34. Mya
34
“I got you. It’s okay. It’s just a dream.”
Oliver’s voice registered in my ears, halting me in my tracks and pulling me free from the nightmare. More running. Definitely a memory. And just like when I was younger, I didn’t know who I was running from, or where I was going.
“Was this your plan to get me in bed with you?” Smart man. His teasing got me out of my head.
Light streamed in through the partially drawn blinds. Morning already? As my senses keyed in on my location, the dream faded and reality settled in. I was straddling Oliver on the bed, arms draped over his shoulders.
Nearly nose to nose, he explained, “You climbed on top of me. Asked me to save you.”
Right. He never joined me in bed last night, shut down any further conversation after his painful admission to me about his feelings. Then, he slept in the chair, doubtfully well. Knowing he’d abandoned his own self-imposed distance to rescue me from my nightmare sent tingles down my spine.
“Sorry.” But I didn’t budge, too comforted by being in his arms. “How’d you sleep? And don’t lie to me.”
“In that case, like shit.” A smile ghosted his lips. An oops-I-didn’t-mean-to-react-like-that one.
Him wishing he hadn’t smiled would upset me if I didn’t understand him so well now. Grief and trauma took its toll, and you couldn’t simply snap your fingers and make it go away. He needed time to heal, and I’d be patient and give it to him. But I also wouldn’t accept “no” to him being able to heal, either.
He closed one eye, and when I felt him growing hard beneath me, and probably trying to will his dick down, I behaved and climbed off.
I winced when I bit the inside of my cheek while getting settled next to him. “I’m sorry if I was pushy last night.”
“Since when are you sorry for being pushy?” He raised his hands between us in a defensive display, but his tone had a playfulness to it when he said, “I mean that in a good way.”
“Mmmhmm.” For a minute, I actually forgot why we were there in that bed, and I deserted thoughts of the horrible dream.
It was just the two of us, staring at one another inside the honeymoon suite of an old B&B alongside a gorgeous lake in Canada.
I wanted to keep us on the forgetting train for as long as possible, but then he crashed through my false reality. “You going to be okay flying today after what happened yesterday?”
“As long as the flight doesn’t involve leaping from said plane with parachutes, I’ll be okay.”
Scratching his jaw as if irritated by the beard, he shook his head. “Not on the agenda today, miss.”
The light tone and “miss” had my heart soaring back to la-la land again, where everything was good.
“We’re going to use a different airport than originally planned, though. Carter texted an hour ago. He’s concerned the Sorens will anticipate us flying from Banff, and they may try and intercept us before we can get to the airport. A team could have already been dispatched.” Talk about bursting that la-la-land bubble and fast.
It was never fun when my chills produced their very own chills. Rapidly rubbing my arms to chase them away didn’t help. Without missing a beat, Oliver gently went for the arm closest to him and began massaging at my tension there.
I wanted to fully face him to give him better access to my other arm as well, but I’d have to flip over or climb onto his lap. And with no panties on, we’d be back in last-night-territory again.
Not in the mood to get rejected if I were to ask him for morning sex, I stayed in place. An orgasm should’ve been the last thing on my mind anyway, considering he’d just informed me a hit team might be trying to rain on our fucked-up parade to The Sapphire.
“Would you like to hear the plan to get us safely from Canada to The Sapphire without encountering any assholes?” His teasing tone despite the gravity of his words somehow did as much to soothe my nerves as his massage.
“As long as it doesn’t involve jumping from anything, or into anything, I’ll place my faith in you to make it happen.”
“No jumping, you have my word. We’ll need to complete a triathlon of sorts—by boat, then car, and finally heading off the beaten path—but my dad and Malcolm will have our six in the process.”
That was good enough for me. No skydiving or swimming with gators? Count me in. I mean, I had no clue if there even were alligators in Canada, but been there and done that to both.
“So. Um.” Stellar word choice for an award-winning journalist. My vocabulary was off-the-charts lately. “Since you slept like shit, does that mean you also had nightmares?”
He stopped the massage. “I’d rather it have been me having one than you, but no.”
Lowering his legs to the side, he stood and combed his messy hair with his fingers. “I’m going to trim down this beard and cut my hair since The Collective is looking for Tarzan.”
I chuckled, shocked I was still capable of that with the weight of the world dragging us both down.
