Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
The bedroom door clicked shut behind Enya with a finality that made her flinch.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat a frantic reminder of what had just happened—what she and Rowan had just done.
The wood of the door was cool against her back as she pressed against it, her fingers trembling when they brushed her lips.
They still burned, swollen from the pressure of Rowan’s mouth, the rough scrape of his stubble, the way his breath had hitched when she’d kissed him back.
What the hell did we just do?
Stupid.
That was stupid.
What if he makes me leave because of it?
The question echoed in her skull, loud enough to drown out the fading storm outside.
Rain still pattered against the windowpanes, but the thunder had rolled into the distance, leaving behind a dull, restless rumble that mirrored the chaos in her chest. She slid down the door until the floor met her ass and drew her knees tight against her body, then wrapped her arms around them as if she could physically hold herself together.
Rowan’s borrowed sweatshirt was too big, and if she sniffed deep enough, she could catch a whiff of leather and hay, along with the metallic tang of gun oil.
It was intoxicating and suffocating, but it soothed her rioting emotions long enough for her to catch the spiral of her mind, allowing her to think just a little bit more clearly.
He didn’t stop me.
The thought sent a shiver down her spine, followed by a heat that pooled low in her stomach.
His rough, calloused hands hadn’t pushed her away.
They’d pulled her closer. The memory of it made her breath catch and her pulse stutter in her throat.
This wasn’t fear. She knew fear—knew the way it locked her muscles and turned her blood to ice.
This was something else entirely, something that twisted inside her like a dangerous and unpredictable live wire.
Enya’s head snapped up, and her body tensed when a floorboard creaked in the hallway. She cocked her head to one side and listened to the slow and deliberate footsteps.
That’s Gael.
Relieved that she wouldn’t have to face Rowan just yet, she scrambled to her feet, just as a knock sounded at her bedroom door.
Act normal.
But she wasn’t sure if normal existed for her anymore. Nothing, absolutely nothing, had been freaking normal since her ordeal.
Ordeal, my butt, call it what it is.
A shit show or a horror story.
She blew out a slow, steadying breath, slapped what she hoped was a smile on her face, and opened the door. “Hey.”
“You okay?” His voice was low, rough with the early hour. “You looked like someone pissed you off as you blew through the kitchen. Is there a problem I need to know about?”
Crap.
She swallowed and forced her fists to unclench at her sides.
“Yeah.” She stepped back to allow him to enter the room.
As soon as he did, the room suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker.
He didn’t move closer, but she could feel the weight of his scrutiny, the way his eyes noticed how her breath was too fast and her posture too stiff.
“Rough night?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.
Her throat tightened, and she shrugged, forcing her voice to stay steady. “The storm kept me up.” That was as good an excuse as any, “since, um, since, you know. I don’t like to sleep in the dark at the best of times. But throw in a storm, and it’s asking for nightmares.”
“I get that,” Gael’s gaze dropped to her hands, and his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “More than most.” He shifted on his feet as if the conversation made him uncomfortable, “Listen. I’ve been where you are—”
Damn it.
She turned away, busying herself with straightening the already-neat blankets, her movements jerky. “I don’t think you have—”
“Oh, I’ve been there,” he reassured her. “Some days I think I’m still there.”
Crap, maybe he did get it. “Umm.” Her fingers stilled against the fabric.
Gael exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to ease a tension that wouldn’t quit.
“Don’t play dumb, Enya.” His voice was low, but not unkind, and also filled with an echo of the anguish she’d been trying to banish since she was rescued.
“There will be days when you are as jumpy as a cat in a dog kennel, and others when you think you got this. Until something that’s normal as shit, like a storm fucks your mind up.
That’s normal.” He pinned her with a piercing gaze, “At least it is for people like you and me.”
“Stup—”
“Survivors.” He cut her off, “I spent time as a captive with the same fucking cartel. While I sure as shit didn’t deal with the horrors you did.
My nightmares are just as cruel and vivid.
” He shifted his feet, clearly uncomfortable, but forged ahead, anyway.
