Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Athena
I n the darkness, there was a hand that held mine. An anchor in the foggy thoughts and stormy nightmares. A security in the shroud of uncertainty. My mind drifted somewhere between thoughts and dreams and memories, obscuring all of them together, but when the strong fingers wrapped around mine, I felt safe as the darkness swallowed me whole.
“…Are you sure this is a good idea? She could stay in the guest cabin…”
“…Keep her eyes covered and let her rest…”
“…What are you going to tell her?”
“The truth.”
The warm hand tightened on mine, and I relaxed back into the darkness.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound pierced through the dark bubble. Beep. Beep. Beep. Then came the scent of smoke and pine and…alcohol. No t drinking alcohol—rubbing alcohol. It was faint and pungent at the same time, burrowing deep in my lungs.
I winced, feeling a sharp pang in my head and then a dull pain everywhere. I curled my fingers, expecting to feel that strong hand in mine, but instead, something soft folded into them. A sheet— I was on a bed.
My entire body ached like someone had beaten me with a bag of oranges. I hadn’t felt this sore since my roommate in college, Josie, dragged me to a CrossFit class my first semester.
Beep. Beep. Beep. A timer. Or alarm. Or monitor. But beyond it, there was a low rumble of voices. Close, but not close enough for my foggy brain to decipher what they were saying.
Where was I? Why was my brain so muddy?
I tried to think of the answer—it felt like I knew the answer, but what I wanted to know sat like the sun behind clouds. I could see the glow of the truth, feel the warmth and comfort of understanding, but I couldn’t clear the clouds away to get to it.
A heavy exhale pushed through my lips. I needed to see what was going on. Maybe that would clear away the fog.But forcing my eyes to open took effort and seemed to take minutes rather than the split of a second, my eyelids having a weight to them I’d never felt before. But even when they were open—or when I thought they were open—everything was still dark.
The darkness.
I sucked in a breath, dragging my hand to my face, my fingers colliding with fabric. There was a bandage wrapped around my head.
Why?
What happened to me?
Had I been kidnapped?
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Monitors. Men’s voices. Darkness.
My heart pounded so loudly, it chased away every other sound in the room. Everything except the rush of blood to my head, awareness and panic leaching through the sluggish calm I’d been feeling.
I whimpered, my throat feeling like it had forgotten how to make sound as my fingers fumbled for the edge of the bandage.I had to get it off. I had to see where— who ? —
“Don’t,” a rough voice begged, but it was thewarm hand that gently pressed to mine that stopped me.
I knew those fingers. That touch. That voice. He was the calm harbor in my dark storm.
“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured in the darkness. “You’re safe. I’ll protect you,” he promised through the shadows.
I turned, feeling his presence beside me. I couldn’t see him, but I could sense him. His closeness.
“What happened? Where am I?” My voice hardly sounded like my own as I let him pull my hand down from my head.
“Safe,” his rough voice replied, giving me another chance to absorb the fullness of its tenor. Deep and husky, as though sound could have a scar, the single word wrapped around me like a shield.
It wasn’t an answer I’d been expecting, but between that and the warm embrace of his fingers, I felt a wave of heaviness through my veins again. Safe.
“What happened?” I swallowed, resisting the urge to reach for my face, and instead focused on the large fingers wrapped around my hand.
They were long. Calloused. Strong, but knew their strength—knew the boundary between firm and painful.
“There was an accident. What do you remember?”
I opened my mouth and realized I didn’t have an answer. What did I remember? I remembered driving in my car. I remembered needing something, needing to get away from something, and then…nothing . Memories felt like a deck of cards strewn all over the floor that he wanted me to pick up and put back in order, except they were all blank.
“I don’t…” My voice cracked. “I don’t know.”
My brow creased under the bandage. Trying to remember was even worse in the darkness. I couldn’t look around for clues. I couldn’t hold onto something recognizable. There was nothing—nothing except him. The man attached to the rough voice.
“It’s okay?—”
“Can I take the bandage off? Did something happen to my eyes?”
