Maxwell’s POV
I pulled up to the Hopton house just before noon, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight I thought it’d break.
This was it. My last shot.
If they didn’t help , if they refused to tell where Olivia was, I didn’t know what I’d do. I’d already exhausted every other option, called in every favor, searched every place I could think of.
The Hoptons were my final hope.
I took a deep breath, straightened my tie, and walked up to the front door with as much composure as I could muster.
Which, considering I’d barely slept in two days and felt like I was coming apart at the seams, wasn’t much.
I knocked.
Footsteps approached, and the door opened to reveal Mrs. Hopton. Her expression shifted when she saw - surprise, then sothing softer.
"Maxwell," she said quietly.
"Mrs. Hopton." My voice ca out rougher than I’d intended. "I’m sorry to show up unannounced. I just... I really need to talk to you. And Mr. Hopton. If that’s okay."
She studied my face for a long mont, taking in whatever desperation must have been written all over it.
Then she stepped aside.
"Co in."
Relief flooded through so intensely I almost stumbled.
"Thank you," I breathed. "Thank you so much."
She led into the living room, where Mr. Hopton was sitting in his armchair with a newspaper. He looked up when I entered, and his expression hardened slightly.
"Wellington," he said, his tone neutral.
"Mr. Hopton." I stood there awkwardly, suddenly feeling twelve years old again, even though I was just here weeks ago. "Thank you for seeing . I know I don’t deserve your ti, but I’m begging you to hear out."
He folded his newspaper and set it aside, gesturing to the couch.
I sat, but couldn’t keep still. My leg bounced with nervous energy. My hands clasped and unclasped in my lap.
"I ca to apologize," I said, the words rushing out before I could second-guess them. "To both of you. For hurting Olivia. For the way I’ve treated her since we crossed paths again. I know I’ve ssed everything up, and I know sorry isn’t enough, but I need you to know that I never ant to cause her pain."
Mrs. Hopton sat down beside her husband, her expression sympathetic but cautious.
"Maxwell," she said gently, "we know you care about Olivia. We’ve always known that. But what we don’t understand is why you hid the truth from her. After all those years of searching for her, after finally finding her, why didn’t you just tell her who you were?"
I ran my hands through my hair, frustration and sha warring inside .
"Because I was terrified," I admitted. "Terrified that if she rembered what happened - if she rembered my cowardice, how I stood there and said nothing while Kennedy was arrested - she’d hate . And I couldn’t... I couldn’t bear the thought of finally finding her only to have her look at with disgust. Also, I was just plain stupid."
"So you thought lying to her was better?" Mr. Hopton asked, and there was an edge to his voice now.
"No. God, no." I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. "I didn’t think at all. I just reacted. I saw her walk into my office for personal advice and I panicked. And then I kept telling myself I’d tell her the truth tomorrow, next week, when the ti was right. But there was never a right ti, and every day that passed made it harder to co clean."
"You really ssed up, son," Mr. Hopton said, but his tone had softened slightly. "Hiding sothing like that from soone you claim to love? That’s not love. That’s fear controlling you."
"I know," I whispered. "I know I ssed up. I’ve been ssing up since I was twelve years old and too scared to speak up when it mattered. I’m still that sa coward, still too afraid to do the right thing when it counts."
Mrs. Hopton reached out and touched my arm gently.
"You’re not that scared boy anymore, Maxwell," she said. "You got our beach house back. You saved Olivia’s life when she was hit by that car. You’ve been searching for her for twenty years. You even gave her a job. Those aren’t the actions of a coward."
I looked up at her, tears burning in my eyes.
"Then why do I keep hurting her?" I asked, my voice breaking. "Why do I keep making the wrong choices? Why do I prefer playing crazy gas?"
"Because you’re human," she said simply. "And humans make mistakes. Especially when they’re in love and terrified of losing the person who matters most."
I swallowed hard, trying to get my emotions under control.
"I love her," I said. "More than anything in this world. And I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m begging you - please, tell where she is. Let try to make this right. Let apologize to her properly and tell her everything I should have told her from the beginning."
Mr. and Mrs. Hopton exchanged a long wordless look.
Then Mr. Hopton sighed.
"She’s not here," he said.
My heart plumted into my stomach.
"Where did she go?" I asked, and I could hear the desperation in my own voice. "Please, I just need to talk to her. I need to explain..."
"Maxwell," Mrs. Hopton interrupted gently. "She needed so ti alone. To process everything. To heal."
"Where?" I pressed. "I won’t push her, I won’t force her to talk to if she doesn’t want to. I just... I need to see her. Need to know she’s okay."
They hesitated, clearly weighing whether or not to tell .
And I couldn’t take it anymore.
I slid off the couch and onto my knees on their living room floor.
"Please," I begged, and I didn’t care how pathetic I looked, how desperate I sounded. "Please tell where she is. I’m begging you. I’ll do anything. Anything."
"Maxwell, get up..." Mr. Hopton started.
"I can’t lose her again," I continued, the words pouring out like a dam had broken. "I’ve already lost her so many tis. Please. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her, I swear. Just give one more chance."
Silence filled the room.
Then Mrs. Hopton spoke quietly.
"She’s at the beach house."
I looked up, hardly daring to believe what I was hearing.
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