16. Mya
16
Breakfast turned out to be quiet and uneventful. Oliver opted not to speak. Not a single word. Instead, he spent his time shoveling pancakes in his mouth and washing them down with black coffee.
The second he finished, he busied himself with cleaning the dishes, then jerked a thumb outside as his way of letting me know he was exfil’ing. Not a far trip. He’d gone lumberjack mode and began chopping wood.
Wanting to do more than stare at the four walls of the tiny kitchen, I followed him and parked myself onto a wooden bench a few feet away. Scrappy joined me, and as I ran my hand over his soft fur, I watched Oliver work up a sweat while trying to hide his curses under his breath.
It was only when Oliver had finished destroying his shoulder and probably working through his demons that his father graced us with his presence, returning from the woods with the dirt bike at his side.
“You broke the damn thing,” Sam grumbled. “I had to walk it all the way.”
“Good exercise for you.” Was that a joke from Oliver? At least that was still possible.
“So, no car? How do you get into town?” I angled my chin toward the snowmobile parked by the cabin. “Can’t take that without snow, so . . .”
Oliver pulled his shirt over his head, and I was disappointed to lose sight of those glorious muscles.
“We have a truck parked about a mile away, but we use the dirt bike to get to it.” Sam leaned the bike against the shed, shaking his head.
“The walk to the truck will also be good exercise for you. Good for your heart,” Oliver said before Sam disappeared into the shed, quickly returning with a toolbox. “What’s with the questions about town? Need something?”
I smirked, happy he was at least speaking to me. “I only brought one change of clothes. I kind of expected we’d be leaving together tomorrow.”
With the sunlight hitting Oliver’s face, he shielded his eyes with his hand. “That confident, huh?”
“I’m sure you remember no isn’t an answer I usually accept.” Stroking Scrappy’s head now on my lap, I peeked at Sam working on the bike, pretending to ignore us. I had a feeling he had every intention of listening in.
“That I do, but you’ll have to learn to get used to it.” He lowered his hand to his side. “The only place I’ll go with you is into town to buy you clothes. When Falcon is back, you’ll be leaving here without me.”
At least he was willing to ride with me into town. Spend time with me. Baby steps. Of course, I only had five or so days, give or take Falcon’s mission, to convince Oliver to leave with me, so I supposed my steps couldn’t be too small.
“So, does that mean we’re walking a mile to your truck today?” I shifted Scrappy’s head to the side so I could stand, and he howled in protest. His personality reminded me a bit of Carter’s dog, Dallas.
“Today?” He frowned.
“Why? You have plans?” I sucked in a breath of the fresh mountain air, partially understanding why a place like this might be good for him. Therapeutic, even. No technology or hustle-and-bustle. Just nature and unpolluted air. “Something better to do, huh?”
He rolled his eyes, shooting his attention to his father for a beat.
At some point, I hoped he’d share that story with me. How exactly had he come to live with a man who’d left him as a teenager?
“Does this small town have a barber? I’m guessing not since you’re scruffier than Scrappy here,” I teased, trying to take Gwen’s advice and be myself, whoever that was anymore.
Sam’s husky chuckle was deep and genuine-sounding. “I like her.”
“Good, she can stay with you, then. I’ll go shopping by myself.” Oliver stalked into the house, returning a handful of seconds later with keys jangling from his hand.
Shit, I blew it. I considered pushing and demanding to go with him, but I also didn’t want to press my luck. “Remember my size?” I tossed out as he shoved the keys in his pants pocket.
Oliver’s eyes cut down my body, and he frowned. He’d probably realized my appetite had also suffered in his absence. A broken heart could do that.
“I’m good.” He shook his head, then told his father, “Don’t let her out of your sight.”
On his knee by the bike, Sam looked over at him. “That include when she’s in the bathroom?”
“Smart-ass,” Oliver said under his breath.
“Ah, I see where you get it from.” I couldn’t help myself, the comment just tumbled from my mouth. I also didn’t miss the eye roll from both of them. “Okay, well, I’m going to find something to do, I guess.”
“Just don’t sleep. You know what naps do to you. You’ll toss and turn all night.” Oliver closed his eyes, scowling, clearly upset he’d dipped into the past and shared such an intimate detail about me. Particularly a memory involving him sleeping next to me.
