Laurel knocked lightly, almost tentatively, on the heavy oak door. Subconsciously delaying the inevitable... even if it was for just a few moments.
She had no idea how she was going to tell Oliver the news. But, there was a chance that Sarah was alive. So, no matter how slim the odds... Laurel knew that Oliver deserved to know.
Laurel knocked again, louder this time. Still no answer.
As she knocked the third time, she hesitantly opened the door into his bedroom. "Ollie?"
With the door open, she could clearly hear the shower running from the on suite bathroom. "Shit," Laurel mumbled to herself. It had taken most of the morning to work up the nerve to get this far.
She was still contemplating whether to wait or to go, when she heard Oliver shut the water off. She had a momentary flash of panic realizing that there was a chance that Oliver may not be alone. The old Oliver would have definitely had company. In case he had a guest, Laurel decided that it was better to find out before they walked out of the bathroom, so she called out again. "Ollie?"
Her voice was muffled by the thick wooden bathroom door, making it difficult to distinguish. Since he wasn't expecting anyone, Oliver assumed it was his sister. "Hey Thea. Just gimme a minute. I'll be right there."
Not bothering to correct him, Laurel nervously paced the large bedroom. Hoping the words that had eluded her all night would somehow come to her in the next 60 seconds. She knew that she had to tell him and she didn't want to take the chance that he would hear it from someone else.
When her mother had told her last night, she didn't even react at first. She just stood there in shock. Stunned. Unable to breathe. Too afraid to let herself hope. Too afraid to let herself believe that it might be true. As her mind finally started to clear, her first real thought had been of Oliver. All the things she had said to him about Sarah's death. How both she and her father had blamed him. She knew even he blamed himself for it.
His guilt had damaged him. Deeply and in a way that couldn't be undone. She would never forget the searing pain in Ollie's eyes when he answered her father's questions during the lie detector test. "I killed Sarah. I killed your daughter."
Laurel fidgeted anxiously as she waited for Ollie to emerge from the bathroom. Unconsciously tidying things as she paced the room. Straightening a framed painting that was slightly askew. Fixing the throw pillows on the couch. She picked up a small worn notebook from the floor beside his bed, intending to place it back on his night stand. But as she grabbed it, an old tattered photo fell out, dropping to the floor.
Laurel's jaw dropped as she picked it up. The photo was of her. It was dirty and dog-eared on every corner. Had Ollie kept it with him the whole time he was on the island? For five years?
The sound of Ollie opening the door brought Laurel back into the moment. She quickly hid the photo back in the pages of the notebook and dropped them both onto the night stand.
Ollie appeared from behind the door. Still damp from the shower with a thick white towel wrapped around his hips. "Laurel! Uh.. Hi." Oliver stammered, visibly surprised.
"Sorry Ollie. I didn't mean to startle you," Laurel apologized genuinely. "I really need to talk to you."
"Boy trouble?" Ollie joked. "Relationships are new for Tommy. He probably just needs a little guidance. Although, I'm not sure that I would be much help," he smiled.
"Very funny, Ollie." Laurel sighed, "I wish it was that simple. You should sit down."
Her tone must have conveyed her seriousness, because he obeyed immediately. He took a seat on the oversized grey couch, as Laurel sat down across from him.
As she fought to find a place to start, she silently wished that she had asked him to put some clothes first. He had always been athletic, but since his return from the island he was nearly solid muscle. The patchwork of scars across his chest and back added a raw vulnerability to his presence that was even more distracting. Fresh out of the shower, he smelled so familiar. Post-island Oliver might be a different person, but he still uses the same brand of soap. Slightly spicy with notes of fresh pine. She had always loved how he smelled. So effortlessly masculine. Laurel desperately tried to stay focused, but her mind flooded with all the memories that his scent aroused. The days spent tangled in his sheets. The taste of his skin. The way he slid his hand under her ear and around the back of her neck before he pulled her in for a kiss. He may not have faithful, but he had always been an incredible lover.
'This was a mistake,' Laurel thought to herself. She should have run when she heard the shower. She should have waited downstairs. She had been so anxious to talk to him that she hadn't thought this through. But, it was too late to go back now. She sighed in frustration as she tried to pull herself together.
He could tell that she was struggling. "Laurel, what is it? How can I help?" He looked straight into her eyes, trying to reassure her as best he could.
Tears starting falling from Laurel's eyes long before she could put any words together. "It's Sarah. They think she might be alive."
The color drained from Ollie's face, as a thousand different thoughts filled his head.