Glass Cutter

Most people never liked Mondays because it meant going back to school or work, but I’d always loved them because I’d felt like it was a chance for a new start every week; and the first Monday of that December was no different. I’d felt especially elated, having spent lunch with Oliver in the backyard of the school grounds and getting to hear more about his memory, and I’d only had a four-hour shift at Nanny Brook’s after classes.

The day was nice, the sun warming the cooling autumn air, and I was excited to get home early and see my mother. She and I had grown to actually speaking, maybe even grown to establish a sort of friendship, and less customers of hers seemed to show up. Over the time since her attack, I’d begun to see more job applications and drafts of resumés scattered about the kitchen table. Our curtains had been replaced with cherry red ones, unlike the previous white, and a 26-inch plasma TV had replaced the old CRT.

The changes at home felt like they were beginning to overcome me because while my mother seemed to be trying to better herself, I also seemed to start growing a backbone with Delilah and her friends. The day back from Thanksgiving break had lent me a snide comment to Tommy Dennings when he halfheartedly tried inviting me into a conversation, and the feeling of superiority was attractive and fulfilling. Along with the coming winter season, guts seemed to be growing inside my body, and I knew there was only one reason why everything seemed to be falling into place: Oliver Sykes.

When I got home that Monday with the darkness of an early sunset at my heels, I saw Mr. Weston’s car parked in front of the house. I’d been excited to come home, and I’d even invited Oliver over to have a sort of impromptu dinner with my mother and myself, but as soon as the black BMW with the license plate QYZ81R was spotted outside my home, I grew weary with coming woe. I’d thought my mother was passed her old ways.

I walked inside quietly and heard distinct voices coming from her bedroom, the door closed.

“I’m not gonna file charges, Carl,” I heard my mother say loudly, “but I just want to know why you did it.” She sounded upset. “You destroyed my living room and assaulted me, for Christ’s sake! My daughter and her boyfriend had to take me to the goddamn hospital. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me?”

“Is this why you called me over, Carrie—to ask me why I hit you?” Mr. Weston retorted bitterly. “I have better things to do than answer to some peon, you understand? I have a big case in Seattle early tomorrow morning, and I can’t believe you even thought it was okay to call me over.

“And for the goddamn record,” he quickly added, “I didn’t destroy your fucking living room.”

I froze with the knowledge that Oliver had been correct about Mr. Weston’s involvement with my mother’s attack. I knew Delilah and I had been seeing some tension in our friendship since Oliver had come into the picture, but I didn’t think the same had gone for my mother and her best client.

A moment of silence followed before my mom spoke up again; “Well then who did? I don’t want any money, Carl—goddamn it, I just wanna know why! What did I ever do to you? I only made you happy and gave you an escape from your ridiculous wife. Why on Earth did you wanna hurt me?” Her voice had grown thick with emotion, and I had to fight the urge to barge into the room and start screaming at Mr. Weston myself.

“You really wanna know the answer, Carrie?” He paused for a moment. “I know you’ve been seeing that guy from Bellingham—whatever his name is—and it disgusted me to know your new boyfriend is a drug dealer. I tried prosecuting that motherfucker last year for his antics, and the only reason why he got away with it is ’cause that disgusting boyfriend of your daughter’s wouldn’t testify against him!”

My body had felt physically frozen prior to Mr. Weston’s explanation, but upon hearing it, my mind began to feel it. A hot pressure literally formed in my temples. Since when did Oliver Sykes have a run-in with the law and Mr. Weston? I couldn’t understand why the town wouldn’t have been buzzing about it and why I would’ve never heard about it.

“But your vendetta against an innocent man has nothing to do with me!” she screamed. “Jordan is a client, Carl—just like you, just like Donovan. You’re all just clients—I’m not seeing any one of you. I just like Jordan’s company; he’s gentle and caring, and he doesn’t treat me like I’m just some whore he’s paying.

“Carl, he tips! Do you understand that? You—you who make millions—don’t even tip me. You’re the richest man in Menlo, and you don’t even fucking tip me!”

“I don’t tip you because I was under the impression that we were friends!” For the course of their conversation, Mr. Weston had seemed to keep composure in his voice, but at that moment, a type of hysteria seemed to overcome him. “I bought you dinner and paid your goddamn phone bill, damn it!”

I’d always thought I was paying the phone bill...

