Chapter 8 #2
“Thank you,” Zane says, his tone soft.
I shift my gaze to him. “For nearly getting you killed?”
“For letting me help you.”
“It doesn’t sound like I had much choice.”
“No,” he confirms, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a partial grin. “But at least, this way, I don’t have to be sneaky about it.”
Weston and a giant man I now know as Ryker cross over. “We good to go?” Weston asks.
“Yeah. Thanks again,” Zane says.
“Anything for you, Cap,” Ryker says. He shifts his brown eyes to me. “It’s good to meet you, Tessa. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks.” I offer him a soft smile, but it dies when I see Weston’s glare.
He’s always been protective of Zane, and I imagine he told him why I left. It’s no wonder he despises me. I certainly feel enough of that toward myself these days.
“We’ll let Garrison and Sawyer know what happened,” Weston says.
“Great. I’ll get with you guys tomorrow, and we’ll make a plan.”
“Sounds good.” Weston shakes his hand, then turns away from me. Ryker does the same.
“I’m just glad I parked my truck far enough away it didn’t end up with a few new holes,” Zane comments as he reaches for my arm.
I rip it away, though, not wanting anyone to see me as weaker than they already do.
Poor Tessa Lane. Always needing someone to watch out for her. Always needing Zane Knox to come to the rescue.
“Tessa, let me help.”
“You already are.” I continue limping forward, prepared to deal with the pain as I walk the half-mile to Zane’s truck. He’s already done so much for me, and needing even more help just isn’t something I’m prepared to admit.
Tears burn in my eyes, and I clench my hands into fists.
Before I make it even out of the drive, Zane scoops me into his arms, his large strides eating up the distance between us and the truck.
I should complain, but to be honest? The feel of his arms around me is too good for me to deny. Especially when I came so close to losing him.
Tomorrow, I can work on the walls to keep him out.
But tonight? Tonight, I’m just happy he’s alive.
He deposits me onto the passenger seat of his old Chevy truck, then comes around to the driver’s side and climbs in without a word. As he turns on the engine and pulls away, I shift my gaze out the window at the trailer as yellow caution tape is stretched around the place where I grew up.
You know, it’s funny.
I always figured this place would be a crime scene.
I just didn’t think I’d be alive to see it.
“Tea?” Zane questions as he steps up into the galley of his boat. His hair is still wet from his shower, and the scent of eucalyptus dances in the air from his body wash. I try to ignore the thrill I feel at the fact that we smell the same since he insisted I shower first.
His cheek has a fresh bandage on it, and the blood and mud are cleansed from his skin. But even though it’s covered, I can still see the wound there. A jagged cut that will likely turn into a scar.
My stomach churns. “Sure. Thanks.”
He doesn’t respond, just fills an electric kettle with water and pulls down two mugs. I watch as he scoops loose tea into two tea bags and sets them into the cups. Instead of coming to the table, he remains where he is, staring at the kettle, his back to me.
What’s on your mind? Are you regretting bringing me back into your life?
What does a man like Zane think about when the world around him is quiet?
“How is your cheek?” I ask, the quiet making me uncomfortable.
“It’s fine.”
“You got shot in the face. I hardly think that’s fine.”
“I got grazed. It’s not even the worst injury I’ve had this year.”
“You said that already.”
He turns toward me and leans back against the counter. “It’s the truth.”
My heart rate increases as I look at him. This time, for an entirely different reason than earlier. How does he still have this hold over me after all these years? “Officer Leopold asked about whether or not someone was after you because of your job. Why is that? What exactly do you do?”
“I told you; I do contract work for the government.”
“What kind of contract work?”
“The kind that makes enemies.” He crosses his arms. “I can’t—”
“Elaborate,” I finish. “I get it.” Running both hands over my face, I groan. “I don’t know why this keeps happening to me.” Whether it’s the exhaustion, near-death experience, or the fact that Zane Knox is standing less than ten feet from me, those walls I’d been desperate to put up are paper-thin.
I hear him slide into the booth across from me. “What did you hold back earlier? You said that no one walking free would want to hurt you.”
“I told you. My dad is dead.”
“We both know you weren’t talking about him,” he presses. “Come on, Tessa. I know you. I can tell when you’re holding something back. If you remember, reading between the lines is a specialty of mine.”
I take a deep breath, then let it out in a frustrated sigh. “There was a guy a few years ago. We went on a couple dates, and he didn’t care for the pace. He showed up at my work and tried to take things too far. A man walked by and called the police.”
Zane’s expression turns murderous, his gaze narrowing, cheeks flushing with color. He clenches his hands into fists on top of the table, then lowers them into his lap. “What did he do?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Please tell me.” The brokenness of his expression tells me that he’s imagining the worst. And, to be honest, it very well could have ended up that way. Thankfully, someone overheard and interceded.
An old man I’ll never forget because he threw himself into the altercation without any thought for himself. Kind of like the guy sitting across from me. What does that say about me that I need to keep being saved? That I can’t seem to scrape together even an inch of peace?
“Like I said, he was unhappy with the speed our relationship was progressing. He showed up to where I was working at a truck stop outside of Tulsa, convinced me to take my break because he wanted to talk, then tried to force himself on me. I took a few hits, then broke his nose, but that made him angrier. An old trucker was walking by, and he stepped in to help me. If he hadn’t, things would have been worse.
