17. Mya
17
It was 4:03 in the morning, and I’d yet to even keep my eyes closed for more than five minutes, let alone sleep.
I set aside my phone and attempted to plump up the pillow before falling onto my back. I’d forced Oliver to take the second one, but now I knew why he had been grumbly and argued with me about it. This bed required two, because this one was, for the lack of a better word, unplumpable.
The lumpy mattress and pillow weren’t to blame for my lack of sleep. It was knowing Oliver was just outside my room. Four months of missing him, and worrying, and now we were together. Just not together-together.
The tension in my arms was becoming unbearable, so I pinned them beneath my body to try and help alleviate the stress I held there. I looked up at the ceiling fan, the only form of air-conditioning in the cabin, hoping if I stared at the blades slowly chopping the air long enough, maybe my eyes would close on their own volition. But not even ten blade-counting seconds later, a loud thud from the other room had me jolting upright. The covers were already at the bottom of the bed because it was hot, even for Canada at night, so I was able to quickly get to my feet.
Normally, a noise from another room would require the sidearm Mason gave me from my lockbox under my bed, but I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Not that I’d once stepped foot in that state, but these last twenty hours had me feeling a bit like Dorothy being chucked into another dimension. A house might as well have fallen on top of me. Yet, I still took hesitant steps to get to the door.
I was wearing one of his tees instead of the hideous clothes he’d bought me. No bra, but I didn’t have time to work magic and put one on before going to find out what was happening in the rest of the cabin.
Once in the short hallway, I flicked on the light to find my way to the living room. I hadn’t expected to see Oliver on his back on the floor by the couch, so I hurried over to him and went to my knees.
His eyes were closed, but he was shaking hard. His face was scrunched up as if in pain as he groaned. He was shirtless and only in shorts, and his stomach muscles were clenched as if mid sit-up.
“Oliver,” I whispered, worried about reaching for him in this current state. He was clearly having a nightmare. I went to cup his cheek, pushing through my own issues, too concerned for his, but a deep voice from behind stopped me.
“Don’t do that. Unless you want a shiner, I wouldn’t touch him.” Sam circled the couch, Scrappy close at his side. “If he were to accidentally hit you . . . well, we both know he already hates himself enough.”
Sam gestured for me to stand, but I was glued to Oliver’s side. I couldn’t leave him there like that.
“He wouldn’t want you to see him like this.”
“Shouldn’t we help him?” My tongue pinned to the roof of my mouth as I went back to observing Oliver, hating being told not to do anything.
“Just come with me. He’ll work through it. Don’t worry.” At the plea in his tone, I forced myself to stand.
I stole one more look at Oliver struggling on the floor, and it ripped me to pieces to walk away.
“You like tea?” Sam asked once I’d joined him and Scrappy in the kitchen.
Remembering I was only in a tee that went to my thighs and no bra, I took a seat at the table to hide my legs and held my shoulders, blocking my nipples from being visible. “Sure,” I finally said. “Tea was the last thing I had with Oliver before . . .” Yup, not finishing that thought.
“Listen.”
A speech was coming, that much was obvious. I didn’t need to have an overbearing father, a judge no less, to recognize that tone.
Scrappy curled up on a dog bed near the doorway as I watched Sam fill the kettle with water and set it on the stove. Electric, not gas, and I had to assume being in the woods, it was better not to have an open flame.
“I’ve had three black eyes from trying to help him. Seeing him feel guilty about my shiners hurt me more than getting whacked in the face.”
I could believe that. Guilt was such a horrible thing. Nothing hit quite like it. On so many levels.
“I finally listened to my son when he begged me to stop trying to wake him up from his nightmares.” He faced me, wrapping a hand around the nape of his neck. “We now also know not to have lamps near him when he sleeps at night. He’s broken a couple. Not to mention cut his hand when that happened.”
At that mental image, I abandoned my efforts at modesty and pushed away from the table. “He shouldn’t be alone. If that’s how bad things get, then?—”
“What would you do? If you went in there, how would you handle him if he starts to swing?”
I kept my ass glued to the seat at his question. But still, I’d find a way to help. I had my best friends, all of Falcon, and Riley to help me cope with my PTSD, while Oliver had furniture to destroy and his father to . . . Well, I wasn’t sure what his father was doing to help, but I assumed something. I hoped he was doing more than making tea every night and casually hanging out in the kitchen while Oliver groaned in pain on the floor in the other room.
“How often does this happen?” I asked meekly, returning my arms across my chest. It was a protective measure, but against what exactly? I doubted Oliver’s dad would ogle my breasts, but I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by having my nipples on display, either.
“It used to be every night.” He folded his arms, continuing to lean against the counter. “I thought he was getting better. Well, having the nightmares less often. They started up again after his trip last week. I also imagine having you here is quite triggering.”
Guilt was about to pack a heavy punch. I’d be getting that shiner, just a figurative one instead.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he quickly noted, brows drawn. “He needs you.”
And I need him. “His nightmares,” I began, “are they about that day in Thailand?” I had to assume his father knew what happened at this point.
“Mostly. Some have to do with his mother.” He cleared his throat, and my hands plummeted to my lap at that revelation.
“What do you mean?” I sat taller, but then a banging noise from the other room wrenched my attention in that direction and had both myself and Scrappy on our feet.
Before Sam could stop me, I rushed to the living room with Scrappy trailing behind me. The coffee table was flipped over and Oliver was on his hands and knees, breathing hard, gasping for air.
I switched on the lights, not wanting to startle him, but I didn’t want to get hit, either.