“And you sit on your goddamn whoring ass,” he screamed, “fucking a goddamn twenty-something-year-old because he’s nice! Oh, he’s so nice, Carl! For all I know, you’ve been doing drugs with him, and that’s probably why you can’t afford your fucking home! Your goddamn daughter works two jobs, Carrie, just to make up for your lacking as a mother.

“You know what I was asked the other day at the office? I was asked if I was sleeping with that blonde whore on Walker Street—that blonde whore on Walker Street, Carrie! Do you know how embarrassing that is for me? Everyone in this town expects you to embarrass yourself, Carrie—I’m Carl fucking Weston, for Christ’s sake; I don’t embarrass myself!

“And you know what that same guy that asked me if I was fucking you said? He said he had a piece of you once, and it was great. Yeah, I’m just your fucking client, Carrie, but I thought we were at least friends. I told you to stay away from the men in my office, and that’s why I couldn’t control myself the other night—because I was just so goddamn angry at your behavior!

“And you know what else? Your daughter’s following right in your footsteps. She’s been fucking that goddamn Sykes asshole for months, and you’ve been too oblivious to even know because all you can care about is your dirty, little drug dealer that’s just so nice. I don’t think selling heroin to people is very nice, Carrie; and even beyond that, I think doing it is disgusting.

“At least my daughter talks to me; your own daughter doesn’t even know who your new boyfriend is because you’re too ashamed to let her know he’s more than ten goddamn years younger than you—and you should be ashamed about that! You’re a filthy whore, Carrie, and our business together is done.”

“We were never friends, Carl,” my mom replied calmly to him after a few seconds of silence. “You bought your wife flowers and chocolate last year for Valentine’s Day while you spent the day with me—and you remember what you got me? Nothing. You got me nothing because we’re not friends. If we were friends, you would’ve at least told me that my dealings with Jordan bothered you. Friends talk to each other, you piece of shit.

“And my daughter’s boyfriend is actually very nice,” she added, growing emotional once more. “He’s polite, and he actually cares about her. You wanna know what I heard him ask her the other night when he slept over? He asked her if he was hurting her.

“Are you even aware that sex causes pain, Carl?” she suddenly screamed. “Because it does! It hurts a fucking lot, and my daughter’s boyfriend—the one you think is the scum of the earth—wanted to make sure he wasn’t hurting her because he’s a good person. You don’t even know the first thing about what being a good person means; and it’s because of that that you’ll never have a single friend, Carl—because you are a disgusting human being. You make me sick,” and if I hadn’t been so engulfed in eavesdropping on the conversation, I might’ve been a little embarrassed that my mother knew Oliver and I had had sex in her house.

“Now tell me who the fuck vandalized my living room if it wasn’t you,” she growled, “or else I will tell the police you did it and raped me.”

Mr. Weston laughed sort of evilly at her. “I don’t know their names, Carrie. They’re some friends of Delilah’s—and you know what? I just let them do their thing because that Sykes kid isn’t the scum of the earth; you and your daughter are. The kids that vandalized your living room weren’t doing it for me, you cunt. They were doing it because your daughter’s following so closely in your footsteps that she’s actually getting pretty good at pissing everyone in the town off. She’s maybe even better than you.”

The knob of my mother’s bedroom door squealed with pressure, and I ran so fast out of the house that I almost tripped on one of the walkway’s stones.


Oliver and I had ended up spending the night at his house, and I’d told him what I’d heard. I wished so desperately that I shared the gift of his memory because so many words had been exchanged between my mom and Mr. Weston that it was hard to remember everything that had been said.

At some point during my story, I began to cry, and Oliver merely pulled me into his embrace, softly stroked my arm, and kissed my forehead multiple times. He was the only person I knew that could genuinely listen to another human being, and it was almost enough to rid myself of the truth’s pain to know that he truly heard every word I said and truly wanted to make all the sadness go away.

I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was about the words I’d heard that made me cry, but in Oliver’s arms, it seemed to be that the town thought so lowly of him while he was such an extraordinary person. I remembered him telling me that everyone in Menlo had their sins, but I was the only one free of such a thing. In the months that Oliver and I had become so close, the town didn’t seem to have much to say about it, but the ugly truth of Mr. Weston’s words—the truth that the town really did have a lot to say about it—was gut-wrenching.

