Between Deadlines and Desires

Chapter 9 – What We Were

The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of traffic below. Olivia sat on the edge of her bed, staring out the window into the thick velvet of the night. Her fingers gripped the edge of the duvet, knuckles pale.

The message from Clinton still sat in her inbox, like a weight she couldn’t set down. But that wasn’t what anchored her in place tonight.

It was Rick.

The rooftop conversation had shaken something loose. A memory. A wound that never fully scarred.

She closed her eyes and let herself fall back into it.

Then…

There was a time when loving Rick James felt like flying.

They were twenty-two—young, stubborn, and convinced the world bent around their love. Olivia remembered it not in snapshots, but in sensations: the thrill of his fingers trailing down her spine, the echo of their laughter in a tiny Brooklyn apartment that smelled of old books and fresh paint.

He used to sketch her between kisses, claiming her face calmed his chaos. She used to write notes on sticky tabs and leave them on his cereal box, calling him “genius” when he forgot to eat.

They didn’t have money. They barely had sleep. But they had each other.

And they believed it would be enough.

Until it wasn’t.

The night he left, Olivia came home to silence.

No jazz record playing. No smell of turpentine or grilled cheese. Just an envelope with her name on the kitchen table, sealed with the kind of finality that spoke louder than any goodbye.

> Liv,

I wanted to be more for you. I swear I did. But I’m still trying to find my own footing, and I can’t keep dragging you through the storm I built.

You’re light, Olivia. You shouldn’t have to burn just to keep someone warm.

I love you. But I’m leaving.

—Rick

She sat on the floor and read it twice. Then a third time.

And when she couldn’t cry, she called Lily.

Lily showed up in twenty minutes with chocolate, tissues, and no judgment.

“I can’t breathe,” Olivia whispered.

“That’s what heartbreak does,” Lily said, wrapping her arms around her. “But I’m here. And we’re going to breathe again. Even if it’s one cracked breath at a time.”

Now…

Olivia snapped back to the present with a quiet inhale. Her chest ached. She pressed her palm against it, as if that could soften the echo of what once was.

There was a knock at her door.

“Come in,” she said hoarsely.

Layla peeked her head in, followed by Ethan. Both of them had concern painted on their faces like matching portraits.

“Thought you could use company,” Layla said softly.

Olivia gave a small nod.

The three of them curled up on the couch, a blanket tossed over their legs. Ethan flicked on a movie, something light. But no one really watched it.

“I saw Rick,” Olivia said quietly.

Ethan and Layla turned to her.

“It was… strange. Like meeting a ghost you still love.”

Layla reached for her hand.

“You were different with him,” Ethan said, his voice gentler than usual.

“I was someone else,” Olivia admitted. “Wilder. Braver. But also… lost. I don’t think I knew what I wanted back then.”

“And now?” Layla asked.

“I still don’t,” Olivia whispered. “But I know I want peace. And honesty. And… someone who chooses me. Every single day.”

There was silence. A sacred one.

Ethan leaned his head on her shoulder. “We’ll always choose you.”

Layla smiled through glassy eyes. “Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, Olivia let herself cry. Not out of grief—b

ut release. For what was. For what could have been. And for whatever might still come.