Scrappy stayed by my side, barking at Oliver as his tail whipped against my leg.
Oliver slowly lifted his head, eyes open and on me. Recognition of what was going on most likely sinking in.
Sam quietly came around me and chucked a water bottle across the room. Oliver somehow shook off the haze of the nightmare to sit back on his heels and catch it before it smacked him in the face.
With his breathing starting to slow, but eyes still locked on mine, he chugged the water, sucking it dry. Then he smashed the plastic between his hands and rasped, “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Yeah, I told her to leave you alone,” Sam commented, standing next to me now.
“Not that,” Oliver remarked in a deep voice. “You shouldn’t have come here at all. To this house.” His mouth tightened into a grimace, and he shut his eyes as if still submerged in whatever hell he’d been in inside that nightmare. “You’re supposed to be with Mason, getting better, living your life. Moving on. Not here with me.”
“What?” I about choked on the four-letter word as it sputtered free from my lips. Mason?! “Is that really why you texted him that day? You want me to be with him?” My heart rate picked up speed at his implication. “You expected I’d go running into his arms and just forget you? Forget what we had?”
“What we had wasn’t real.” Oliver bowed his head.
“You don’t mean that. You can’t even look me in the eyes and say it.” And I won’t cry, dammit.
“I do mean it.” He slowly lifted his head, meeting my eyes as if to make a point. “Every word. Someone rewrote the plot of your life. It was never supposed to turn out this way. You two belong together. If you’d just stayed with his team and never joined ours, everything would be just fucking fine.” His lips parted, teeth showing, nearly snarling those last words at me as if I was his enemy. The bane of his existence.
“No.” I refused to listen to this. To any of it. “You’re upset. Trying to push me away. And it’s not going to work,” I reminded him, my arms now flailing in the air.
“He loves you, Mya.” He stood and righted the table while growling out a curse. “Go back to him. Be with him. Live your life and forget me.” He stalked closer, ignoring his father’s presence and bore a hole right through my heart with his piercing gaze.
Finding the courage to talk, telling myself Oliver was hurting and in pain, I reminded him, “He never told me he loved me, and?—”
“Well, I don’t recall telling you, either.” His forehead tightened, and his eyes narrowed as he shredded me with that one line. Then he walked out, Scrappy following close behind him.
My shoulders jerked as the front door thudded shut, and I did my best not to fall to my knees at his rejection. “Where’s he going?” He was shirtless and barefoot again, just like yesterday morning.
“He converted part of the shed to his own private space. He usually cools off there after a nightmare.” Sam’s hands settled on his hips as he eyed me, a touch of empathy passing over his face.
“I need to go out there. Talk to him.” Determined, even though I was pantless and shoeless, I started for the door.
“Don’t do that.” Sam’s words had me putting on the brakes. “He’s not himself after those nightmares. He’s still in that dark place where everyone is an enemy and everything hurts. He needs time to cool down.”
Dark place. Enemy. Everything hurts. Fragments of Sam’s words echoed through my mind on repeat, further obliterating my already shattered heart. “So, I should let him run away again? Like I did in Singapore?”
He closed one eye, tipping his head slightly. “Now, I don’t think you let him do anything. My boy did what he felt he needed to do. That was not your fault. None of what happened is on your shoulders. Or his.”
I heard his words, but they didn’t absolve me of my need to make things right for Oliver.
“Trust me when I say you don’t want to talk to him. I’ve been on the receiving end of that mouth of his when he’s in one of these moods, and it hurts.” He touched his chest. “In my case, I deserved his venom. You don’t. Then he’ll regret it, feel bad, and?—”
“You know,” I cut him off, unable to bite my tongue, “for someone who walked out on his family, you seem to care a lot about Oliver’s feelings.” Now I was the one spewing poison. But he left his son, and that had to have hurt Oliver. How could it not? And anyone who hurt that man was naturally an enemy of mine. So, what right did he have to care now?
He stared at his open hands the way I’d seen Oliver do a time or two since showing up at the cabin, as if there was blood there no one could see but him. “Just because I walked out on my family doesn’t mean I stopped giving a damn about them. Same holds true for Oliver. He left you, but he still cares about you.”
I knew he cared about me, that much was obvious. But what if . . . “Am I ever going to get through to him?” Damn the doubt. I wanted to blame it on my lack of sleep, but I wasn’t so sure I could.
“I didn’t take you for a quitter. Based on what I’ve heard from Oliver, that’s not really a word to describe you, now is it?”
Forcing myself to look at Sam, I relented with a nod. “He talks about me?”
“You kidding?” His smile took me by surprise. “The boy never shuts up about you.” Gesturing toward my bedroom, he added, “Now, go get some sleep, so you’re ready for that knock at your door in a few hours. He’ll be coming to apologize for his behavior, trust me.”
It was still hard for me to believe he knew Oliver so well after walking out when he was in high school. Well, unless Oliver hadn’t told me the full story. Clearly, he hasn’t.
“He’s also embarrassed you saw him like that, on the floor and struggling.” He tipped a shoulder, then tacked on, “Men aren’t so great at handling that emotion.”
Yeah, I know that. Been around enough alpha types in my life. But Oliver had nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about.
That still didn’t stop me from wanting to yell at him for suggesting I should be with Mason, discounting everything we’d had together.
“He’s just scared, Mya.” Sam’s sad tone pulled my attention away from my disappointed thoughts and back to his tired eyes.
“Of what?”
He tightened the belt of his plain black robe and remarked, “Of losing you for good, the way I lost his mother.”