CHAPTER 180: A GLIMPSE INTO OLIVIA’S AND MAXWELL’S PAST

Maxwell’s POV- Two Hours After Arrival

Hah... hah... hah...

I was breathing like a dying whale, each gasp burning through my lungs as I bent over, hands braced on my knees, my entire body aching like hell.

Kennedy stood a few feet away, barely winded, arms crossed as he watched me with the critical eye of a drill sergeant. "Again," he said simply.

"I... can’t..." I wheezed.

"Yes, you can. One more time. Stance."

I groaned but straightened up, trying to remember everything he’d drilled into me for the past two hours.

"What are the rules?" Kennedy demanded.

"Never... cower," I panted.

"And?"

"Never cry."

"Keep going."

"Never run." I wiped the sweat pouring down my face with my already-soaked sleeve.

"Last one."

"Don’t back away when they approach. Move towards them instead. Make them back away."

Kennedy nodded with approval. "Good. Now show me."

He started walking toward me in that aggressive way he’d been doing - mimicking how Peter would approach. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to step back, to make myself smaller, to apologize for existing.

But then I heard it.

"You can do it, Maxwell! You’re so strong!"

I glanced toward the old wooden swing set at the edge of the backyard. Olivia was there, her legs pumping to keep herself swinging, her hair flying behind her. She was grinning at me with such complete confidence, like she genuinely believed I was capable of anything.

Something shifted in my chest.

I turned back to Kennedy and - against every fiber of my being - I took a step forward. Then another.

Kennedy’s eyebrows rose slightly. "Better. Again."

We ran the drill three more times. Each time, I managed to hold my ground a little longer, to move forward instead of back. It felt impossible, like trying to rewire my entire brain, but every time I faltered, I’d hear Olivia’s cheerful voice calling out encouragement.

"That’s it! You’re doing amazing!"

"Show them who’s boss, Maxwell!"

"You’re going to be the bravest person ever!"

The sun had started to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. I had no idea what time it was - only that it was getting late. My driver must have been looking for me by now. Probably called my parents in a panic. They’d be furious.

But for once in my miserable twelve years of existence, I didn’t care.

All I wanted was to have the courage to face those four bastards tomorrow. To protect myself. To protect Olivia. When Kennedy had asked if I wasn’t going home, I’d lied that I’d go later - even though I knew I wasn’t.

"BOYS!" Mrs. Hopton called from the back door. "Whatever you’re doing out there, you’d better stop before someone faints! Dinner’s ready!"

Kennedy clapped me on the shoulder. "Not bad, Maxwell. We’ll make a fighter out of you yet."

"Thanks," I managed, though I was pretty sure I was about to collapse.

He jogged toward the house, and I stood there frozen. I was absolutely drenched in sweat. My shirt was plastered to my skin. I could feel the dampness in my hair, on my neck, everywhere. The evening breeze hit me and I realized with horror that I probably smelled exactly like what Peter always called me.

A pig.

At home, my mother would never - never - allow me anywhere near the dining table in this state. "Maxwell, you’re covered in sweat," she’d say with a stern expression. "Go shower. You’re not sitting with us like that."

All mothers were like that, weren’t they? Proper. Neat. Disgusted by mess.

I couldn’t go in there. Not like this. The Hoptons had been so kind to me, and I was going to repay them by stinking up their dinner table? Mrs. Hopton would probably smile politely while secretly being revolted. Mr. Hopton would probably...

A small hand tapped my arm.

I looked down to find Olivia standing beside me, looking at me with concern.

"Aren’t you hungry?" she asked, tilting her head. "Mum made pot roast. It’s really, really good. She puts these special herbs in it that make it smell like heaven. And there’s mashed potatoes with gravy, and green beans - though I don’t like those much but Kennedy says I have to eat them or I won’t grow tall - and there’s apple pie for dessert!"

My stomach growled traitorously at the description. "I... I am hungry. But I can’t..." I gestured helplessly at myself. "I’m all sweaty and gross. I don’t have any other clothes to change into, and I probably smell really bad, and your mom will..."

"Oh!" Olivia’s face brightened with understanding. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her pink handkerchief. Then she held it up to me. "Here! You can use this to wipe your face and neck. That’s what Kennedy does sometimes when he’s been playing outside and Mum calls him for dinner suddenly."

I took the soft handkerchief from her. "But this is yours. And it’s... it’s pink."

She giggled. "So? Pink is just a color, Maxy. It can’t hurt you."

I smiled at the name, "Maxy? I love the nickname. Now that we are friends, how about I give you one?"

She jumped in glee, "yes, yes, yes. I’ll love one."

I searched my brain for a while, then smiled as it clicked. "Since everyone is calling you Liv, I’ll call you Livy."

"Livy..." she said, like she was tasting the name, then bounced in glee, "I like it! I’ll call you Maxy, while you call me Livy. Deal?" She thrusted out her pinky finger.

I linked mine with hers, sealing our new nicknames.

Then her expression turned serious, like she just remembered something. "Wait here, Maxy. Don’t move. I’ll be right back!"

Before I could respond, she was running - not toward the house, but around the side, disappearing from view.

I stood there awkwardly, dabbing at my face with her handkerchief, feeling completely out of place in this peaceful backyard with its well - loved swing set and neat flower beds. Through the kitchen window, I could see the family moving around, setting the table, laughing about something.

A real family. Having a normal dinner together.

Two minutes later, Olivia came running back, her arms full of clothes. She was slightly out of breath but beaming triumphantly.

"Here!" She thrust the bundle at me. "These are my dad’s old clothes from the garage. Mum keeps them in boxes out there - says they’re too worn for Dad to wear anymore but they’re still good, just old-fashioned. She was going to donate them but hasn’t gotten around to it yet."

I unfolded the clothes. A simple button-down shirt in a faded blue, and a pair of jeans that looked like they’d been washed a thousand times until they were soft as butter.

"These should fit you!" Olivia said excitedly. "Dad used to be bigger before he started his new job. Now he’s lost a little weight. But these are from before." She grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward a small shed at the back of the yard. "You can change in the tool shed. It’s not fancy but there’s space and Dad keeps it clean."

"Olivia, I..." My voice cracked. "Thank you. Really. I don’t know how to..."

"It’s nothing!" she interrupted cheerfully, opening the shed door for me. "That’s what friends do, remember? We help each other." She started walking backward toward the house. "I’m going in for dinner now before Mum gets mad at me for letting the food get cold. But you hurry up too, okay? I will save you the seat next to me!"

I watched her run back toward the house, and felt something warm and painful expand in my chest.

Gratitude. Pure, overwhelming gratitude for this strange little girl who’d decided I was worth being friends with.