Twenty | Ollie

Beams.

Beams that hovered high above hay bales and the old, red Massey—the one whose wheel had broken off and left it useless years before. There was a buzzing from a beehive hidden somewhere near the barn door. The wasps always got riled up when the door slammed shut.

The dream always went this far. No matter how hard I tried to wake up, the door always slammed behind me. The stale scent of the barn would fill my nose, and then there was no escape. No way to close eyes that were already closed. The tire swing was now on the ground—not its normal placement. Something was different this time. The bees were buzzing louder than normal. I made my dream-self turn, not finding the stubborn nest within view. The noise didn't stop and instead grew louder and louder, as if they were swarming me until...

I gasped as I jolted upright, clutching my chest and breathing erratically. My shirt was soaked in sweat even though it was freezing in the apartment. My warm breath made a brief fog before dissipating and returning with the next. The dream was over, but the buzzing remained. Somewhere beneath the covers, a barely charged cell phone was ringing and set to vibrate. Agitated, like I was almost every morning, both hands began slapping the covers to find it. It was located beneath the unused pillow beside me. Even though the first call had stopped, another quickly followed.

"Fuck!" I groaned before swiping the screen, beyond agitated. I didn't bother looking at who was calling. "What?"

"Oliver Dean!"

I sat up, instantly more awake at the sound of my mother's voice. I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard my middle name at that decibel. I knew better than to answer my phone without screening the caller.

"Mom..."

"You're coming to Christmas?"

"Yeah." I sat with my face in one hand, my elbow placed on a bouncing knee, with my opposite hand pressing the phone to my ear.

"You're not going to come up with some excuse?"

"No."

"Are you lying to me?"

We had this same discussion for weeks, but now I was hours from returning home for the holiday. Penelope Mulligan's huff confirmed she was over my avoidance of our family farm. She had come up with a foolproof plan to get me back to Galena, and I had no choice now but to go.

"No."

"Correct. Because you're bringing the damn ham, Ollie. You are in charge of Christmas dinner, just like you always wanted. You're coming home."

Maybe I wanted that years ago. Not anymore. Nightmares weren't the only thing keeping me awake last night. It was the thought of going home that had me pacing the kitchen at three in the morning. My bag was packed and sitting beside the door. Albeit atrociously, gifts were wrapped and piled into a laundry basket that was now sitting in the backseat of my car. And last but not least, the damn ham was in the restaurant's refrigerator, waiting to be taken on the journey.

"We could talk on the phone while you drive. Or Mikah could pick you up? Would that help?"

"I'll be fine," I said, snipping again and knowing that a three-hour drive while stuck in my head was a terrible idea. Making that drive with my brother in the car would only result in an accident, because one of us would kill the other. And talking to my mother the entire drive was a hard pass. "I'll see you soon."

The call ended. I dressed, knowing my mother wouldn't let up until I was physically standing inside the farmhouse. After picking up my bag, I tossed the strap over my shoulder and took one last look around the apartment to make sure I had everything. What I really wanted was a cigarette. I'd purchased a pack to help me get through the holiday, but tossed them right into the trash. If I didn't leave this place right now, I feared I might never go home again, and that really would break my mother's heart.

"Deep breaths," I told myself, while locking and closing the door behind me.

I did as I repeated, taking deep breaths and letting them out through my nose until I was down the stairs and across the main floor of the restaurant. I thought I'd find Mikah still here to close up, but there was light only coming from the kitchen and not the bar. Mikah rarely went into there, unless he specifically needed to piss off his older brother.

After walking around the bar, I pushed open the door of the kitchen. The last person I expected to see on the other side was Sloan. The restaurant's closing binder was sprawled out in front of her, and she was tapping each line with the tip of a pen, as if checking off a list. Her eyes lifted from the paper. My stomach lifted to my throat.

"Hey." Sloan smiled, tucking her bangs back just to have them fall again. "I thought you would have left with Mikah."

My head shook. She definitely thought wrong about that.

"Shouldn't you be off for your own holiday?" I asked. "How did you get stuck closing?"

Standing straight, she closed the binder and pushed it away. All this time we'd been working together in and out of the classroom, I almost forgot how good Sloan looked when dressed casually. A pair of tight, ripped jeans and a loose, gray, comfy sweater were paired with some matching gray boots. She sure looked ready for a holiday vacation.