“Mya . . . your dimple.” He pulverized any of my lingering thoughts, returning my light, dimple-inducing laugh with a cute lopsided smile.
See. Right there. You can’t help yourself. You’ll come back to me. Maybe he’s already even here, and he just doesn’t know it yet.
Thirty minutes later—okay, more like forty-five minutes—I made my way downstairs in search of Oliver.
Was it ridiculous I’d not only taken the time to blow out my hair, but put on makeup—courtesy of Vanessa—acting as though I had a date?
Nope, not at all. I am who I am. Screw The Collective. Even those small steps forward in stopping the Sorens and their evil gang from being able to steal any more pieces from me felt good. Time to take them all back so I could be whole again.
All thoughts of those monsters went right out the double-story window the moment I laid eyes on Oliver, though.
He was on the couch, hunched forward while studying a paper map. I went still in the doorway, drinking in the sight of him.
Slowly, he lifted his head, sensing my presence, and wow.
Like me, he was in his clothes from yesterday. Jeans and a tee. But he’d cut his hair, tapering it at the sides while keeping it slightly longer and tamed by some gel on top. He’d also cleaned up his beard and mustache, trimming it shorter, along with the sideburns. The man was ruggedly handsome with his longer hair and a thick beard, but the guy before me now was my guy. The one I’d lost back in that room in Bangkok.
He set down the map on the coffee table and stood, quietly studying me.
“Hi.” I leaned into the doorframe, wondering if my heart rate would slow enough so I could string together a sentence.
He lifted a brow, returning my greeting with the same awkward response.
“You look like you,” was the best I could come up with.
His handsome smile almost made me forget his warning that he’d leave me again after the mission was over. “Damn, I was trying to pull off a different look.”
I smirked. “Smart-ass.”
“Just the way you like me.” He angled his head and cleared his throat before sighing out, “Anyway.”
“Nice redirect there.”
“Nice sarcasm,” he volleyed right back, not missing a beat. Even if he’d wanted to rein himself in, he couldn’t. Because this was “us.” This was how we behaved BT, and it was natural and perfect, and I missed it.
“We’re on schedule to head out. The guys are doing one last perimeter check to make sure we don’t have eyes on us when we take Malcolm’s boat.”
“Ah, right.” I crossed the room but allowed the coffee table to serve as a natural barrier between us. “We have to make sure we’re not being followed.”
“Yeah, we have to play a bit of chess to get to the airport and hope these assholes are only playing checkers. Of course, if yesterday is any indication of what we may deal with today, they can barely play dodgeball.”
I smirked. This wasn’t a smiling situation. Yet, there it was. I even flashed him some teeth with that one.
Heaven help me, the man gave it back to me.
What happened between last night and this morning that had him lowering that limo window again, showing me glimpses of his BT-self? He’d slept like shit, so a good night’s rest wasn’t the reason.
Was it the haircut? I knew changing my hair did wonders for me.
I should just take it and be grateful. I had to turn off my brain, which was always battering me with the need to have an answer for everything.
“You don’t seem worried. Smiling even.” Why’d I have to open my mouth? He rewarded my question by quite literally wiping away his adorable grin.
“I’m not as concerned about what happens before we get to that hotel.” He focused back on the map and began folding it. “We changed our final destination, though. The Sorens may have too many eyes on Zurich, expecting us to fly in there. So, Carter arranged for our arrival in Liechtenstein instead. We’ll head to the hotel from there.” He shoved the map in his back pocket, rounding the couch.
“And the after-we-get-to-the-hotel part?” I wasn’t about to let go of him emphasizing the “before” part of his explanation.
He frowned. “You facing the Sorens is what worries me the most.”
“Ditto.” Mr. Bloodsport. A deathmatch. Fists at midnight John Wick-style. None of that boded well. Like at all. “Your eye roll is duly noted.”
“Ditto,” he remarked in a low, gravelly voice of two-can-play-at-this-game.
“Tell me something,” I whispered when he was only a foot away from me.
“Sure. Giraffes are thirty times more likely to get struck by lightning than people.”
I opened my mouth, unsure if I was going to laugh at his tease or yell at him for his misdirection. “Not what I meant,” I managed out instead.
“Then be more specific.” The side of his lip inched up as if fighting the same reaction I’d just had, but in his case, to either smile or scowl.