I loved Oliver Sykes, and even if I didn’t say it to him everyday, any nasty words uttered about him or to him were directed at me, as well. There was no longer Oliver and me; it was us. Loving him meant that even being two individuals, we were more of a single being; and as I sat in his arms, feeling the tears slowly start to dry, I remembered the Greek legend of Hermes and Salmacis.

Loving Oliver meant that I no longer felt pain for just one person, but I felt pain for two, and despite how terrible that might’ve sounded, it felt bearable sitting in his embrace, knowing that he was at my side, balancing the weight of two, as well. It was a difficult emotion to explain, but despite how I’d always wanted everything in life to make sense, I was okay with this single certainty falling out of that category.


Since solidifying Oliver Sykes’ existence in my life, I’d grown to like Mondays, but that still didn’t take away from my enjoyment of the weekend. I never told my mother what I’d heard transpire between her and Mr. Weston, and as I sat in Oliver’s pickup truck on the way to Seattle for another one of his band’s shows, I remembered a quote from a story I’d read in my English class; I never can quite say as much as I know, and I wondered if that was how Oliver always felt with the unmoving information he kept inside his head.

We approached his group of friends, hand in hand, and I was happy to see the group of familiar faces—his bandmates, Rayne, Vegan’s girlfriend, even Jason. The circle was smaller than I’d remembered seeing at The Underground Coffeehouse—it was just eight people—but only one face was new to me. It was a tall man, thin and almost boyish in his features, with a slight shadow of an unshaven beard. He was attractive, I thought, but he looked almost out of place in the group—probably just as I did. While the circle of familiar people seemed strange to society, this new face appeared actually “normal,” like maybe he could’ve fit into Menlo seamlessly.

“Ah, it’s Oli and his bird!” Jona chanted happily as we reached them.

I smiled. “Hello,” I greeted shyly. Despite having met Oliver’s friends a number of times, the initial contact was still always breathtaking.

Rayne smiled at me, and I felt a sense of compassion for her. Rayne and I hadn’t talked since the first show Oliver had taken me to, but we’d established a sort of rudimentary friendship. It was an odd feeling to see her, though, because I actually felt excitement to see someone I liked as a friend. I had been spending most of my time with Oliver, and being with him was a different feeling from being with any other human being altogether, but the only other kinds of feelings I’d had for anyone else outside of my mother were bitterness and angst. It was a strange emotion to feel happy seeing a person.

“Amanda, this is Jordan,” Oliver declared, gesturing to the new face as he pulled out a cigarette.

My mind flashed back to my mother’s conversation with Mr. Weston and a mention of a twenty-something-year-old man named Jordan, but I knew it was just an odd coincidence.

“Jordan’s gonna be replacing Jona,” Oliver went on. “Jona’s moving to Australia in the summer.”

“Wow,” I replied, looking at Jona. “That’s awesome. Why’re you leaving, though?”

He shrugged, inhaling a drag from a half-smoked cigarette. “My mom moved there a couple years back, and I just think it’s time to settle down, you know? I love all my mates here, but sometimes it’s hard to keep up with them.” He chuckled. “I’m gonna be twenty-seven in January. I gotta start taking it easy.”

I smiled, feeling a genuine happiness for him. I already felt odd knowing that I would no longer see his face, and it was odd because I barely knew him. I felt excited for him, though, because the other side of the world held new opportunities for him. I glanced down at the ground, trying to establish some comfort with the new emotion of fondness for people, but I couldn’t stop smiling. With the exceptions of Oliver Sykes and my mother, I hated everyone in Menlo, which felt like everyone in the world, and it was just so relieving to have the weight of distaste lifted from my shoulders, even if it was only for just one night.

A boy with shaggy blonde hair suddenly popped out of the door to the venue and said, “Anyone that wants to see Broad Daylight, they’re about to start;” and he disappeared behind the door almost as quickly as he’d shown.

Everyone put their cigarettes out simultaneously. Oliver smiled at me, putting the half-smoked butt back into his pack. “I’ve been wanting to see this band for a while,” he declared. “They sound pretty good in the studio.”

I nodded and followed behind him, happy to be out of the frigid Seattle weather. It was surprisingly warmer in Seattle than it was in Menlo, but the nearing winter temperatures were still closing in on freezing, and I was no fan of the few and far flurries tucking themselves past the fake fur of my hood and into the skin of my neck.

