Chapter 9 #2
“Chris.” Rory moved to stand before him and gingerly set a hand on his forearm. She was witnessing one of his layers. Trauma. “Are you okay?”
Chris’s gaze was still transfixed, dazed, and his eyes had morphed from their clear blue to a darker version muddied with green.
When she repeated his name, it was like snapping him out of a trance.
He blinked and peered at her with a focus so intense it took her breath away.
The lines at the corners of his eyes and the sides of his mouth, lines she attributed to laughter, suddenly looked deeper, as if etched by pain instead.
“Sorry.” Chris swallowed hard and shook his body a little like trying to break free from a spell.
He brushed past her, sat next to Bear and pulled him close, then rasped, “You like war movies?”
“Not normally.” She crossed her arms, carefully observing him as he reached for a handful of popcorn. He was attempting to come across as cool and casual, but based on the rigid lines of his body, he was far from it.
“Where were you?” she asked, her tone soft. “With your buddies? Doing the thing?” She hoped to lighten the mood. But also, she was curious about Santiago. Had he been detained again? Was he still on the streets?
“Nah, no things,” he said with a wink. That was forced, too. He was struggling to use his typical go-to of humor. Not a good sign. “I was visiting a friend.”
“A friend?” She’d never been jealous when she and Andrew were together, and he always had women throwing themselves at him, so surely that twinge in her stomach was related to concern for Chris and nothing else.
“Yeah, a friend.” His mouth tightened. “I think I’m gonna get some sleep.
You wore me out today,” he commented, attempting to be playful but failing once again.
He said goodnight to Bear, then started for the hall.
“You can finish the movie.” He turned back to catch her gaze.
“It’s okay.” He knocked at the wood pillar near him and nodded. “Well, goodnight.”
“Chris?” She wasn’t prepared for him to leave. Not yet. “Um, what’s your favorite movie? Maybe we can watch it together tomorrow night.” She didn’t want to go to bed without first seeing his handsome smile.
He propped a palm to that column, the blue of his eyes now the color of the sky at the start of an Alabama summer storm when they landed on her. “Pursuit of Happyness.”
“If you’re a Will Smith fan, I would have assumed Bad Boys.”
And there it was. That smile of his that always made her stomach flip. Now that she’d seen the fake one, they were easy to tell apart. The real one came from deep within and had his lips crooking up just a touch on the right side.
“Well, Bad Boys is ranked right up there with Independence Day, but I like true stories, and the fact the guy in that movie refused to quit resonates with me. He did whatever necessary to succeed.”
She thought back to his comments about the Navy yesterday. The SEAL motto he still lived by. Nietzsche quotes. A man of layers.
“That scene with the father and son sleeping in the bathroom at the subway station, though,” he said, setting his hand to his heart, “gets me every time.” He opened his palm to the room.
“And since I don’t need much . . .” He let his words float into the air unfinished, then cleared his throat. “Got my dog, my Jeep, and this place.”
“Sounds like a country song,” she said while easing closer to him. Was she the one deflecting with humor now, damn it?
The gap disappeared between them, and when he brought a hand to her shoulder, his touch had her nearly surrendering to the desire she felt when around him.
“You don’t like the idea of superfluous possessions while others are out there without even the bare minimum,” she whispered upon realization. And oh, God, it would happen. If he showed her the real Chris like she wanted, she’d fall so hard for this man.
“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying what you earn,” he began, and she slipped her hand to his chest, the beat of his heart spiking at her touch. “But I already have almost everything I want in life, and I don’t need material things to make me happy.”
“Almost everything?”
He gazed down at her with hooded eyes—a twist of uncomfortable pain present in his expression. “I should go to bed,” he said abruptly. “Sweet dreams, Rory.” He surprised her by setting a kiss to her forehead before releasing her and walking away.
“Goodnight,” she called out, then waited for his door to shut before she managed to get her feet to move again.
Rory cleaned up her mess, grabbed her phone, and took Bear to his new bed, and then she started for her guest room. As she passed by Chris’s room, the faint sound of the shower running stopped her in her tracks.
Hand braced against the wall, a wave of lust coursed through her as she imagined his naked body beneath the spray of the showerhead, his hands soaping up the planes of his chest and working down to—
That’s just wrong. Stop, she scolded.
She hated Chris was alone while something was clearly bothering him.
Was she allowed to help? Did it make her a hypocrite to try and unravel him when she had her walls up? Heavily fortified?
But what if his truths had her own breaking free and tearing her walls to the ground?
And . . . she tensed—what if one of them got hurt because of it?
There was no way she’d survive weeks with this man, let alone months, without their new friendship evolving into something more.
Her roots were far from planted, but maybe Chris was right. Maybe she’d always be the kind of woman to fly.
She just didn’t want her life choices to get anyone else killed.
Been there. Done that.
And she couldn’t risk it happening again.