He didn’t respond right away—he didn’t have to. I could feel the slight burst of tension ripple through him where his hand held mine, and in the pause, I heard his quick inhale. It was quiet—taken through his nose rather than through his mouth. The kind of inhale that would’ve made his nostrils flare.
He didn’t need to verbally respond because my other senses had already picked up on his answer.
“What happened to my eyes?” I probed softly, trying to swallow through the grip of fear around my throat.
There was another pause, and a sensation spread over my skin. Like there’d been a blanket over me this entire time, and for a moment, that blanket was removed.
“Your eyes are fine,” he said, and the warmth over me returned, his hand tightening almost imperceptibly on mine. Supportively. “The accident gave you a concussion, and the swelling in your brain has created a temporary blindness.”
Temporary… blindness.
“I can’t see.” I heard my own voice inside my head, bits and pieces of a memory coming back like the ashes of a former flame. “Are you the doctor?”
“No—”
“I am.” A new voice spoke from the other side of the room, and my head turned on instinct, my stomach bottoming out again when there was nothing to see.
Breathe, Athena. He said it was temporary.
“I’m Dr. Rorik Nilsen, Ms. Holman,” the second voice continued, and it was so different from the first. Deep and calm and doctorly. I imagined his white coat and expressionless face. “You sustained quite a few bumps and bruises, but overall, there was no major damage to any organs or bones, which is good?—”
“Except I’m blind,” I repeated thickly, trying to wrap my head around this new reality.
Blind.
Cold panic seized my chest. I was an artist. Yes, I was just starting out with making my art my business, but I had good opportunities. Several of my paintings had been featured at events in San Francisco. I had a gallery show coming up in a few weeks, and several other opportunities that…my throat tightened. The phrase was starving artist. There was nothing said for a blind artist.
“You have cortical visual impairment due to the traumatic brain injury you sustained in the accident. As your brain heals, I expect your sight, along with your memories, will fully return, but it could take some time and will require you to rest and remain monitored,” he explained succinctly, and then added, “Your eyes themselves are fine, but I’ve bandaged them so you don’t inadvertently do them any damage.”
Translation: Don’t take it off.
“And if it’s not temporary?”
“It will be.” He sounded so sure, it should’ve comforted me more than it did.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“I understand.”I let out a deep breath . “So, I was in an accident—where am I? A hospital or outpatient facility?” I pushed aside the worry about my sight and instead let the other million questions I had rush to the forefront. “Should I call—” I broke off, giving my head a little shake. I didn’t have anyone to call. Not anymore. Not here.
Carmel Cove was supposed to be a fresh start. Well, as fresh of a start as someone could have moving into my childhood home. Thank God, I hadn’t listened to Brandon when he’d demanded I sell it. It was hard enough to move to Sacramento with him and leave my hometown—the place with all the best memories of Mom behind—but when he’d ordered me to sell it, that was the final straw.
Final straw made me sound stronger than I was. The final straw should’ve been five months into our marriage when he shouted at me in front of a bunch of his work friends because I hadn’t made wings for them the way he liked— legs only. But I’d let that slide, like I’d let a thousand other verbal abuses be downplayed and glossed over. Like I’d talked myself out of thinking for too long about the way he criticized me because it was always little comments…about everything.
The way I cooked. The way I cleaned. The way I picked out his clothes every morning— “Just pick me out a shirt.” But then every shirt I picked was unacceptable. “No, that one is too long. No, I don’t like how the collar is. No, that one is too dark.” He criticized the way I dressed. The way I wore my hair. Always little things—things that seemed so easy to fix and, therefore, so easy to please. But it never worked. As soon as I did what he wanted or asked for, it became the wrong thing.
It wasn’t like that when I met him in college. He’d been there for me when Mom died. Held me. Let me soak through countless shirts with my tears. He’d been a constant at that lowest moment, and that was why it had taken me so long to see the truth of how deceptively abusive he was.
Three years of marriage before I’d finally asked for a divorce—I fought for it. Used all my savings. Lost everything except Mom’s house and my paintings.
Lost my health insurance.
Oh god… how was I going to pay for this? I’d sold several of my paintings, but not to the tune of a hospital bill.
