Chapter 16
The rest of the day passes without incident, and we get back to the captured outpost as the sun is getting low in the sky.
It’s a relief to discover that everything has been running smoothly with our people. There have been no attacks, advances, or ruses, and everyone has been staffing their positions without problem.
But I still feel weird. Restless. Heavy and at loose ends rather than driven and focused like I normally am when I’m on the job.
It’s probably from getting away from all of it even for a couple of days.
My responsibilities are a lot, and I’ve been carrying them for years now.
I’ve never taken any sort of break—not since Ben and I returned from that year in the wilderness.
While these two days haven’t been easy or restful, they’ve been different.
Set apart from our normal lives. But now we’re dumped right back into the hard, gritty, endless fight.
It puts me immediately into a bad mood.
After getting all the updates, I try to figure out what to do for the remainder of the evening.
We’re still in the same holding pattern in this outpost, so there’s nothing concrete for me to tackle at the moment.
That only intensifies my jittery angst, so I walk the perimeter a couple of times, checking in with all the lookouts and pretending to do something constructive.
Ben comes with me for the first circuit, but he’s silently hovering. He keeps turning his bloodstone ring on his finger, the way he always does when he’s anxious or restless. So I send him away before I make the second round.
I try to relax back into my normal matter-of-fact efficiency when I return to the courtyard where everyone off duty is hanging out, but I can’t seem to find my typical calm. Emotions keep churning in my head and my chest, sometimes expanding so dramatically I’m afraid they might explode.
Twice Ben asks if I’m okay, and I tell him I’m fine. On the third time, I lose it. “Stop hovering!”
His presence beside me in the courtyard, still turning that ring on his finger, is making all those churning feelings worse.
He doesn’t stop hovering, but he increases the distance between us so that helps a little.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I’ve always been kind of prickly by nature, but I’ve never been like this. And Ben is the last person in the world who should be pushed away so rudely.
After a few minutes, I find him again. “Sorry I snapped at you.”
He usually shrugs these things off, but he doesn’t this time. “I don’t give a damn about your tone, but you sure as hell better not be pushin’ me away.”
My attempt at civility crashes. “I’m not pushing you away. Don’t be ridiculous.”
His expression tenses into a bad-tempered frown. “Sure fuckin’ feels like it.”
“Ben, stop.”
“I’m not gonna—”
“Stop!” I don’t raise my voice because there are so many others around us. But the one word bites.
Ben hears it as well as I do. Still glowering, he takes a few steps back.
If I thought he was relenting or retreating, I’d feel better, but he’s not. He’s still hovering, brooding, willing me to be different.
Wanting me to be softer and sweeter and more like a woman he could love.
I’m not any of those things, and returning has made that truth as clear and blinding as winter sunshine on snow.
Teresa was always the soft one.
Me—I’m as soft as cut glass.
A little while later, when Vella mentions we need more soap, I volunteer to go check the main storage room to get some. The outpost is stocked with supplies the guards and administrators here would need on a regular basis, and soap is one of those items.
The storage room is in the far corner of the building, down the back hallway.
I find several boxes of soap easily, but the stock on these shelves have been rifled through often these past days.
The mess bugs me, and I still want something to do, so I start organizing the supplies, returning items to their appropriate boxes and then moving them in a more logical order.
I like bringing order to chaos, so the activity helps settle my mind.
I need to find Ben when I’m done here and apologize again before we go to bed. He’s been my friend and support and protection for years. He shouldn’t be a target for my moods.
I’m an asshole. Maybe I’ll never be anything else.
“Annabelle.”
I’m on my knees, leaning over to scoot a large box into the corner, and the voice startles me so much I jerk straight, jumping to my feet and whirling around. My hand flies to my gun holster.
Then I drop it when I see Ben standing in the doorway, his eyebrows drawn together in a broody, silent question.
“You startled me.”
“I can see that. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I do. Sorry I talked that way before. I was about to come find you to tell you I’m sorry.”
“You’re forgiven.” His features relax into a familiar warmth. He steps into the small room and closes the door, clicking a latch to lock it.
I frown at him, confused by him trapping us in here.
When he takes a few more steps, closing the distance between us, I’m no longer confused.
I know what he has in mind, but I ask anyway, “What are you do—?”
The final word is swallowed up in a kiss. He has to lean down to reach my mouth since we’re standing up, but he manages it. He holds my head with one hand and my ass with the other as he works his lips against mine and then slides a tongue into my mouth.
My body jolts into excitement, and I reach up to clutch his shoulders. But the sound of voices from down the hallway cuts into the pleasure.
I push instead of pulling him closer. “Ben, wait.”
He pulls back immediately, but he’s not happy about it. He’s frowning again, his blue-gray eyes searching my face. “Why aren’t I allowed to kiss you?”
“Because you’ve got more than kissing in mind.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Someone might come this way. Someone might hear. They’ll know.”
“Who the fuck cares if they know?”
“I care. I told you before. We need to keep this… this thing separate from the rest of our lives.”
He takes a few fast raspy breaths, his nostrils flaring slightly. His eyes have darkened. “So, what then? It’s hands off unless we’re on our own, away from the rest of ’em?”
It sounds terrible. Terrible. But I’m whirling with nerves and unanswered questions. “Maybe.”
“Annabelle.” Just the one word. My name. In a tone I’ve heard so many times before. Disapproving. Almost tired.
“Don’t Annabelle me and give me that look. I told you this can’t get in the way of what we’re here to do.”
“I don’t think it will get in the way.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Do you?” He’s simmering with something strong but holding it back the way he always does. He has more self-control than any man I’ve ever known.
I have no idea what to say to his question. It feels like my whole world—controlled and crafted as tightly as a weapon—is spiraling into chaos.
It’s too much. I have to tighten my grip, and it has to be right now.
“Yes,” I manage to say. “It’s going to get in the way. It already has. So can you please back off a little so I can take a full breath?”
My voice isn’t mean, but it’s serious. Ben hears me. A series of reactions flicker across his face in fast succession—resistance, indignation, impatience, annoyance, hurt—but he restrains them all into a silent disapproval and steps backward.
Now I feel shittier than ever. “I’m sor—”
“Don’t you dare say that again,” he says with a growl in his voice as he turns around, opens the door, and leaves me alone in the room.