Chapter 2
DAMIEN
S tay close,” I say over my shoulder, trying to set a quicker pace. There’s another storm coming, and we shouldn’t be caught out here when it hits. “The trail gets tricky ahead, and it’s still slick from yesterday’s rain.”
Lucy’s footsteps follow behind me, and I can hear her breathing getting heavier. I want to turn and stare at her because it still doesn’t feel real that she’s here with me, albeit under the worst possible circumstances.
Eight years of trying to forget making the worst mistake possible, and the love of my fucking life is now three feet behind me, close enough that I can smell her shampoo when the wind shifts. Losing her was worse than any of the carnage I saw on deployment.
“How much further?” she asks.
I glance at the darkening sky. “About a mile. We need to pick up the pace.”
The forest crowds us into a single file. I’m hyperaware of her presence—the rhythm of her steps, the rustle when she adjusts her pack straps. She’s carrying the same backpack she had all through high school and college.
A patch of mud appears around the bend. I navigate it carefully, then turn to warn her.
“Watch your—”
Her boot slides, and she pitches forward with a startled gasp.
My hand shoots out, fingers closing around her upper arm before she can fall.
Her eyes widen with surprise, but she regains her footing.
I release her quickly, but even a moment of touching her fills my mind with visions of spending weekends in bed and losing myself exploring every inch of her body.
“Thanks,” she says, looking away as a flush creeps up her neck.
I nod and turn back to the trail, needing distance. “The ground’s still soft from yesterday’s storm.”
Focus. This is about keeping her alive, not about how I want to pull her into my arms and never let her go. Not about how deeply I’ve ached for her.
We reach a clearing not too far from the cabin, and I look at her as she moves forward to walk at my side. I meet her eyes and nearly stumble when I catch what sure as hell looks like a flicker of longing.
Lucy adjusts her hat, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear—a graceful gesture I’ve never forgotten. Until I foolishly ended things, it was a gesture I thought I’d see for the rest of our lives together. The familiarity of it makes my blood burn with regret.
As we re-enter the forest trail and the cabin is in sight, a branch cracks somewhere to our left. I stop suddenly, my hand moving instinctively to my weapon. Lucy freezes behind me, close enough that I feel her warm breath against my neck.
We wait, both sighing in relief when a deer emerges from the underbrush and continues across the path.
The cabin is one of the safe houses we’ve been building this year for Ghost Security—rustic but modern, with reinforced windows and extensive security features.
“This is your home for the next week.”
Lucy stops beside me, her shoulder almost touching mine. She looks up at the cabin, taking it in slowly. “You live here? This isn’t what I expected.”
“Me? No. I live about ten miles in that direction,” I say, lifting my chin to the west. I pause when her words sink in. “Wait. You’ve thought about where I live?”
Her blue eyes meet and hold mine with an intensity that makes me weak.
“I’ve thought about a lot of things, Damien.”
“Main room, kitchen, bathroom,” I say, pointing as we move through the cabin.
“My bedroom’s through there. Yours is upstairs—reinforced windows, industrial deadbolt.
If you lock the door, you’re the only one who can open it.
” I pause when her eyes go wide. “But I’ll eliminate anyone who even gets close to this cabin.
There are motion sensors and cameras that cover a wide perimeter.
We’ll know well in advance if anyone comes near. ”
Lucy nods, shrugging off her backpack. She’s silent in a way that I can’t tell if she’s scared or processing.
“You can change if you want or take a hot shower,” I tell her, moving to the fireplace.
She disappears upstairs, leaving me alone with thoughts I’ve been fighting since I recognized her.
I focus on building a fire and checking the windows and security equipment. Lucy emerges wearing dry clothes—snug jeans and a navy sweater that hugs her curves. Her hair is down now, dark waves falling past her shoulders.
Beautiful. She’s still so damn beautiful. I want to take her in my arms, beg for her forgiveness, and hold her. But I can’t. She’s probably got some man waiting for her, and I’m charged with protecting her, not opening old wounds in the hope of finding forgiveness.
“Better?” I ask.
“Much.” She glances at the fire, moving closer and extending her hands to warm them. “That feels amazing.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving, actually.” She smiles, and it takes my breath away. For the first time since The Lodge, she looks like the Lucy I knew and loved so much I thought my heart would burst.
“Pasta?” I move to the kitchen and start opening cupboards. One of the Ghost Security guys stocked it yesterday, but I have no idea what’s here, but there’s always pasta.
“Whatever’s easiest.” She follows me, fingers tapping against the wooden surface—a habit of hers I remember.
We work in comfortable silence, the rain starting to lash against the windows. The domesticity reminds me of how everything used to be and what a fool I was to let her slip through my fingers.
“You used to burn water,” she says suddenly.
I look up, caught off guard by the amusement in her eyes. “I’ve improved. You can’t get pizza delivery up here,” I joke.
“So show me these new skills of yours,” she teases, and a glimmer of how it used to be between us flickers.
Staying here this week and not touching her is going to be torture.
After dinner, I pour bourbon into two glasses. “Storm system’s moving in fast. We might lose power tonight.”
She watches raindrops chase each other down the window. “What exactly does one do for entertainment in an isolated mountain cabin?”
