Chapter 336

Olivia

Nathan’s words hung in the air between us like an invisible thread, fragile and easy to snap.

“Isn’t this better than those dumb exercises?”

I looked over at Nathan, his face flushed from running, his blue-green eyes lit up with the joy of reliving a sliver of our carefree past. For a split second, I wanted to say yes, to give in to the whimsy of it all.

But the reality of our present issues, all of our grown-up problems, reasserted themselves. Maybe the old Olivia, the younger and childless Olivia, would have gone along with it; but not this Olivia. I needed to stay grounded in reality, not just for myself, but for the twins and the new life burgeoning inside of my belly.

“It was fun, Nathan. Really, it was,” I started cautiously. “But running around playing a children’s game isn't going to solve our problems.”

He frowned, sitting up and pulling a few blades of grass from the ground. “You think those therapy exercises are any better? Those are for kids, too. Not adults.”

I sat up along with him and met his gaze. “That’s the point, though, Nathan,” I said, trying to keep my voice gentle and open. “Just because it feels like it’s for kids doesn’t mean it’s not helpful. It’s not fair to say that our childhood game is better than the exercises Dr. Lewis gave us; it’s just flip sides of the same coin.”

“But it’s just talk,” he said, sounding a little more defiant now. “Getting outside, running, getting fresh air is helpful. Drawing pictures isn’t. Not really. Not for us.”

I sighed. “Nathan, it’s not just talk. It’s communication. We’re supposed to be figuring out how to express ourselves better, how to understand each other’s needs. Playing ‘Sticks and Grenades’ is a great trip down memory lane and it’s a good physical outlet, but it’s not going to help us with the real obstacles we’re facing.”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, so you think some therapist, who doesn’t even know the half of what we’re really dealing with, has the magic answers? Remember, we can’t even be fully honest with her about the witch stuff.”

I sighed, my patience thinning. “So, what’s your solution? We keep things from her because we have to, but at least she’s giving us a structured way to tackle some of our problems. You can’t just dismiss it because it makes you uncomfortable.”

He stood up abruptly. “Uncomfortable? You think this is about comfort? Liv, that woman has no idea what we’re going through. You can’t make a neat little template out of the complexities of our life with her drawing exercises and trust falls.”

“You’re being childish, Nathan,” I said, tilting my head to look up at him as I gripped the grass below me in my hands. “Just because you don’t like what the therapist is saying doesn’t mean it’s not beneficial.”

Nathan’s voice rose a notch, annoyance flashing in his eyes. “I’m the one who’s trying to find ways for us to reconnect, and you’re calling me childish?”

“Yes, Nathan, because ignoring professional advice to play games in the yard instead is a little childish when we’re supposed to be working on our relationship.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s not the relationship that’s the problem, Liv,” he hissed. “Maybe it’s… Maybe…”

His voice trailed off. It seemed as though he was at a loss for words, but I knew what he was really thinking: that none of this was about the games or the exercises. It was about vulnerability. And maybe that was something that he wasn’t used to.

“Nathan,” I said gently, standing. I reached for his hand. “I know your father never allowed you to be vulnerable—”

As if he had been burned, Nathan suddenly yanked his arm away, a painful expression in his eyes. “Don’t bring my father into this,” he growled. “This has nothing to do with him.”

My eyes widened slightly; I had clearly struck a nerve. “Nathan, it’s okay. Your father was abusive—”

“I told you not to bring him into it.” Nathan’s voice was low, so low it was barely above a growl. “This has nothing to do with him. And don’t you dare bring that bastard up when I’ve worked so hard to forget about him.”

Nathan’s words left me at a loss for words, my mouth agape, my eyebrows raised. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t manage to come up with a response. What was I supposed to say if he wouldn’t even listen to me?

For a long few moments, we just stood there, glaring at each other. The tension was palpable, a taut line stretched to its breaking point. I felt a mix of frustration and disappointment swirling inside me. His father was clearly still a soft spot for him, but instead of addressing it, he was becoming almost borderline aggressive.

Finally, Nathan shook his head, a look of frustration taking over his face. “You know what” he said. “Fine. Let’s keep doing your exercises. Fill out your little worksheets. Maybe one of them will magically fix everything.”

I sighed. “I don’t think it’s magic, Nathan, but I do think it’s better than whatever we’re doing now.”

His gaze met mine, and for a moment, the boy I fell in love with peeked through—the one who could make everything a game, who could find the silver lining in any cloud. But just as quickly, he was gone, replaced by a man at odds with how to fix something neither of us fully understood.

“Okay, whatever,” he said tersely. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

“Wait, Nathan—” I reached for him again, but he pulled away, shooting me another one of his painful looks.

“Just drop it, Liv,” he said, his voice much softer now. “I’ve had enough for one night.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and headed back to the house, leaving me standing alone under the sprawling oak, feeling both vindicated and utterly lost. The door slid closed behind him with a definitive thud, echoing the finality of our conversation.

My hand fell back to my side, and as I stood there, surrounded by the lingering traces of our laughter and joy, the absurdity of it all hit me.

Here we were, two grown adults engaged in a battle against evil forces, and yet we couldn’t even navigate a simple conversation about our relationship or Nathan’s past. And as much as I hated to admit it, maybe Nathan had a point.

Maybe our issues were too unique, too complex, for traditional methods of repair.

But that didn’t mean that I was ready to give up on therapy just yet, on finding some semblance of normalcy in our whirlwind lives. Nor did it mean that—whatever his feelings were toward his father—his past, his issues, could be ignored.

I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, as I turned back toward the house. Our problems weren’t going to be solved tonight, not by running around the yard or by arguing about therapy.

But for the first time, the weight of how much work we had to do finally settled in, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were running out of time to do it.