“We didn’t fail, and we sure as shit aren’t victims. We fucking survived hell.
That’s your fuel; load your deck with a dose of ‘watch me’ and toss those motherfuckers who did this to you the middle finger and don’t let them win.
You survived. They don’t get to control the rest of your life by fucking with your mind. ”
Enya’s chest ached. She wanted to tell him to mind his own damn business, that her nightmares were none of his concern.
But the words lodged in her throat, refusing to come out, because if he, too, had been where she’d been, then maybe he was one of the only people on the planet who did understand the struggle she faced just to get out of bed, every single day.
Gael sighed, his boot scuffing against the floorboards.
“Look. I’m not here to blow smoke up your ass.
This shit ain’t gonna be easy. But it sure as fuck is better than being back there in that jungle hellhole waiting for some bastard to come torture you some more just for shits and giggles.
” His eyes met hers, sharp and knowing. “You get me?”
She lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet his gaze even as her pulse spiked. “I-um-I think so.”
“I don’t think you do,” Gael said, “but you will, with time.”
Enya’s fingers curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms. She could lie and claim she was fine. But there was something in Gael’s stare; it was too perceptive, too similar to Rowan’s, and that made her hesitate. “I hope so,” she muttered, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.
Gael’s eyebrow lifted in a skeptical arch. “So, get your shit together and get your ass to the barn. You have a horse that needs you. He don’t care about what happened to you. He just thinks you don’t love him anymore. My momma didn’t sell you Rain for you to treat him like that, now did she?”
She flinched and shook her head.
“Yeah. Thought so.” Gael’s expression softened, just slightly.
He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
Then he pushed off the frame, moving toward the door.
“Here’s the deal. You want to stay? Fine.
But you work with your horse, and you don’t make things worse for him,” he paused for a second, then tagged on, “or for Rowan.”
Enya’s chest tightened. “For Rowan?” Her voice cracked, the words escaping before she could stop them. “How will I make it worse for him?”
Gael turned back, his expression darkening.
“You?” He let out a humorless laugh. “You’re already drowning, kid.
Rowe’s the only one who doesn’t seem to notice.
” He shook his head, his voice dropping.
“Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care.
Here’s the thing about Rowe: he’s a protector to the core.
He’ll fight every battle you allow him to.
But none of them is going to fix what’s here,” he tapped his forehead and then his chest, “or here. Don’t let him drown because it fails to fix what’s damaged in you.
Only you can fix that shit. By getting up every day, and working your ass off to find what makes your world a little less dark and unforgiving. ”
The words hit her like a physical blow. She wanted to deny them, to scream that she was fine, that she didn’t need anyone’s pity.
But the truth of it settled in her chest. She was drowning.
Colombia was winning the fight inside her for her sanity.
She chewed on the corner of her lip, and before she could talk herself out of it, she asked, “What if Rowan is the thing that makes me want to live in the real world again?”
“Then work your ass off every fucking day, to be the woman he needs, not the one he thinks he wants.” His hands opened and closed into fists before he nodded, “Breakfast in ten. Then you’re on stall duty.
” He reached for the doorknob. “If you are the woman for Rowe, you’ll fight with everything you are to be the best version of you.
That means no longer letting fucking voices in your head, or nightmares in your dreams, win.
” The door shut behind him with a quiet click.
Enya stood there, the weight of his words pressing down on her like a physical force.
Drowning. She knew she was drowning; she felt it every time she closed her eyes and saw Maria’s face, her dark hair fanned out on the stable floor, her sightless eyes staring up at the rafters.
Every time Rain’s hollow gaze met hers, as if he could see the guilt eating her alive.
She was drowning, and she’d been too busy trying to keep her head above water to notice that Rowan might be right there with her.
But last night, when he’d kissed her back, when his hands had gripped her like she was something precious instead of broken—she hadn’t felt like she was sinking. She’d felt like she could breathe.
Get your crap together.
You can do this.
You have to do it.
They deserve better than you’ve been giving them.