"Last weekend never happened."
That's what Olivia Graham repeatedly told herself after her earth-shattering encounter with him.
And yet, she couldn't shake the way her lips burned when she recalled his kiss or the phantom sensation of his fingertip...
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Olivia sighs heavily, letting her head drop. She hides her face as streams of tears fill her palms. I rub her shoulder as she mumbles incoherent thoughts through her hands. We sit in silence, waiting for her sounds to resemble words.
Mickey and Eduardo walk down the stairs and join us in the living room, remaining quiet, seeing how upset she is. Drawing circles on her back, I attempt to soothe her. Her crying calms and her heavy breaths begin to regulate. Mickey looks at me, and I shrug in response, still confused myself.
She points to the picture of Mickey, Daniel, and me from when we were teenagers. "Your Daniel is my Ricky."
I don't understand.
"My foster brother—I mentioned him earlier," she adds, sniffling between her words.
"Wait. Is Daniel the one who taught you how to play football?" Mickey asks, connecting the dots.
She nods in response.
Olivia knew Daniel?
Looking at Maria, she appears equally shocked as she opens her mouth to speak, but doesn't say anything as if her vocal cords have seized up. Eduardo hands her the handkerchief she reaches for before a frightening cough escapes her lungs.
She looks at the cloth and quietly gasps. Folding it up, she tucks it into her pocket. "I think we should give them a minute, mi amor." Getting up, she nods at Olivia, signaling for her to continue. She pulls Eduardo into the kitchen as Mickey takes a seat next to us on the couch.
What was that about?
"I have so many questions." Mickey states, refocusing my attention on this new revelation.
"I met Daniel when I was in elementary school." She wipes her tears, regaining her composure. "He used to go by Ricky back then."
He knew her as a kid?
Instinctively, my hand moves to my chest, resting against the family crest that we all got tattooed at sixteen. Forcing myself to keep it together, I turn and face Olivia.
"We lived together in a group home for eight months," she continues, gently hovering her dark nails over the picture, afraid to touch it. Like the memory of him would vanish if she did. "He may have been five years older, but he was my first real friend growing up. He was like a big brother..." she fades out, trying to hide her pain behind a cracked whisper.
Her mascara smears as she wipes the tears with a tissue. She's still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, despite the puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks.
"Where did the name Ricky come from?" I question.
"He loved boxing and wanted to go pro one day. We gave him the nickname after the professional boxer, Ricky Rojas."
How could I forget about his obsession with Rowdy Rojas?