The band began playing just as Oliver and I established a spot towards the side of the stage. They were only one song in with Oliver’s arms wrapped around my waist and my back against his chest when Rayne walked up and asked if I wanted to go to the bathroom with her and get a drink. I obliged and kissed Oliver’s cheek before departing.

“I’m so glad to see you and Oli still together,” she said as she washed her hands. “It’s really nice to see him with a girl he deserves.”

I smiled, blushing. “Thanks.” I knew Rayne had a past with Oliver, but up until that point, I had never really wanted to ask questions.

As she dried her hands with a brownish paper towel, though, I decided I wanted the curiosity inside me to leave. There were two things that had remained a question to me concerning Oliver’s history: the mention of a run-in with the law and a drug dealer named Jordan, as well as his intimacy with Rayne.

“Can I ask you something?” I suddenly asked.

She nodded. “Sure.”

I swallowed hard and leaned against the tiled wall, folding my arms across my chest. “What exactly happened between you and Oliver?” I cleared my throat, feeling odd for going behind his back, but something inside me felt like he’d never tell. He had seemed to want to keep his past hidden in his closet for skeletons, but that wasn’t good enough for me. If I loved him—and I did—I wanted to love every part of him, including the bad parts that happened long before me. Rayne’s answer wouldn’t change anything between him and me, I knew, but I just wanted to know for my own edification.

“Oh.” She blushed. “I don’t think it’s my place to tell you, Amanda—even as much as I like you.”

“It’s not gonna change anything between any of us,” I urged. “I’m not gonna tell him that you told me or that I even know. I just wanna know for myself.”

She swallowed hard and sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “Well, basically, before Bring Me The Horizon started making any decent amount of money for them to take home, Oli and I dated. We went out for about a month, and we were both getting into some heavy drugs. He used to be a big dopehead back then, and when his mom got sick, there was really no way for him to get money.

“The withdrawals and everything started changing him, and he wanted to break up with me...so we established a deal instead; I’d have guys pay me to sleep with them, and I’d give him the money in exchange for all the heroin I wanted.” She bit down on her lip and peered around the bathroom, anywhere except me.

“He was still growing distant, though, and for a while, the heroin kept us together,” she went on; “but then he started using less and less until he just stopped altogether—and then he started going out with this girl from your town. Even before he started calling her his girlfriend, he never wanted to have sex with me or anything, though. He barely even wanted to be in the same room as me half the time.

“Then I found out from Jason that he really liked this girl named Amanda, but it didn’t make sense to me because the girl he was going out with was named something else, like Debora or Delaney or something; and then it finally hit me that this girl he liked was a good girl, so he wanted to stop doing the dope, which meant he wanted to stop seeing me—even for business.”

She pursed her lips. “I really liked him, though, which is why it sucks that we’re still friends, especially with him bringing you around now...but the worst part of it all is that I actually like you, too.” She chuckled and sighed. “It’s all ancient history now, though, and it’s for the better. Jason and I have the same kind of deal, and even though he’s no Oli, he’s still good for me; and I’m actually happy Oli found someone that’s good for him. He deserves to be happy, and I know you do that for him;” and like many things about Oliver Sykes eventually did, it all made sense why he didn’t tell me. He knew how much I hated what my mom did to make money, and he didn’t want to tell me that he helped a girl do the same thing.

I took a deep breath because for a second, I wanted to be furious. I wanted to go out into the stage area and start yelling at him about how he should’ve told me; but then I realized his intentions were sincerely altruistic. I was used to everyone in Menlo being self-centered, but Oliver’s reasons for everything seemed to revolve around me, rather than himself, and that was nothing to be mad about.

After the second of rage passed, I felt almost pitiful because I wanted to do for Oliver what he did for me. He protected me from all the bad things in the world, all while taking the brunt of it as a shield, and I always stood there stupidly, worried about the pettiest of things.

“And now you know everything,” she finished awkwardly.

I grinned at her, suddenly bursting into laughter.

She furrowed her eyebrows at me. “What’s so funny?”

“Because I’m so stupid,” I answered honestly, giggling a little more. “Oliver is literally the best person I know, and I’m sitting here thinking he’s been doing all this bad shit—and for a second, I actually wanted to be mad about that.” I snickered a little more. “I’m just so stupid.”

She smirked. “I guess it is pretty stupid to think Oli’s a bad person.”


