11. Mya
11
“We need to go. Come on.” Oliver gestured for me to walk, completely ignoring my question about the hotel. Not just any hotel, but a sanctuary for bad guys.
I had a million questions to ask him, and whether he liked it or not, I wouldn’t be leaving without answers or him.
I followed him over to a trail I hadn’t noticed before he’d rescued me. He set down my bag and went to a dirt bike that was on its side. His tan back muscles flexed as he hoisted it upright and used the kickstand to keep it standing on its own.
Without a shirt and shoes, sporting a full beard and hair long enough he had to keep pushing it away from his eyes, he really did have a man-gone-wild look going for him. He was also more ripped than I remembered, and he’d already been in crazy-good shape before.
My fingers brushed along my collarbone as I studied him, eyes glued to the details of his body as my stomach fluttered. For the first time in four months I felt something other than pain, sadness, and anger. Was this desire? I’d thought that part of me was dead and gone.
I hadn’t cringed or recoiled when he’d been on top of me. Did this mean I was capable of coming back to life? Being me again?
Oliver was on the bike now, the backpack dangling from his right hand as he waited for me.
Oh, I have to get on, too.
I stepped closer, my hands starting to tremble. This would be the true test. Could I willingly wrap my arms around him and hold on? Or would I freak out and go into fight-or-flight mode?
My nervous system had been stuck on high alert ever since the day we’d been taken. Trying to move past it, I’d started seeing Doctor Riley Logan, my therapist, biweekly. Riley was married to a Marine, a friend of Julia’s who became a friend of mine as well over the years. I had to go to someone I trusted for help. We met over Zoom since I wasn’t allowed out in public without protection. Of course, I was breaking that rule now in a big way.
Riley said I had PTSD, and she’d been teaching me to not only anticipate triggers but learn how to try and prepare for them. I’d been failing, and I didn’t deal so well with failure, personally or professionally.
I still had a hard time understanding why I was so skittish around men in the first place. Oliver had saved me from the horrible fate of being raped. And back in my twenties, I’d saved myself, so . . .
But my brain seemed to believe my nightmares instead of reality, and every so often, caught in the alternate reality only nightmares could fabricate, Oliver couldn’t save me, and he’d been forced to watch the unimaginable happen.
I supposed that was why I was struggling to be touched by a man. But some nagging part of me kept clawing into the past, searching for a different answer as to what triggered me. I kept coming up empty, though.
“What is it?” He angled his head, his worried eyes locking with mine, pulling me back to the fact I was actually there. With him. He was real. All six feet of him.
Oliver had always been able to read me well, but I wasn’t the same woman he’d left behind. And it was pretty clear he wasn’t the same man. We’d changed since our time apart. But how could we not after what happened in Thailand?
I wanted to yell at him for leaving as much as I wanted to cry for whatever pain had made him take off and not come back in the first place.
I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt as I contemplated what reason or excuse I’d give him as to why I was hesitant to get on the bike.
“Mya.” My name punched through the air, concern etched between his brows as he continued to observe me.
Standing there, frozen and unsure of what to do, worried I was about to slip into a state of panic, I thought back to what Riley had taught me.
I set a hand on my chest and another on my stomach. I took in a slow breath through my nose, counting backward from four. I held my breath for seven seconds, then exhaled through my mouth, my abdominal muscles contracting.
Oliver quietly waited for me as if recognizing something was wrong, and he was probably torn on how to respond—come to me or leave me alone.
“I, um, ever since that day, I struggle with touching or being touched by a man.” His eyes went wide at my revelation, and I quickly clarified, “Not touched like that. I haven’t let anyone or wanted anyone to, well, you know, do that.”
Oh jeez. It’s not like he’d think I’d had sex with someone else since he took off, right? So, I wasn’t sure why it was important I reiterated that fact, but I’d found myself awkwardly doing it anyway.
“Even when my dad tried to hug me, it was hard.”
My attention slowly moved to his bare feet resting on the dirt by the bike before heading up and over his khaki-covered legs and on to his face. His brows were pulled tight over his haunted, dark eyes. He let go of the bag and threw his leg around to get off the bike. “We’ll walk,” he said firmly, not pushing me to talk, and for that, I was grateful. “We have to stay on this exact trail and not veer off even a step to get to the cabin, okay?”
No, I can do this. I’m strong. It’s just a bike ride. I came all the way here alone, so I can do this. “I didn’t freak out when your body was on top of mine,” I shared. That’s huge. “So, maybe I can put my arms around you on the bike.”
He cupped his bearded chin, eyes thinning. I thought he’d planned to say something, but instead, he shook his head, picked up the backpack and used it to gesture for me to walk ahead of him.
I stared at his feet again, knowing it’d be hell to walk barefoot in the woods. And yet, he didn’t seem to care. He must’ve left in a rush to get to me if he’d come for me like that.
“No, we’ll take the bike.” I nodded toward it, determined for him to listen to me. “I don’t want you walking like that. I’ll be fine.”
“No,” he shot back without hesitation.
“I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.” Again.
“And I won’t give you a choice.” He left off “again,” too, but I still heard it. Loud and clear.
