exciting stories than just scraping my head on a nail."

He laughs now, shaking his head from side to side. "I still think you should have gone with alien abduction. Would have been pretty badass to say you've had an alien poking around your brain."

I laugh with him now. The same laugh I had that day. The same one he always manages to bring to my life. "Sam," I bring us both back. "You're the only one to ever show up for me. The only father I've ever had. The only one I'd ever want. And if it's okay with you, I'd really like it if I could give you that title."

There's a similar tear falling down his cheek now. It's different seeing him cry, seeing this much raw emotion coming from him. And the fact that he can't seem to keep it hidden, or maybe that he just doesn't want to, has a few more tears falling from my eyes.

"Olive," he chokes out before clearing his throat and wiping at his cheek. "I'd really love to be your dad."

I launch myself forward, swinging my arms around him, feeling that comforting warmth of home.

Though I still don't have all of the answers, and though my mind is still spinning right alongside my heart, I do have one thing.

I have a dad. And I think I always have.

"Now," I say, pulling back and placing a hand on the jar in his grasp. "Let's set her free. Let her see the world just as she always dreamed of, shall we?"

His smile touches his eyes, the glisten behind them one of sorrow and joy. He nods, his hand in mine as we turn to the water and take a breath.

***

As soon as I get into my room, I reach for my phone, aching to share a moment with the one person who has ever truly understood me. The one person who knows everything without a single word.

But just as I lift my phone to call Max, there's a gentle knock along my window. I slowly look over to see the very boy who knows just how much I need him right now.

"Max?" I whisper, glancing back at my door to make sure Sam didn't hear before walking over and pulling open the window.

"Hey. Can I come in?"

Fighting a smile, I take a step aside, letting him know he's more than welcome to enter.

"I'm sorry to just come over, but I–"

I don't let him finish that sentence before I'm flying into his arms. It's the second time today I've found myself wrapped up in his arms, lost in the quiet of his embrace.

"I'm glad you came," I whisper against his chest.

"Of course I came, Liv."

I slowly pull back, the cold air filling the absence of his arms as I slide both hands into his, lacing our fingers together.

Pulling him slightly, I plop down onto my bed, letting a heavy exhale fill the room. He falls in beside me, the quiet of his eyes held gently along my own.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

"Honestly? I think I'm really tired of talking."

"Okay," he responds. "But you're good? You're okay?"

"Yeah," I admit. "I'm still in one piece."

He nods. "One piece is better than two, right?" he asks, trying to keep it light.

"It's better than two," I agree with a smile, but I fall quiet, my eyes dropping to my hands. "I feel like I just want to curl up and sleep the rest of this day away."

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he quickly springs up and grabs the covers to my bed. He throws them open with a smile that has my thoughts spinning in circles. But then he parts his lips, a warmth falling across his eyes as he says, "Then climb in."

Somehow, there's heat filling my chest, a spark of something fluttery infiltrating my gut. I don't let it fall across a bright shade along my cheeks. Instead, I replace it with a smirk. "Is this your move, Max? This is how you get girls into bed?"

"As much as I'd love to keep you dreaming about that," he begins, causing my eyes to roll, "it's not as easy as throwing open a comforter."

"So you're saying the Maxwell Hayes actually has to put in some work?" I gawk far too dramatically, but it still has him smiling.

"Just get in the dang bed," he demands with the cutest laugh, gesturing to the open blankets.

"So commanding." I smile back, brushing his arm as I fall into the sheets.

He slowly pulls the covers over me, tucking me in as I nestle myself against my pillow. It feels good to let myself seep into the comforts of my bed, to let the weight of the day crumble around me. But there's something else tugging at my chest, a memory of all the lonely nights I've spent hiding away within my sheets. That pitted ache floods my system as I squeeze my eyes a bit tighter.

"Max?" I say quietly, waiting for him to answer.

"Yeah," he responds, and the sound of his feet shuffling tells me he's taken a step closer.

My eyes slowly flicker open, catching his. "Will you stay with me? At least until I fall asleep? I just...I really don't want to be alone anymore."

There's a passing glint in his eye, that familiar challenge passing through, the one that's probably begging to make a comment about his charm clearly working. But just as soon as it appears, it drifts away, replaced with something softer.

He reaches for the blanket as I loosen my grip and open it for him. He slides in behind me, one arm laying perfectly around me as I scoot back just enough to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest along my back.

"Thank you," I whisper. "For being here today. For finding me on that cliff, for calming me, and for giving me the strength to let her go." He pulls me in closer. I move with him, pushing up against him. "You're a really good friend, Max."

He's quiet. His grip tightens around me before a subtle breath heaves from his lungs. There's another passing beat before he finally responds, "You're a good friend too, Liv."