Thirteen
Oliver kept talking. One minute, he was going to charter a plane. The next, a helicopter. Then it was a private yacht leaving from Galveston and heading for open waters because “no one could follow us there,” as if determined reporters wouldn’t be able to rent a speedboat.
Renee listened with only half an ear as she packed because it didn’t matter—whatever harebrained scheme he came up with, it wouldn’t work. There was no quick, easy fix that would let everyone live happily-ever-after. Not this time. Not for her.
She knew that. She’d always known that. Funny how thinking it, however, made her heart ache.
She needed to leave quickly before Oliver got it into her head to make her stay or, worse, enlist his family. Renee knew what she had to do but if the entire Lawrence family showed up to plead their case, she might not be strong enough to do the right thing.
And the right thing was so obvious. Renee simply couldn’t hurt any of the Lawrences. Not even Flash. After all, he hadn’t done anything Oliver himself hadn’t done. Oliver had just had the good fortune to blurt out her name in front of small-town firefighters instead of a desperate music promoter.
So her mind was made up. She was leaving—alone. She’d see if she could stay with her former sister-in-law, Carolyn, for a few days. It would be awkward and uncomfortable but then again, Carolyn had given that interview where she’d passed on the chance to destroy Renee. And she and Carolyn had always got along before the scandal and divorce and death.
Besides, it wasn’t like she could do more damage to Carolyn’s reputation. She’d already been married to Clint. In the ruined department, she and Renee were practically equal.
Renee and Oliver would never be equal. Good Lord, he’d proposed. He’d said he’d marry her in the middle of the rodeo and he hated the rodeo.
In another time, another life, it would’ve been something wonderful.
Except for the but. Because there was always a but, wasn’t there? As sweet as that marriage proposal had been, Oliver had prefaced that declaration with, If I thought it’d make things better...
He’d marry her. He’d do his best to make her happy. He might even adopt her child, when the time came, and she knew he’d be an amazing father. It might be good. Great, even.
But it wouldn’t be perfect because he couldn’t live without her. He’d offer her the protection of his name and access to all his resources because it was the most obvious solution to a problem.
Her.
She might be hopelessly in love with him, but she wasn’t his problem to solve. And she wasn’t about to marry another man who didn’t love her.
Leaving was the only option.
“...one of those big bus-sized RVs that rock stars travel in,” he was saying when he growled and spun, pulling out his phone. He never kept the sound on and therefore, she was always startled when he’d answer it at random times. “What?”
She hadn’t bothered to pack the funereal dress or shoes—neither fitted anymore. But her lawyers would most likely blow their collective tops if she were spotted walking around in Chloe’s fancy rodeo clothes. But the only alternative was pushing her leggings past the point of decency, so sequins it was. Which left the problem of the boots. She couldn’t exactly walk around in those things anywhere but Texas. If she showed up in New York in the boots and the sequins, the press would have a freaking field day with her. What a shame. She set them next to the closet door and then closed the zipper on her single piece of luggage.
“Renee?” There was something different in Oliver’s tone instead of the desperation that had colored all his grand plans thus far.
“Yes?”
“There are some men here for you.”
The way he said it made it clear that he wasn’t talking about the press. Even as the bottom of her stomach fell out, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Old habits never died, it seemed. Just because she hadn’t had to fall back on them for the better part of a month didn’t mean she’d forgotten how to protect herself. “Who?”
But she already knew because Oliver wasn’t trying to arrange a quick getaway in his zippy sports car. “The FBI. Security checked them out. They need you to return to New York with them.”
Ah. They must have decided to turn the pressure up on Clint. At least, she hoped that was the case and not that they’d already caught wind of the disastrous rodeo outing.
Again, her stomach tried to turn at the thought of someone snapping a picture of her smiling and laughing—the very things her lawyers had informed her not to do. But Oliver had reminded her how to be happy and she’d almost forgotten what it was like to keep her real self locked deep inside.
She needed to remember. Quickly.
“I see.” She tried to smile for Oliver, to show him that she wasn’t scared or worried—that she’d be perfectly safe in the company of the Justice Department’s best officers.
She didn’t make it. “Don’t do that,” he snapped, throwing his phone down and closing the distance between them. He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Don’t act like everything is fine when it’s not.”
She was leaving. Things might never be fine again. “You can’t fix this, Oliver.”
“The hell I can’t,” he said and slammed his mouth down over hers.
He meant it as a kiss of possession. Renee knew that. He wasn’t going to let her go without a fight, fool that he was. But Renee knew the truth.
This was goodbye.
She wasn’t going to cry.
Once upon a time, the Lawrence family had shown her what love was. They’d given her another life, one where people were sweet and loud and messy and loved. So, so loved. If she hadn’t had that second childhood with Chloe, she didn’t know how she’d have survived.
Oliver might not ever realize it because, knowing him, he’d look back at this moment and see nothing but a failure to fix everything just so. But he’d given her the same gift again. Love and happiness and a glimpse into a future she might one day have. He’d let her find her own way and made her laugh again.
She’d be forever grateful for this month.
But she couldn’t tell him any of that without breaking down into sobs and she knew damned well that if she so much as wavered, he’d do something stupid like bust out the high-powered attorneys and call a press conference and all but announce to the world that he’d been sleeping with the pregnant Preston Pyramid Princess, and that?
That would be his downfall.
So, when the kiss ended, she pressed her lips against his cheek and gave him one final hug. “Goodbye, Oliver.” Then she grabbed her solitary piece of luggage and hurried for the door before she changed her mind.
“Damn it, Renee, I can fix this! I just need more time,” he said, sounding half-mad with desperation. “By the time the FBI is done with whatever they need you for, I’ll have this figured out—I promise.”
No, she couldn’t be his problem.
So she kept walking.
She didn’t look back.