"That's just it. I don't celebrate the holiday, and everyone else does. I don't mind closing."

"You don't even celebrate Christmas?" I asked.

Her eyes rolled. "Especially not Christmas. I don't have any family."

"Hallie..."

"Goes to her parent's house." She shrugged. "It's not a big deal. I'm used to it."

"You're not spending Christmas alone?" I was dumbfounded. Thanksgiving, fine. Christmas, absolutely not.

"I am," she confirmed. "Again, it's fine..."

My hand lifted to stop her right there. "I said that last statement as a question, and it's not a question. You're not spending Christmas alone. You're coming home with me."

I wasn't sure who was more surprised by that last part. Even though Sloan's eyes were growing wider by the second, I was sure it was me. It was perfect, though. Sloan should not be sitting home alone on a family holiday, and I should not be subjected to spending the next few days with mine, with no escape route.

"Ollie," Sloan whispered. "I don't think that's a good idea. I'm not as big of a mess as I was a few months ago; not even as bad as I was on Thanksgiving. It will suck, but I'm okay..."

"Well, I'm not." I licked my lower lip, about to tell her more than I told most people. "You needed me that night, and now I need you for this. Come home to Galena with me, and help me get through the next few days."

"That's your family time."

"It's home that I can't handle," I continued to confess, feeling sick from the stress of even thinking about it. "Please? Come with me."

Sloan's mouth went to open and quickly shut. I was winning her over on this. I smiled, and Sloan couldn't help but to mirror it. She tried to hide it away behind her hand, but I saw it.

"This is a horrible idea." She groaned but was now laughing too. "Ollie, no."

"I haven't slept in days." I chuckled. "I could crash and die. It would probably be all your fault."

"Ugh." Her head dropped backwards. "Fine! Only because I owe you for Thanksgiving, and I don't want your blood on my hands. No crashing!"

I was used to not sleeping, but if this was going to be what got her to come with, I would use it. If I got tired, there was plenty of country music on my phone to be blared and coffee stops along the way.

"We need to stop by my place, then." Sloan tossed her arms up in defeat. "And we sleep in different rooms, chef."

I was already backed halfway out of the kitchen, afraid that if I took my eyes off of her, she'd close the restaurant and run off. The farm was now the last thing on my mind.

"It's on the way, anyway. I just need to grab something from upstairs. Stay right here."

Sloan may have been looking at me like I was crazy, but my car was lacking one last gift that was wrapped and currently sitting on the counter upstairs.

>>

While I sat in the driver's seat of the car, waiting for Sloan, I knew that there was a call that needed to be made. I only had however long it was going to take Sloan to pack a bag to make it, and still I was staring at the phone like it was about to bite. When was the last time I had been the one to call my mother? Not only that, but I felt like a teenager again. Finally gaining the courage, I pressed my mom's name and placed the phone to my ear. It rang only once.

"Oliver Dean Mulligan, if this is another excuse..."

"I'm bringing someone with me!" I said, blurting it out and quickly eying the door of the car to make sure Sloan hadn't magically appeared in the last few seconds. That would have been embarrassing. More embarrassing than this call already was.

There was an odd moment of silence that I knew my mom was processing what I had just said, and there were a few more moments when I could hear her smile with no spoken words. This felt awkward. I'd never brought a girl home before. Shelby just showed up one day and never left. It was not the same situation.

"A friend," I said, clarifying and dropping my head back to the headrest. "I'm bringing a friend with me for Christmas."

"A friend?"

"Yep."

"A girl-type friend?"

"A girl who is a friend, yes. Not a girlfriend."

"No?"

"No."

"Have you slept with her?"

"Christ, Mom!" I groaned, using my free hand to shield my eyes.

"That's a yes." She giggled. Mom was being cunning now—part of her charm. As nice as it was to hear my mom's laugh again, this was the worst time for it. "I'm just wondering if she will be in your room or if I should make up the spare bedroom..."

"Spare."

"So, a friend who is a girl who you've slept with, and you aren't sharing a bed? You must really like her."