Her voice holds a teasing quality that feeds my physical longing for her. I study her for a moment, but she meets my gaze with something that could almost pass for innocence. It’s been so long since I last saw her that I can’t don’t know how to read her anymore.
“Cards.” I pull out a worn deck. “Or there are some old VHS tapes and a VCR if you prefer. There might be some paperbacks around here.”
“In the absence of Netflix,” she sighs dramatically, but I know she’s just teasing, “cards. Unless you’re afraid I’ll beat you.”
I pour each of us a glass of bourbon, then sit down to deal gin rummy. “I remember you beating me consistently for more years than I’d like to admit.”
We play in comfortable silence. The bourbon warms the space between us, and gradually, the familiar rhythm creates a bridge between past and present.
“This is weird, isn’t it?” she says, discarding a queen. “Us here, like this.”
“Life has a way of throwing curveballs.”
“Is that what this is? A curveball?”
I glance up, watching how the firelight brings out the auburn highlights in Lucy’s hair. “What would you call it?”
“Complicated,” she finally says.
“That’s one word for it.”
I catch myself looking at her instead of my cards, trying to soak in the reality of us being together again. Our eyes meet, and then we both look away.
“Your wife must worry,” she says suddenly. “You being up here alone all the time.”
I pause for a moment, then realize she’s fishing for information. “No wife.” I always thought you would be my wife.
Something shifts in her expression. “Girlfriend?”
“No.” I discard without looking. “Never got that far with anyone else.”
As if there could have been anyone serious after Lucy. She swallows hard, pretending to focus on her cards.
“What about you? Husband? Boyfriend?” I ask, though I’m not sure I should be curious about this. If she does have someone back home, I’d be happier not knowing.
She studies her cards intently and doesn’t meet my eyes. “No.”
“That’s surprising. Why not?”
She finally looks up and stares at me like she’s trying to decide how much to say. “Trust issues.”
I nod, the words cutting deep. I knew I hurt her when I ended things, but it’s devastating to think I’ve caused such lasting pain and distrust. All I wanted was for Lucy to be safe and happy.
Outside, the wind picks up and whistles through the trees. A flash of lightning suddenly brightens the cabin before a powerful crack of thunder rattles the walls.
And then the lights go out.
“Damien?” Her voice is tight. In the soft light from the fireplace, I can see the tension creasing her forehead, her eyes darting around in fear.
“I’m right here, Lucy.” I keep my voice calm and steady, remembering her fear of thunderstorms. “Power’s out. Generator should kick in.”
Her breathing quickens, shallow and fast. She slides to the floor, back against the wall, her arms wrapped around her torso.
“I can’t—” The words catch in her throat. “I can’t breathe—”
“Yes, you can.” I kneel beside her quickly, taking her hands in mine. “Look at me, Lucy.”
“Have we been found?” Fear crushes her voice.
“Lucy. Look at me.” I keep my voice quiet but commanding. “You’re okay. We’re okay. It’s just a storm.”
When she grabs my hands tighter, I say. “Follow my breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
I take her hand and place it against my chest so she can feel the steady rise and fall.
“Remember the lake?” I say, trying to shift her attention away from her panic attack. “That weekend when it rained for three days? You insisted on swimming even though it turned cold. You thought you saw a snake.”
Her eyes flick up at me as her breathing starts to steady.
“That’s it,” I murmur as her breathing slows. “Keep following my rhythm.”
Gradually, her breathing calms, and I can see the worst of her fear is abating.
“It was a snake,” she whispers, a smile tugging at her mouth.
“It was a stick,” I tease.
Lucy shakes her head, and I see more tension dissolving. Good. “Of all the things to remember.”
“I remember everything.”
Her fingers are twisted in my shirt. Her face is close enough that I can see firelight dancing in her eyes. Full lips are so close that if I leaned forward just a little, I could kiss her.
For a heartbeat, I consider it. Instead, I pull back gently.
“Let me get blankets.”
I return with thick wool blankets, wrapping one around her shoulders before settling beside her on the couch.
“Thank you,” she says finally. “For talking me through that.”
“I remember how storms affect you.”
We sit shoulder to shoulder in the firelight. There is a slight tension in the air between us. I don’t know where the line is about acknowledging our past. Maybe Jake was right to question whether I should be the one to protect Lucy this week when he realized we knew each other.
“What happened to us, Damien?” Lucy asks.
My heart clenches. I fucked up is what happened.
My breath catches. “That’s a complicated question.”
“I deserve a real answer.”
“You do.” I stare into the fire. “I just don’t know if I have one that makes sense.”
Thunder cracks in the distance. The storm moves past us quickly, but it feels like we’re dancing on the edge of the storm between us.
“Do you ever think about us?” she asks, barely audible.
My answer comes fast. “Every damn day.”
She looks at me with surprise in her eyes. Maybe I should have said something else, something that wouldn’t dredge up old memories, but I could never lie to Lucy.
She stands abruptly, and I can tell she’s uncomfortable. “I should get some sleep.”
I rise but don’t follow. “Lucy.”
She pauses on the stairs to the second floor, not turning. It would be so easy to go to her and pull her into my arms.
“For what it’s worth,” I say before she leaves my sight, “I never stopped missing you.”