After the first band’s performance, everyone seemed to pile back outside. Like the first show Oliver had brought me to, heads turned to follow us and whispers passed our ears, but also like the first show, I felt special and ecstatic. My heart raced in the stuffy atmosphere because I felt like things were actually okay—even good. I remembered seeing Oliver’s mother in the hospital bed and wanting to tell her that things would be okay because they had to be, but for the first time since my father’s death so many years before, I genuinely believed it; and I genuinely felt like everything was falling into place with every breath I took.

As we all got outside, Oliver murmured to me, “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

I nodded and tugged on his hand just as he went to pull away. “Don’t do too much, okay?” I smiled at him and kissed his colored knuckles. I didn’t want to stop Oliver from doing something he liked, but I just didn’t want him to hurt himself.

He simpered back to me, his cheeks pinking a little, and nodded. “Thanks, love.”

A moment after he went back into the venue, just as the conversation in the smoking circle of friends commenced, I saw Jordan walk inside, too. He glanced over his shoulder in an odd way, and something in the pit of his large, green eyes seemed almost scared. I pursed my lips and quickly walked behind him because from the fear in his eyes, I’d become pretty sure that Bring Me The Horizon was going to perform a song with him. I knew it was going to be the first, and though I wasn’t sure if it would be his first performance altogether, I wanted to tell him that I was sure he’d do fine because the band was amazing. I just didn’t want to say it in front of everyone else because the secrecy in his demeanor seemed deliberate, and I didn’t want to embarrass him.

I reached the corner where the bathrooms were located just in time to hear Jordan’s voice, and it made me stop in my tracks. Obviously proven from eavesdropping on my mother’s conversation with Mr. Weston just days before, nothing good ever came from listening to a conversation without an invite, but the panic in Jordan’s speech made me feel like whoever he was speaking to was a much too private conversation to offer myself into.

“I don’t want you to say anything—I’m really scared,” he said in a hushed tone. “I was gonna go over tomorrow while she was at work, but now I’m scared something’s gonna go wrong, and she’s gonna see me there. That’s gonna be so ridiculously fucking awkward that I don’t even wanna think about it, dude.”

Whoever he was talking to sniffed and exhaled loudly. “I’m gonna tell her, Jordan, and that’s the end of it,” Oliver’s voice answered, taking me off guard. “I’m not lying to her anymore, I’m sorry. I’m sick of hiding shit from her. It’s not fair. She tells me everything—I’m through. I love you like a brother—I really do—but I’m gonna tell her, and I promise it’s not gonna be as bad as you think it will;” and again, I knew eavesdropping had proven to be a bad idea because they were talking about me.

“Ugh,” Jordan groaned. “What are you even gonna tell her?”

“I’m gonna tell her the truth, dumbass. I’m gonna tell her about Rayne, you, and Delilah’s dad. She deserves to know.”

Jordan sighed. “I know she deserves to know, but I don’t think she’ll want to,” he grumbled.

Then something hit me, and I literally had to lean against the wall to keep composure. Oliver had something to tell me about Jordan, himself, and Delilah’s dad that I wouldn’t want to know. Delilah’s dad had a vendetta against my mom because of a guy named Jordan that had been involved in legal trouble with Oliver. The Jordan that was joining Bring Me The Horizon to replace Jona was the same Jordan that was my mom’s “nice” client and the same one that had caused Mr. Weston to lose a case because Oliver wouldn’t testify against him.

Upon this realization, too, something else hit me that hadn’t before; if Mr. Weston had nothing to do with the destruction of my living room and some kids did it because of my relationship with Oliver, then that meant that I was the whore they were referring to.

“Jesus Christ, Jordan!” he exclaimed. “I don’t give a shit if she wants to know or not. She probably didn’t want Carl Weston to vandalize her goddamn living room or assault her mom, but that still happened, didn’t it? And you and I both know that happened because of us.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that happened because of us, per se,” Jordan defended a little halfheartedly. “I mean, that happened ’cause Carl Weston’s a prick.”

“I’m gonna make this up to her,” Oliver said sternly. “We’re gonna make it up to her, alright?”

“Goddamn it, Oli,” Jordan groaned again. “Why do you have to be a such a fucking martyr? What if she gets pissed and tells her mom to stop seeing me or tells you to stop hanging out with me?” and there was the confirmation I needed.

