Exposed by Fate (Serve #2)(39)

Eliza wanted to speak up on Oliver’s behalf, but she managed to hold her tongue. For now. But she wouldn’t be able to keep her opinion to herself much longer. Not with Oliver’s optimism starting to visibly wear off. In the face of such antagonism, he was maintaining a patient attitude, and she suddenly wanted to crawl into his lap and bury her face in his neck.

“It would be worth a damn. The money wouldn’t put in the hard work. You would.” He leaned forward when a group of drivers edged past the table. ”There’s nothing wrong with getting help, either. Grants and loans. That’s how a lot of people get through school.”

Frankie raised a dark eyebrow. “Not you, though, right? I’m sure you’re not paying off any loans to Fordham, Mr. Preston. Bet your parents took care of that.”

Instead of bristling at the scorn she directed at him, Oliver tilted his head. “How did you know where I went to college?”

She traced a pattern on the table. “I did my homework, too.”

At some point, maybe even now, this girl had wanted the money. Eliza could feel it. Furthermore, you didn’t do research into the grant manager’s past unless you were serious. Oliver appeared to have drawn the same conclusion. “Look, the grant is yours. I’m keeping it that way for another week, then I’m looking for another applicant. You’d be passing up a great opportunity if you don’t take it.”

Obviously having decided a more abrupt route would get her attention, he stood and Eliza followed suit. Frankie seemed a little dumbfounded that the ball had been put back in her court and that she hadn’t managed to fluster Oliver with her attitude. “I won’t call,” she said. “I don’t want some rich woman’s money. If she was alive, she wouldn’t look twice at me.” She laid her palms flat on the table, but Eliza could see a slight tremor move through them. “What makes you think she’d want me to have it?”

It was the hint of vulnerability in her voice that brought the picture into focus. For all her brashness and prickly personality, this girl didn’t feel deserving of the money. She looked mortified at having revealed such a weakness. Oliver opened his mouth, probably intending to reassure her, but closed it just as quickly. Out of my depth, his eyes seemed to communicate.

Eliza felt a rush of relief at the chance to be useful. Maybe even help. She sat back down at the table across from Frankie. “Mrs. Preston, Oliver’s mother, worked three jobs when she was your age. She wasn’t born into money. She just happened to fall for a man who had some extra cash lying around.” A touch of a reluctant smile. “I never had the chance to meet Mrs. Preston, but I know she raised two children who have all her best qualities. They’re smart and thoughtful. Genuine. They’re my two favorite people in the world.” She could feel Oliver’s gaze boring into her back, but didn’t have the courage to turn around. Didn’t want him to see how completely she meant what she’d said, afraid he’d see more. “I had nothing growing up. We survived on a truck driver’s salary that fluctuated every week. Without help, I never would have gotten through college. Would never have gotten a job I love.” Frankie’s intelligent eyes were weighing everything she said. “If you won’t take Oliver’s word for it, even though you should, take mine. I think if there were one person Mrs. Preston would have wanted to get the scholarship, it would be someone who was worried about disappointing her.” She lowered her voice. “The only person you can disappoint is yourself, Frankie. I’ve only spent a few minutes with you, and I already know you won’t let that happen.”





Chapter Seventeen


When Oliver was twelve years old, he’d won the hundred yard dash at his middle school relay race. He could still remember how he’d felt right before the race, the surging adrenaline, the fear of failure. His parents and sister had been in the stands, three serene faces among the cheering crowd. It’s not that they were any less enthusiastic, they just played their emotions close to the vest. Always had. He’d been like a Monopoly pawn that had accidentally been stored with the chess set. Waiting for the race to start, it had struck him for the first time. How different he was from his overachiever sister, his former working-class mother, his quietly overbearing father. He’d thought, maybe if I win this race, I’ll be let into the club. They’ll realize I’m one of them, it just took me longer to get here.

Time stretched during the race, feeling interminably long. Like he was running under water. He didn’t see anyone on either side of him, but for all he knew, the race could be over. Reality was so blurry and fast he couldn’t grab onto any semblance of thought. When he crossed the finish line and realized he’d won, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He remembered it so clearly, not knowing whether to raise them over his head or prop them on his hips. When it dawned on him that no one was cheering, he’d turned toward the stands and noticed everyone’s attention was still fixed back towards where the race had started.

One of his opponents had tripped halfway through and gone face-first into the track. Blood streaked down his face and dribbled off his chin. The poor kid had looked miserable, probably mortified at having so many people witness his fall. Parents, coaches, girls. But as Oliver watched, the guy smiled. The other runners had stopped mid-race to help him to his feet and walk with him toward the finish line. Everyone except Oliver because he’d been too far away, frozen to the spot.