“When can I be discharged?” Blind and concussed, and I was asking to be put back on the street. I was sure the doctor—Dr. Nilsen—was going to add “crazy” to my diagnosis.
“Discharged?” the rough and tumbled voice croaked.
“I don’t have insurance,” I said firmly, noting that not being able to see their pity-filled reactions made it a whole lot easier to speak the simple truth. “I can’t afford?—”
“You’re not at a hospital, Ms. Holman. You’re at a safe house.”
“Safe house?”I didn’t know which shock was worse, hearing that I was temporarily blind or that I was at a safe house. “I don’t understand. I thought I was in a car accident…” I started to shake my head. A safe house inherently implied danger.“Who are you?”
He made a low sound. “You…what do you remember?”
I opened my mouth to answer, except nothing came out because…I couldn’t. I wasn’t only blind to the present, I was blind to the past, too.
“I was driving home, and that’s the last thing I recall. Did I crash into something—someone? Did someone hit me?” I couldn’t suck in air fast enough. “Why am I at a safe house? I don’t remember what happened after. I don’t know who you are. I can’t see?—”
“Athena, please,” he begged, and the way he said my name was like a speed bump to my spiraling anxiety and runaway train of thought, forcing it to slow down. “Just breathe.”
I tried to swallow through the tightness in my throat. Goodness, that voice… it was like hot coals under my body, warming me so unexpectedly—especially for a man I couldn’t see.
He released my hand, and heat rose in my cheeks, afraid my face had given away the effect his voice had on me.
“Ms. Holman, it’s very important for you and your brain to stay relaxed right now. Any stress could intensify the swelling and cause further damage,” the voice of the doctor said, and my head swiveled—pointlessly—in its direction. “I can give you something to relax you, if you want?—”
“No,” I croaked and gently shook my head and let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m already down a sense. I’d rather not dull the others.” I shivered. “What would help is the truth, please.”
As if everything they’d already explained wasn’t enough, I could sense there was more. Maybe because I couldn’t see. Maybe because everything was dark and uncertain, I could sense other things more acutely.
Like that the woodsy pine scent was coming from the man beside me. It wasn’t the smell of the room or the sheets—it was the scent of him. Earthy and rich and rough. I should ask his name— should’ve asked his name—but it suddenly seemed an inconsequential question compared to?—
“You’re at a safe house because the accident…it wasn’t an accident, Athena,” the man at my side said.
My chest caved with the release of my breath, my ears starting to ring.“What do you mean, not an accident?”
I thought those kinds of things only happened in movies, but apparently, I was wrong.
He cleared his throat, but it didn’t affect the rough timbre of his voice. Nothing would. “Your car was running in your driveway. You walked out of your house to get back in it, and I called to you. Not even a second later, it exploded.”
“Exploded?” Oh, my god. “My car exploded. In my driveway…” I repeated, everything feeling numb as well as dark. How could I not remember this? “Why? How? Was something wrong with my car?”
It was old, but I kept up to date with the inspections and maintenance. Even still, cars didn’t just blow up, except in movies?—
“Athena.”
His voice stilled me again, but it was the pause after that made my stomach drop. It wasn’t filled with facial expressions or nuanced movements; in my blindness, all the distractions were gone, leaving only the giant, cavernous space that spanned an extra second. A space that held a thousand sentiments—all of which he hesitated to tell me.
“What was wrong with your car was that there was a bomb attached to it,” he said finally, his voice impossibly lower.
A bomb. Goose bumps washed over my skin. “Someone blew up my car?” I barely got out the question, my throat impossibly tight.
“Another step closer, and it would’ve been more than just your car,” the doctor’s voice rumbled from the other side of the room. Another step closer… “You’re very lucky he got your attention when he did.”
My lips parted, and I hated the darkness the most in that moment, wishing I could see the man who’d saved me.
“You saved my life,” I breathed out, feeling tears well against the bandage over my eyes.
He responded with a low noise that sounded remarkably like a growl. Was he angry for saving me? Or angry I was now aware of what he’d done?