“Yes, sir.”
Oliver opened his eyes at my saucy remark, and his chest inflated with a heavy breath. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the woods.
Sam had to call Scrappy back when he tried to run off with him.
Don’t blame you, boy. I hate watching him leave, too.
My eyes connected with Sam’s a moment later, and I jerked an awkward thumb over my shoulder toward the cabin. “I’ll be inside.” When he said nothing, just returned his attention to the bike, I went ahead into the cabin, shoving away the hope that he’d ask me to hang out for a bit. Have some heart-to-heart chat about his son.
With the overnight flight and time difference screwing with me, I really did want to rest and shut my eyes, but Oliver was right. I’d be up all night and would pay for that lack of sleep tomorrow, and I had plans tomorrow. Big ones. Like winning Oliver back over somehow.
I brought my backpack, an old Jansport I’d had forever, into his bedroom and closed the door behind me, deciding to take up his offer to use his bed. Not to sleep, but to read.
Griffin’s wife, Savanna, had sent me a paperback advance reader copy of her book releasing next month. It was a sweet gesture, but I hadn’t been sure I’d be up for reading anytime soon—nevermind a love story, no less. But I didn’t do well with idle time, so I’d take whatever distraction I could get. I just hoped it didn’t hurt my heart to read about romance knowing my life was more of a thriller instead.
First things first. I set the book—which featured a handsome dark-haired model on the cover (sadly, with a shirt)—on the dresser, and reached for Oliver’s cologne. The smell still lingered in the room from whenever he’d sprayed it before, but I wanted to inhale more of his signature scent, indulge and surround myself in it.
While spritzing it into the air, I took in the nearly bare room. A double-bed mattress and box spring on a simple metal frame, covered in a plain red comforter, was against one wall. A small empty nightstand in desperate need of a lamp was next to it, the only other piece of furniture aside from the dresser.
I swapped the cologne for the book and went to the bed. I didn’t want to accidentally pass out, so I propped up the two pillows behind my back to read. With no headboard behind me, I hoped they didn’t slide down the wall to the floor.
Removing my shoes, I settled in and tucked my knees to my chest, staring at the cover for a moment. Savanna’s name wasn’t on the book. It wasn’t safe for her to reveal her identity. With Griffin once being part of Delta Force and now with Falcon, he had to keep her safe from all potential threats, not just The Collective.
“Brittney Sa—” I forgot how Savanna said to pronounce the non-phonetic name she’d chosen. And I was a little bummed no one would know it was really her, but I was still so proud of her, though. She wasn’t letting our current hell of being hunted by The Collective stop her from following her dreams of becoming an author.
Griffin was her biggest fan, and he was always gushing about her. Seeing a big, growly alpha talk like that made my heart sing. So, when I opened the book and saw the dedication, I wasn’t surprised.
To my husband, for being the inspiration for the kind of heroes I write about. You’re my rock. The father to our incredible son. My everything. I love you.
A sigh slipped free at that, and I smoothed my finger along the lines, hoping one day I’d be able to publish something myself again. Not fiction, but an article exposing the truth about The Collective, and maybe Oliver could even have a photograph or two with it. We had made a great team back when we . . .
I let go of those thoughts. Dropped them right there. Leaving them in the past where they belonged. It hurt too much to think about. And I was supposed to be getting lost to fiction instead of lost in my own head, a much more dangerous place to be.
Doing my best to shake free the negative thoughts, I waited for the fleet of goose bumps to leave my arms, then flipped the page for the prologue.
Ironically, Griffin’s mother was a famous romance author. She’d been one of Savanna’s favorites before she’d even met Griffin and had her own second-chance love story herself. Despite Savanna telling her husband not to let his mom pull any strings and help promote her book when it released, I knew he’d be doing it anyway. Family helped each other. Well, typically.
Falcon was one big family, too, and we were all hurting over losing Oliver. It was up to me to bring him home where he belonged.
Okay, I can do this. I can read something other than research about The Collective. Which was all I’d done obsessively for months. Well, that and try to find Oliver.
My parents now knew about the mess I was in, and they’d spent the last four months actually agreeing on something for once—trying to encourage me to move in with them. That, or check myself into rehab.
How’d Mom put it? “You have an addiction to getting yourself into trouble. I thought working with Mason and his brother was bad, but this new team of yours is much more dangerous.”
