Count Your Lucky Stars (Written in the Stars, #3)(78)

She took the phone from Margot, their fingers brushing. Margot averted her eyes and scratched her neck, fingers lingering in the hollow of her throat.

Olivia swallowed hard and swiped at the screen, sending Brad to voicemail. “If he has something important to say, he can leave me a message.”

Sending Brad to voicemail wasn’t merely satisfying, the absence of his name on her screen a relief. It was necessary, something she should’ve done a long time ago. She was doing it now, not to wipe the subtle frown from Margot’s face, but for herself. Because Margot was right. This pattern of being at Brad’s beck and call wasn’t healthy and it wasn’t fair.

Olivia deserved better.

Margot surged forward, pressing her mouth to Olivia’s. Her lips curved, and maybe Olivia hadn’t sent Brad to voicemail for Margot or because of her, but the way she smiled was an added benefit.

Margot drew back, fingers sliding against the shell of Olivia’s ear after she tucked a strand of hair behind it. “Okay?”

“Yeah, I’m—” Olivia’s phone vibrated, still in her hand. One brief buzz, a text. Olivia shut her eyes. “Damn it,” she muttered.

She swiped against her screen, entering her passcode with her thumb, tapping on the text notification at the top of her screen.

Brad (6:03 p.m.): hey i called u





Enough was enough. The time for point-blank was now.

Olivia (6:05 p.m.): I’m busy, Brad. Unless it’s an emergency, you need to stop calling me like this. It’s not okay. I’m not your mother.





She stared at the message, chewing on the inside of her lip, reading and rereading until she had the whole thing memorized. She held her thumb down on the backspace key, deleting the last line before pressing send. Margot’s hands rested lightly on her shoulders, her touch reassuring. Her thumbs swept gently against Olivia’s collarbones in a soothing circuit. When Olivia lifted her head, one side of Margot’s mouth tipped up. “Okay?”

“I told him to stop calling unless it’s an emergency.” She lifted her brows and offered up a wry smile. “I’m not holding my breath.”

Her phone vibrated with another incoming text.

Brad (6:07 p.m.): u don’t need to be a bitch about it livvy





Right. Because asking for a boundary made her a bitch. She rolled her eyes and flipped her phone around to show Margot the text. Margot squinted and brought the screen closer, tongue poking against the inside of her cheek.

“What a fucking ass goblin,” Margot muttered, sneering at the screen.

“A what?” Olivia snickered.

Her phone buzzed, sending another spike of irritation through her. Before she could turn her screen around, Margot leaned in, reading what he wrote.

“I don’t even . . . I think he sent you a link.” Margot wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t open it.”

As Olivia turned her phone back around, it buzzed with another incoming text. God, was he persistent.

Brad (6:09 p.m.): <link>

Brad (6:09 p.m.): u didn’t tell me your dad was moving





What did he mean Dad was moving? Moving what? The URL had been shortened, a Bitly link that provided zero contextual clues, no help. Without clicking, she wouldn’t know what he’d sent her or what it had to do with moving.

Fingers crossed that Brad hadn’t sent her porn—she wouldn’t put it past him—she tapped the link. A new browser opened, the site loading, loading, slow as molasses. The bar at the top of the page inched along, her screen white until suddenly it wasn’t.

Zillow? Brad had sent her a link to a Zillow real estate listing. A Zillow listing for Dad’s house.

Dad’s house, which was on the market, not only listed for sale, but had been on the market for two weeks.

A lump formed in her throat, making it nearly impossible to swallow. She pressed a hand to her stomach, able to feel her pulse against her palm. Her heart was beating too fast, and—she sat back, bouncing against the bed, drawing her knees to her chest, suddenly dizzy.

“Liv?” Margot rested her hands on Olivia’s knees. “What’s wrong?”

Without speaking, she passed Margot the phone. Margot frowned and shifted back, swiping her glasses off the nightstand. She scrolled back up to the top of the page, brows rising as she scanned the screen. “Brad sent you this?”

She nodded.

Margot pursed her lips. “Are you sure this is legit? Are you sure Brad didn’t send you a doctored web page or something?”

“I don’t think fabricating a real estate listing is really in Brad’s wheelhouse. Why would he even do that?”

“I don’t know.” Margot shrugged. “It’s Brad we’re talking about. Why would he bother sending you this? What’s in it for him?”

Olivia pressed her thumb beneath the ridge of her brow bone. A subtle throbbing had started behind her eyes. “I asked him to let me know if he heard anything about Dad, remember? I guess this is him letting me know? Either that, or . . . I don’t know, Margot. Maybe he’s being nosy? I don’t know.”

She knew nothing.

Margot glanced back at the screen. “It’s been on the market for two weeks?”

Apparently. In that time, Dad hadn’t mentioned anything about selling the house. Not once, not even a passing mention, or that he was considering putting it up for sale. Nothing.