His shoulders dropped, some of his anger and tension going with it. Well, I could only hope. He was confusing me with his hot-and-cold attitude since the moment he’d saved me.
“I don’t want you doing something that makes you uncomfortable,” he said decisively. “We’ll walk.” I opened my mouth, prepared to protest, but he gritted out, “Don’t argue with me. Now, go. I need you in front of me while we walk.”
“Still a stubborn ass, I see.” I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help it. Being a brat with him was easy. Oddly, it reminded me of happy times. He glared at me before rolling his eyes, too.
“Still a serious pain in mine, I see,” he grumbled, and I couldn’t believe it, but the moment my back was to him, a small smile made its way to my face. It was fleeting, but for the first time in months I felt like I was home again just by being in his presence.
We may have been in the woods filled with traps, and, apparently, IEDs, but I felt safe as we quietly walked.
I tossed a look back at him on occasion, ensuring he was real. That I hadn’t hallucinated the whole morning. He had the same expression on his face whenever our eyes met. Disbelief.
I’d pictured this moment so many times—it’d been the scene playing in my head to counteract the bad memories and flashbacks—but it’d never gone quite like this. Not with me nearly falling into a thirty-foot hole, that was for sure.
After a few more awkward minutes passed, he breached the silence with a curse. It’d been under his breath and probably accidental, but I stopped short to check on him.
He nearly slammed into me, clearly not expecting me to whip around. The bag was slung over his shoulder, and he was grimacing. There were only a few inches between us, and I peered down to see blood trickling from the side of his foot.
“I’m fine. The rocks out here aren’t so kind. Don’t worry.”
“This is why we should’ve taken the bike.” I shook my head, wanting to yell at him for being stubborn again, while at the same time, wanting to do the thing I’d struggled to do for months—hug him. He was willing to cut up his feet to spare me any possible discomfort. Maybe he hadn’t changed so much.
He forced a tight-lipped smile and lifted his chin, motioning for me to walk. “The cabin is up ahead. I’d like to get you inside so I can come up with a plan to get you back to where you belong and away from me.”
Annnnd there went that sweetness. Gone, baby, gone. “That anxious to get rid of me, huh?”
He leaned in a hair closer without quite invading my personal space. “You have no idea how badly I want—” He dropped his words, and watered down his heated stare with a sigh. “Just walk. Please.”
“Fine.” He was in pain, so I wouldn’t drag this out. My gaze landed on the knife wound scar at his side, and my stomach converted to a fist, pumping angrily at the memory. Or maybe that was my heart?
“Go. Please,” he rasped, reading my eyes. My sad thoughts.
I obeyed and continued following the pathway that was barely wide enough for my shoulders, let alone his broad ones.
Up ahead, I spotted a clearing. Within minutes, we left the wooded area and approached a one-story gray cabin that blended in with the environment. It appeared to jump straight out of Little House on the Prairie, and had seen better days. Like maybe a hundred years ago. Okay, that was an exaggeration, it wasn’t quite that small or decrepit looking.
When the front door opened, and a dog came barreling out, Oliver yelled, “Scrappy, halt.”
The golden retriever ignored his command, running circles around me instead, his tail whacking my legs in excitement. I reached down and patted his head. At least I can still do this. Touch a dog.
“He doesn’t listen very well,” Oliver said, coming up next to me. With his free hand, he gestured toward the cabin. “Dad, meet Mya. Mya, this is Sam.”
Dad? I averted my attention to the front door. A man stood there, casually leaning against the interior frame with a mug in hand. His hair was blondish brown, no real hints of gray. Clean-shaven, unlike Oliver, but the resemblance was there for sure. I’m so confused.
“Glad to see my property didn’t kill you.” He tsked. “You’re like my son. He thought it’d be fun to sneak up on me instead of?—”
“Not exactly a doorbell here.” Oliver walked ahead of me, still holding my bag and limping a bit, which I had to assume was a result of his feet getting roughed up because of me. “Can you show her in? Maybe start another pot of coffee? I need a minute.”
His dad casually looked at Oliver’s feet, then moved away from the door to let him in. The dog trailed in after Oliver, leaving me alone with a man I’d thought walked out on Oliver when he was a teenager.
“Mya Vanzetti,” was all Sam said.
When searching for Oliver these last four months, I’d looked into his dad’s background, too. But there’d been no known address for him. Of course, his father’s home was the last place in the world I’d expected Oliver would think to go. Maybe I didn’t know Oliver as well as I thought. “Yes, that’s me,” I finally spoke up.
“You’re one brave woman to come to my neck of the woods alone. Not the best idea, considering you’re in danger. A lot of bad people are looking for you.” He walked out onto the narrow porch. There was no cute bench or swing. Just enough room for two people to stand uncomfortably close to one another. So, I’d stay down below for now.
“I’ve been looking for your son.” That was the best I could come up with as this man’s brown eyes bore into me with unhidden curiosity.
“Seems as though you found him.” He let go of a gruff breath, his chest falling heavily with it. “I better up my security measures in case you were followed, or someone else finds us, too.” He went inside but kept the door open. As I stood and tried to determine what the hell to do next, he peeked out at me and asked, “Well, you coming in, or what?”