My chest tightened. There was movement from the corner of my eye, and I turned to spot Sloan approaching with a duffle bag, looking every bit as apprehensive about this trip as I was. Not that I didn't want her with me, because I did. It was that I was afraid of pushing her into something she wasn't ready for. Seeing her walk down the slope of her front yard, find my stare, and change from looking terrified to giving a small smile and a cute eye roll, solidified the decision to bring her. That smile differed from where she was this morning when she had no holiday plans. We both needed this trip.

"Silence? That's a yes."

"What?" I had forgotten the question already.

"You like this girl."

Yes, my mind answered. "Gotta go, Ma. I'll see you in a few hours."

>>

The first two hours flew faster than either of us could have imagined. Our love of Chopped! only led to discussions of other food shows, and that resulted in me sharing every horror story of the kitchen I had tucked away in my mind. Being the professor of Knife Safety, particularly the beginners' course, I'd seen my fair share of finger casualties. At one point, I had Sloan laughing so hard that she could barely breathe.

The entire ride, Sloan never once asked why I didn't want to go home. I panicked for a while, wondering where I'd even start with that story and knowing I couldn't explain. I wasn't at all ready for that. Even though I knew she wanted to know, it was like she knew I couldn't handle explanations right now. Or maybe I was good at hiding it. That was, until we got closer.

When the sign for Jo Daviess County appeared, my grip on the steering wheel tightened. Deep breaths would no longer cut it. I was now on a one-way road to my literal hell. Sweat was beading at my hairline, and I nervously turned off the Jason Aldean song we were listening to, as if that was going to help.

Sloan looked up from whatever she had been reading on her phone to see the state I was in. If ever there was a time that I needed a cigarette, it was right now. It was taking everything in me not to hang a U-turn back to Chicago. We were so close that I could see the fork in the road that was about to lead me home.

Without a word, Sloan's hand reached across the center console and tugged at my wrist. We shared a quick glance, and again she pulled at me. I released one hand from the wheel. In a move I wasn't expecting, Sloan slid her hand into mine and gave it a hard squeeze.

"Tell me about your mom," she said, gazing out the window to the countryside. "Has she always lived here?"

I exhaled and squeezed her hand back. This was why I needed her here. One move and I was already calmer than a minute ago. "She has," I answered.

"It's beautiful."

Maybe I'd forgotten that. At the very least, I'd forgotten that not everyone had seen farmland up close. With Sloan being an orphan, I could only assume that her travel outside of the Chicago city limits was limited growing up. I wondered how much traveling she'd done as an adult, but was afraid to ask out of fear of triggering her own panic attack. I had to be careful of any conversation that could lead to Steve.

I took a right at the fork, leaving Highway 20 in the rearview mirror. We were now only minutes from the house. I squeezed her hand again just to get her to squeeze mine back. "Wait until you see it in daylight."

As the car drove the dirt road, rocks kicked up, tapping against the paint and undercarriage of the car. Part of me wanted to take the road fast, like I did as a kid, but I opted not to with Sloan in the car. I also wasn't certain if she'd ever been on gravel, because it could be a hell of a lot of fun and equally terrifying and dangerous if you didn't know how to handle it. But faster than I was even ready for it, I pulled into an empty driveway that led to a large two-story farmhouse with olive-green shutters and a porch that looked like it was ready to fall apart.

With an exhale, I released Sloan's hand and pointed to the house. "So, this is home."

Sloan was smiling nervously, looking unsure of what to do next. "I already love this house."

I laughed. "It doesn't look stable, but I swear it is."

"You don't have to convince me of that." Sloan beamed. "The house I lived in as a kid was condemned. This house is loved. I can't wait to see it."

Even though I knew that last part was a lie, that Sloan was now more nervous than I'd ever seen her, it really eased my anxiety. Thankfully, tonight was the simple part. The house wasn't the problem, and my mother was about to take over my alone time with Sloan with a million questions and a tour of that very house. She was going to love the kitchen—which was good, because we were going to spend a lot of time there the next few days.

My eyes widened at that thought. "Fuck!"

"What?" Sloan questioned, looking stunned by my outburst. "Ollie, what's wrong?"

My head dropped to the steering wheel with a thud. "I forgot the damn ham."