I felt myself mouth the words, Oh my god, because I just couldn’t believe anything I’d been hearing all week. It almost felt like my life had turned into some sort of joke, like a TV show an audience was laughing at.

I turned around to scurry away from the bathroom area because I’d heard enough of a nasty, layered story to last a lifetime, but I ended up running right into someone. I rubbed my forehead, it having collided with the person’s chin, and peered up to see no one other than Alex Ward. Of course he was there because he’d been wanting to see Bring Me The Horizon for a while—how could I have forgotten?

“Fuck,” I instinctively mumbled.

He chuckled. “Well hey to you, too.”

“Is Delilah here?” I felt bad for coming off so rudely to him because I actually didn’t mind him at all—I even liked him—but if I was going to run into Delilah at another Bring Me The Horizon show, I needed to brace myself for something much more serious than an impromptu, awkward dinner date.

He shook his head. “She didn’t wanna come to the show with me. Are you guys okay, or...?”

I took a deep breath and just walked past him, shaking my head. I felt overwhelmed, like my head was about to explode. My hands shook with anxiety, and I suddenly had no idea what to do with myself. I wasn’t upset with Oliver; I wasn’t upset with Jordan; I wasn’t even upset with my mother. I was upset with myself because I had been so clueless to everything around me. I wondered if I was more self-absorbed than I had ever wanted to admit because it seemed like none of it could’ve ever gotten past me if I had just paid a little attention to someone other than myself.

“Hey!” Alex called as I neared the exit. He grabbed my arm. “What’s wrong?”

I just shook my head again and glared up at the ceiling. For my entire life, I hadn’t ever been sure if there was such a thing as God, but as Alex stood there staring at me, I prayed to whoever might’ve been listening that some sort of calm would follow the storm that had become my life. It felt like waves were crashing over me, drowning me in their salt and weight, and I didn’t have a lifejacket to help me stay afloat. What was happening?

“I don’t know,” I suddenly answered, my voice cracking; “and I really fucking wish I did.”

He pursed his lips. “Well, if it makes you feel better, Amanda, I’m sure whatever’s going on could only get better from here.”

I felt my eyebrows knit together because even though the confusion and overlapping layers of my life’s story had overwhelmed me, there was truth in Alex’s statement and even a little solace; and it was odd to have that comfort come from someone other than Oliver.

“I just don’t know how to fix any of it,” I mumbled, frowning. “I didn’t even know any of it was going on until now.”

He shrugged back to me. “If you didn’t know it was going on, there’s a reason for that—and that means that it’s not up to you to fix it.” He smiled at me just as I felt Oliver’s arm wrap around my waist.

“I leave you alone for five minutes, and you become best friends with Delilah’s boyfriend,” Oliver said, chuckling. He pecked my cheek and held his hand out for Alex to shake. “What’s been going on, mate?”

Alex grinned back. “I just came to finally see Bring Me The Horizon play tonight,” he answered. “I’ve been waiting months. I miss them every time.”

Oliver simpered. “Well, you didn’t miss them tonight;” and with that, he gently nudged me to follow him outside.


Bring Me The Horizon’s set was nothing short of spectacular, and I hadn’t expected it to be anything less. Oliver and his friends were beyond talented, and I was even excited to see how they’d grow with a new member joining the band.

The ride back home with Oliver was mostly quiet, though, the silence filled by soft acoustic music, but when we finally pulled into his driveway, I couldn’t hold it back anymore. Oliver loved me enough to want to tell me everything, and I no longer wanted to hold in what it was that I knew. I wanted to say it, and I wanted to say it all.

Just as Oliver cut the engine to his truck, the words left my mouth—everything I knew and everything I felt towards that knowledge—and he just looked at me dumbfounded once I stopped. I told him that I wasn’t upset with him or his friend or my mother, and all I wanted was to bring an end to the story and never have another one like it overwhelm me so deeply again.

He bit down on his lip and leaned his head against the back of his seat. “Well that makes things easy.” He peered at me. “I just didn’t know how to tell you, but I don’t want you to think that I didn’t want to, Amanda.”

I squeezed his hand gently in mine. “I know—I heard everything, remember?” I smirked at him. “Just no more secrets, Oliver, okay?”

He nodded and kissed the top of my hand. “No more, I promise; and Jordan and I will make good on what Carl did to your mom, okay? Even if he wasn’t the one that destroyed your living room, he’s not gonna get away with what he did do.”