Talk To Me

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Present

Oliver sighed, tilting his head under the warm cascade of water, letting it run over his face and down his tense shoulders. The heat eased the knots in his muscles, a temporary reprieve from the exhaustion that clung to him like a second skin.

"You really need to learn personal boundaries," he muttered, his voice muffled beneath the falling water.

Leah stood motionless in the middle of the bathroom, unbothered by his irritation. "It's not like I know what you're doing before I come to you."

Oliver inhaled sharply, pouring a blob of shampoo into his palm. The silvery liquid shimmered under the dim light as he worked it into his damp curls, fingers scrubbing against his scalp.

"You could just walk," he pointed out, closing his eyes as the lather foamed around his forehead. "Where were you?"

"I visited Dad and then—wandered for a while."

"Wandered where?" he asked, tilting his head back, feeling the soap slide down his neck as he rinsed.

"Oh, you know. My grave, the woods, the usual." Leah shrugged as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Oliver exhaled through his nose, reaching for the shower gel. "Why?"

"Because I feel pulled there sometimes." Leah rocked back on her heels, watching him with an unreadable expression. "Where's Lily?"

"Living room or the kitchen," he answered, rubbing the sponge over his back. "She's feeling better. We're going to stay here for a few days."

"Good." Leah nodded. "I'm going to check on her." And just like that, she turned and walked straight through the wooden door.

Oliver's stomach unclenched slightly, the ever-present weight of her presence lifting. Alone again. A rare moment of peace. The heat of the water grounded him, and for a fleeting second, he let himself believe things were finally settling down. Lily was safe. The chaos of the past few days had dulled into something manageable. But still, Emma's face lingered in his mind, her father's words gnawing at him. Surely, she couldn't be that bad.

Shaking the thought away, he turned off the shower and stepped out, the cold air biting at his damp skin. He grabbed a white towel, running it over his face before wrapping it securely around his waist. Steam clung to the mirror, distorting his reflection. With a swipe of his hand, he wiped away the condensation, revealing the man beneath—a face lined with exhaustion, bristles of uneven stubble shadowing his jaw. He reached for his razor, the last remnants of shaving cream vanishing with each precise stroke.

"You need to stop doing that," he grumbled, bending over to rinse his face.

"You turned off the shower a while ago. I figured you'd be dressed by now," Leah remarked casually, standing off to his right as if she hadn't just materialized out of nowhere.

Oliver sighed, gripping the towel tighter around his waist. "It's disturbing. You realize that, right? I still need to get dressed."

Leah didn't acknowledge his frustration. Instead, her gaze locked onto his left side. "What is that?!" she asked, pointing at his abdomen.

"A tattoo," he replied flatly, unfolding his black t-shirt.

"It looks womanly." Oliver raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her. "I mean, flowers. Really, Oli?"

"Lilies," he clarified, slipping the shirt over his head, hoping she'd drop it.

Leah stared for a moment longer before realization dawned. "Oh." Her voice softened slightly as her eyes traced the ink. "And my name is there." A nod of approval. "Thanks, I guess."