Passion on Park Avenue (Central Park Pact #1)(74)

The trouble was, she didn’t hate him back. Not anymore.

“I was going to tell you,” she said, still not opening her eyes. “When?” His voice cracked just the slightest bit, and he cleared his throat. “When?”

“I tried, a bunch of times, but . . .”

“But nothing. How could you just—how could you not—”

She opened her eyes, just as he shut his, and the tired pain on his face ripped at her.

“Is that why you moved into the building?” he asked, meeting her gaze coolly once again. “Was it some sort of, what, revenge plan? Is that why you hated me on the spot?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I mean, I didn’t want to hurt you or your father, I just wanted . . . closure.”

“On something that happened twenty years ago? When I was a kid? When we both were? Grow up, Naomi.”

“Hey,” she snapped, feeling apologetic, but also not prepared to take all the blame. “Those twenty years passed a little bit differently for you and me. Do you know that we had nowhere to go after you lied to cover for your dad? I slept on the street with my backpack as my pillow. From there, it was a homeless shelter, and then on to a disgusting motel. And then a lot more disgusting motels, and even more disgusting apartments—”

“That’s not my—”

“Not your problem?” she guessed. “Not your problem that my mother went off the rails after she got tossed out by your parents? They blacklisted her. And when she couldn’t get another housekeeping job, she just gave up, Oliver. So no, maybe it wasn’t your problem, but it sure as hell was your fault. Your mom never would have let my mom keep her job, but maybe we could have at least gotten her final paycheck. Maybe we could have had time to find someone to stay with had your dad not thrown her and me under the bus.”

Oliver’s gaze flickered with regret, and he stared at her for a long moment. “You’re right.”

She opened her mouth, primed for another fight, but his simple words caught her off guard, and instead she gave an awkward nod that made her head hurt even worse.

He stepped closer. “Naomi. I didn’t know. Really I didn’t, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I’m not proud of how I handled that back then. And I know it doesn’t make it better, but though it wasn’t the last time my dad cheated on my mom, it was the last time I covered for him. I was a shitty little kid, but I got better.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“Christ,” he said, dragging a hand over his face and looking at her. “Naomi Fields. I haven’t thought about you in . . . Where are your glasses? Your hair’s darker. You’re not so . . .”

“Feisty?”

He gave a reluctant smile. “No, you’re still definitely that. I was going to say frustrating, but you’re still that, too.”

His smile disappeared as he held her gaze. “What you did was pretty messed up. I can understand wanting some closure over what happened. Maybe even some sort of reckoning. But to wiggle your way into our lives—you must have been thrilled to see what happened to us. My mom dead. My dad, hardly aware of who he was. Me, falling head over heels for you. Was that the plan, Naomi?”

“No, it wasn’t like that!” she protested, trying to sit up again, batting away his hand as it tried to keep her still. “Yes, I moved into the building because a part of me wanted you to have to live side by side with the help’s daughter, with the daughter of the woman your father cheated with. But I didn’t know . . . I didn’t know your father’s condition. I didn’t know you had . . . changed.”

“And yet when you did find out, you didn’t exactly rush to come clean. Instead you let us—me—Damn it, Naomi, we cared about you. I mean, yeah, Walter’s form of caring is complicated, but you let me bring you into our lives. Hell, I left my father with someone who hates him.”

“I don’t—Okay, I did,” she admitted. “A lot. But I don’t hate him now, Oliver, I swear to you. I want him to be okay. I want you to be happy—”

“You’ll get your wish on the first one. Walter will be fine. Probably better now that he’ll have round-the-clock care better than I can give him. And as for me being happy . . . I’ll get there, too. Eventually. But not with you, Naomi.”

She croaked out a little sound of dismay as her eyes watered. “Oliver.”

He nodded at the bandage on her head. “I’ll take care of the hospital bills. It’s my fault you’re here. And I’m glad you’re okay, but Naomi . . .” His gaze came back to hers, cold and hard. “We’re done.”

“No!” she said, getting a concerned look from a nurse in the hallway.

He started to turn away, then turned back. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry about back then. I’m not proud of myself. Or of my parents. And if I could change it, I would.”

“I know you would. Oliver—”

“But,” he continued tersely, interrupting her, “I’ve found another one of your corner pieces, Naomi. The one that shows you’re dishonest and maybe a little revenge-hungry.”

No longer able to hold them back, her tears spilled down her cheeks. “Maybe. But I have other pieces, too.”

He shrugged. “You’re no longer a puzzle I’m interested in solving.”