” The memory is vile, but it doesn’t strike the same fear in my heart that it used to. I survived.
I just keep surviving.
One of these days, that luck is going to run out.
“He’s in prison?” The look of fury on Zane’s face is something I’ve seen before. Whenever he’d find out that my dad had put hands on me again.
“He is. I pressed charges, then moved on and changed my name.”
“Is that why I couldn’t find you?”
“I’ve changed it a few times,” I admit. “But, yeah. That’s why.” Sighing, I close my eyes. “You really don’t need to be involved in this, Zane. Trouble finds me, and one of these days, I’m not going to walk away from it.”
“Do you really think that will scare me away?”
“It should. I can’t pay for your help. If that’s what you do, I don’t have any money.”
Now his anger is directed at me. “I don’t want money.”
“Then what do you want?” The question slips out before I can filter it. But it’s there now, and truthfully, I need to know what it is he wants. “I mean it when I tell you I have nothing to offer in exchange for your help.”
“I’m not looking for anything other than knowing that you’re safe.”
“That’s right. Zane Knox is everybody’s hero.” The sarcasm in my voice is unwarranted, but I can’t stop myself.
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Putting up walls whenever you start feeling vulnerable. I didn’t tolerate it eighteen years ago, and I’m not putting up with it now.
You’re too good for that.” He gets up and pulls the tea bags out of the still steaming water, then mixes honey and a splash of milk in each mug before carrying them over toward the table.
He sets one in front of me, the other in front of him as he slides into the booth seat again, this time opening his Bible.
My gaze remains on him as he scans the pages, his attention fully engulfed in God’s word.
There was a time when we’d study the Bible together. He’d just been teaching me about God and had been helping me understand the words in red. And that’s something else I left behind when I fled from this place. I haven’t touched a Bible, attended a church service, or even prayed since that night.
“How have you not changed at all?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Zane’s gaze lifts to mine, and my mouth goes dry. “I’m not the same man I was.”
“You still read your Bible. Still carry everyone else’s problems like they’re your own. Seems to me you haven’t changed much.”
“That hasn’t always been the case.”
I snort. “I doubt that.”
Zane smirks, and if I weren’t already sitting down, I would have fallen over. The power of his smile has always made me weak at the knees, and it seems the years have only made it more so.
Gorgeous, gorgeous man. If I stay here too long, I’ll be at risk of losing more than my life.
“You don’t even know the half of it,” he replies, piercing gaze pinning me.
“Then tell me.”
“I think it’s better if I don’t.”
I watch him as he goes back to reading the Bible, studying his profile in the dim overhead light.
He’s always been handsome. Even when we were thirteen and I barely understood what attraction was, I remember staring at him whenever we were together.
Shocked that someone like him would ever be interested in me.
I mean, he came from a good family. Graduated from high school and went to college at fourteen. Handsome, smart, strong, dependable—yet he claimed I was the only one who held his heart. It didn’t make sense to me back then, and it still doesn’t.
And now the baseball player has transformed into a rugged man with a short beard and scars mostly shielded by the ink on his arms, that attraction burning in my gut has only grown tenfold.
Though, if I’m honest, I guess he is right about being a different person than he was before. Because I never would have pictured Zane Knox with tattoos. Yet, here he sits, muscled, inked, and far too good-looking for my own good.
He glances up, and our gazes lock again.
In this breath of a moment, a million things are said even though not a single word is uttered. Clearing my throat, I shift my attention anywhere but him, choosing to focus on the bandage covering my thigh.
A future with this man was all I’d ever wanted.
We’d even planned on taking his father’s boat—this very boat—around the world together afterward. An extended honeymoon where we’d sleep in, sail, and spend our evenings beneath the stars.
Peace.
Home.
That’s what he’d offered me. Now I’m sitting across from him, not as his wife but as a hunted woman. A woman who nearly got him killed only a few hours ago.
“You really should let me go,” I tell him. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“You can barely walk.” Those sharp green eyes pin me in place.
“It’s not the first time I’ve been hurt, and it probably won’t be the last.” The night of my wedding, my father had snapped my ankle. I’d had to push through the pain then, and I can do it now. Though I don’t elaborate on that.
His nostrils flare. Is he thinking of the time I was seventeen and he’d come home from college break to find me barely moving after walking in on my father and a random woman in our living room?
Or the year before that, when I’d been pushed down the stairs and broken my clavicle?
I shove those poisoned memories aside. They’re in the past, and that man is long dead. He can’t hurt me from six feet under.
That was only proven tonight when I stepped into his empty trailer.
He really is gone. The man who always seemed indestructible was destroyed by the alcohol he refused to put down.
“We’ll start digging tomorrow, see if we can find out what’s going on and who’s after you.
If there’s something to be found, we’ll find it,” he says, confidence lacing every word.
When I don’t respond, he returns to reading his Bible, and I fall quiet, sipping my tea and watching him every chance I get.
I know God exists.
I know that He created us.
That He sent His Son to die for us.
What I don’t know about is the grace they say He offers.
I know my sins.
The weight of them crushes down on me daily.
And if I can’t forgive myself, how can I expect my Creator to forgive me?