Besides an epic eye roll, my only comeback was weak, but no less truthful. “I don’t need rehab, Mom. I need to take these assholes down and find Oliver.”
Fortunately, Dad had shoved a peace-offering cocktail into her hand before either of us really got ramped up into a full-blown argument. They’d split up because my “picture-perfect family” was far from perfect and my dad couldn’t stop screwing women half his age. But despite my parents’ issues, they were now a united front in trying to get me to quit Falcon, worried I’d die if I didn’t.
Thinking about my parents was already a romance-reading mood killer, so I did my best to shake free my thoughts and read.
The story was super well written, and I wound up lost in the book, devouring each page. I also found myself doing something I’d never done before while reading. I began picturing myself as the female lead, Lorelei, and Oliver as Chase, the main male character. Although, I couldn’t quite imagine Oliver in a suit, telling me to get on my hands and knees and crawl to him like this guy was doing, but . . .
Had I done that in real life before? Yes, but because I’d wanted to. I’d been a particular brat one day last November BT (before Thailand), and after locking the office door, I’d gone to my knees and quietly made my way over to Oliver. I smiled at the memory of him dropping the papers he’d been holding, staring at me, slack-jawed in shock.
I’d made good use of that smart mouth of mine in a different way, and I was pretty sure he’d rather enjoyed my not-an-apology-apology.
I blinked, realizing I was lost to real-life thoughts and had no clue what I’d just read the last few pages, so I set aside the book and headed to Ireland in my head. To my memories there with Oliver the night we first made love. Each hot moment unfurled in my mind and kept going until Oliver saying my name jerked me back to the room, startling me.
My eyes flashed open, shocked to see him standing in the doorway. How was he already back?
He dropped the bag at his side, continuing to study me as if he’d walked in on me masturbating. I realized I’d been fisting the comforter at my sides as if lost to a fantasy. Partly true. I let it go, feeling a hot blush creep across my face. “That was fast.”
“I was gone for two hours.” He stepped around the shopping bag, and I sat fully upright as he approached. “You’ve been reading.” He picked up the book and thumbed the pages.
“Savanna’s upcoming release. That’s her pen name.”
“Brittney, huh?” He set the book down, eyeing me almost cautiously. “You good? You look . . .”
Turned on? I wish.
“Flushed.” He quirked a brow, then shook his head as if regretting his words, not really wanting to hear my answer.
So, I deflected for both of our sakes. “Looks like you found something for me at the store.”
He took my cue and went back for the bag. The whole situation spurred a serious case of déjà vu. It wasn’t that long ago when I’d gone shopping for Carter’s now-wife, Diana. She’d been working on a countermeasure to an EMP weapon, hidden and safe in Scotland. That was before Oliver and I gave in to desire in Ireland.
I highly doubted Oliver bought me lingerie like I’d done for Diana. I couldn’t resist the chance to give her an opportunity to toy with Carter and his sense of control. Clearly, it’d been mission success. They were now married, and she was pregnant with his son. Carter had been adamant in his belief his firstborn would be a girl, but God had other plans.
Oliver set the bag on the bed, but I was uninterested in seeing what was inside. Probably granny panties and shirts three sizes too big.
My body was still tense and fueled by desire. So, I did something that threw him off, and I reached for his arm. I brushed my fingers along the ridges of muscle there, and his bicep flexed in response.
“You should eat.” Those three words were basically grunts of breath as he backed up and away from my reach.
“No appetite.”
He frowned. “Too bad. Dad made sandwiches. He gets pissy if food goes to waste.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder, walking back two more steps. A mission to get away from me. “So, go eat.”
I really wasn’t hungry. Still stuffed from the pancakes drenched in that delicious maple syrup. But I also didn’t want him to keep backing away from me like he was. “You don’t have to be afraid to be near me,” I reassured him.
His brows stitched together, his eyes darting to my mouth.
“I can’t be close to you.” Another step away. And as he scrubbed a hand over his beard, I could feel myself losing him all over again.
And with that, he left, and he didn’t speak to me again all day. Skipped dinner, too.
It wasn’t until the sun swapped places with the moon and he was asleep that night, that I saw with my own eyes how much this man had truly been suffering. And maybe even why he was more afraid to touch me than I was to be touched.