Maxwell's POV
The question was quiet. So much calmer than I'd expected, and somehow that made it worse.
An explanation. That's what she wanted.
"I'm so sorry, Olivia," I said, and my voice came out rough, broken. "I just couldn't bring myself to tell you. I know I had countless opportunities to say the truth, but I was so worried you'd hate me. I was terrified that if you knew…"
"My memories," she interrupted, and ice flooded my veins. "When were you going to tell me about my memories?"
Everything stopped.
My heart. My breath. Time itself.
"What?" The word barely made it past my lips.
"At my parents' house," Olivia continued, her voice still that terrible, controlled calm, "I asked how you knew me from the past. You said you were Kennedy's friend. That you didn't know me that well. That we'd only passed each other a few times in the hall."
Oh God.
Oh God, no.
"Olivia," I breathed. "You remembered..."
Her eyes hardened.