“I took you from the scene, got you medical attention, and then we brought you here for your safety.”
Who was we—who was he?
“So, you’re with law enforcement… ”
“Someone tried to blow you up. You weren’t safe—aren’t safe, especially in your condition,” he said, and I heard him shift his weight. “That’s why you’re at a safe house.”
I tried to swallow, but this time it was impossible. Blind. Almost blown-up. In danger. And I’d thought divorced, starving artist moving back into her mom’s house was rock bottom.
“Why would someone try to kill me? I’m not…I don’t have money.” My heartbeat turned erratic. Heavy thuds and low flutters. The pulse in my head became insistent, and suddenly, it felt like it was the sheer number of questions themselves that started swelling my brain.
“I just moved here. I know maybe three people in town. I’m an artist.” I rambled through the sad facts of my life, desperate to find even the semblance of one that could serve as an explanation.
“Athena.” Speed bump .“I’m going to find out who did this and why—I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a request for permission. It was a promise. To protect me. To take care of me. My lips parted, and the unsteady beat in my chest started to calm. No one had promised me that in a very long time, and the last person who did had lied.
“But for me to do that, I need you to focus on resting and getting better. Do we have a deal?” His hand slid around mine as though we were going to shake on it. This time, it hit me how large his hand was and how small mine felt in his grasp. The man himself must be huge.
“A deal?” I murmured. “How can I make a deal with you when I don’t even know your name?”
Again, that pause. That canyon. That vast space filled with all the things he wasn’t telling me.
“My name…” He trailed off like he was waiting for something. “You can ca ll me Dare.”
Dare.
My teeth bit into my bottom lip, tempted to ask if that was short for something else. Darren? Darrel? Dar— No. It wouldn’t be that—it couldn’t be. I refused to think that the man who’d saved my life had the same name as the one who’d first broken my heart. There were a lot of things I wished I could remember right now, but none of them had to do with Darius Keyes. There were enough hurts I had to revisit coming home, I refused to let him be one of them.
I released my lip and let the name be just that. Dare.
“It’s nice to meet you, Dare,” I murmured, my voice cracking again. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he insisted, his voice taking on a different quality, the rough notes stretched taut like my gratitude physically hurt him.
And then his position changed. He’d been kneeling or sitting beside the bed, but now he stood, and the movement forced all the atoms of oxygen in the room to rearrange. I felt the tension of them between us—like I could sense his distance from me rather than see it.
“But you saved my life.” I wished I could see him—could see his face. I wished I could understand why he didn’t want to be thanked.
Cavernous silence.
“You should rest,” he replied. “I’ll be back in a little with food and your medications.” Something cold and hard pressed into my palm. “If you need anything just press this button, it will call right to my phone.”
I let out a sad laugh.Thirty-six, broke, and almost blown to bits, and I was now the less-than-proud owner of a Life Alert.
“Okay.” I nodded, listening for a moment to the indistinct shuffling amid footsteps as the two men went to leave the safe house .
Was it really a house? Or an apartment? Did it matter? I was stuck here until I was better—until I was safe. And it wasn’t like I could complain about the view.
“Dare?” I called when I heard the door open. At first, I didn’t even know if he had still heard me—if he was still here. I didn’t think about how unnerving that was because if I did, I would need some of the medications that the doctor had offered.
“Yeah.”
I shivered, his voice filling the space.
“Thank you.” I held my breath and released it when I heard his grunt, which was quickly punctuated by the door closing and a chill consuming me now that I was alone with my thoughts.
I was blind.
And someone had tried to kill me.
I closed my eyes and tried to do what he asked—rest—but the scent of him still lingered. The woodsy pine and the coarse warmth of his fingers along mine. Dare. The man who’d saved my life. The man whose voice was as husky and warm as hot coals. The man who promised to protect me.
And then the dark canvas of my mind took liberties with my memories, blending present with past, reality with imagination. It took the face of the boy I’d once loved and attached it to the musky scent, strong feel, and rough promise of the man who’d saved my life.
It was more than a fantasy. It was evidence of my brain injury.