“I was going to ask you to tell me how you plan to get Hugo to fight you, but I’d be wasting my breath, right?”
He leaned in, eyes dipping to my mouth for a moment before meeting mine. “You’re right. You shouldn’t deprive yourself of valuable oxygen.” His jaw locked tight, and that clench was more noticeable since his date with the beard trimmer.
“You seem both pissed off and happy. I’m struggling to read you.”
“I’m relieved this will soon be over, and that I can kill those men who did this to us. But yes, I’m angry you’ll be in danger. Also, I’m . . .” There went his eyes again, flying to my mouth like he was ready to smear my lipstick, instead of my mascara.
“You’re frustrated with the fact you can’t seem to hide the glint in your eyes as much as you’re unable to suppress your smiles and jabs at me?” He was trying and failing, worried I’d keep that window barrier down for good, and he didn’t believe he deserved for that to happen.
He righted his posture, lifting his chin to point his attention anywhere but on me. “Time to go.”
“Nice to see you’ve upgraded from grunting words to snarling them.”
“Only for you, buttercup. Only for you.” He abruptly started for the hallway, probably realizing what he’d said, and how he’d said it. Low, raspy, and full of delicious intent.
Yup, I was right. I was reading him just freaking fine, apparently. “Walls are coming down, down, down . . .”
My words stopped him in his tracks, right in the middle of the doorway. His strong hands went to the doorframe, and his back muscles flexed, cinching his tee together down his spine.
Whatever he’d planned to say, he must’ve decided to stop playing with fire. Because instead of unleashing the comeback I knew he was itching to throw my way, he pushed away a moment later and continued his retreat.
I took a few seconds to heal from the whiplash the man kept giving me, knowing, in part, it was my fault, then joined him and the others by the lake.
Everyone was gathered there, preparing for our send-off. I didn’t miss the fact both Sam and Malcolm were strapped. Like strapped-strapped. M4 sniper rifles were slung across their chests.
“Preparing for war?” I asked as Cindy and Vanessa gestured me over.
“They’ll be following behind at a safe distance, but hidden from view, just in case you need backup,” Vanessa explained, giving my forearm a reassuring squeeze.
“I don’t want them placing themselves in danger.” I looked over at Oliver as he spoke with his father near the dock. The exchange didn’t seem to be heated, which was good. “You sure?”
“They’ll be fine, I promise.” Vanessa’s tone came across as confident as her words, so I opted not to press and argue. I’d save being a pain in the ass for Oliver.
I faced her, finding myself suddenly emotional as I went in for a hug. “Thank you again for everything.”
“Come back soon,” Vanessa offered, “but as a couple on a romantic getaway.”
“You think he’ll ever . . .” I let my words trail off so she could fill in the dots herself.
Vanessa nodded. “He will.” She hugged me again before stepping aside so I could say my goodbyes to Cindy.
“Be safe, okay?” Cindy moved in for the hug before I could, then added in my ear, “That boy loves you. Fiercely. He will come around.”
Now I was going to cry, but I sucked it up and only sniffled as she released me. I nodded my thanks and we exchanged a few more words before we joined the others by the dock.
Easton and Teddy were already on the boat, rifles slung across their bodies as well. When Oliver slipped past me to hug Cindy and Vanessa, I faced off with Sam and Malcolm, deciding to test out whether or not I could handle contact with a man who wasn’t Oliver.
It’s now or never.
Malcolm cleared his throat, then shifted his rifle to the side, sensing what I was about to do. And I did it. Hugged him and didn’t freak out.
I touched my mouth after, finding a smile of victory sitting on my lips. “Thank you for everything. Please don’t get hurt on our behalf, though.”
“Roger that.” Malcolm winked. “And you’re welcome.”
Sam gestured me off to the side of the group, and Oliver caught my eyes before he concealed his with sunglasses his father must’ve given him.
Sam moved his rifle around the same as Malcolm did. “Listen, my boy can be stubborn. In his head, I suspect I’m to blame for a lot of his problems.” He coughed into a closed fist, appearing to get choked up. “He hates himself, too. Although, I don’t think hate is even a strong enough word for what he’s feeling.”
I rolled my lips inward over my teeth, fighting to keep the emotions bubbling in my chest from escaping in the form of tears.
“I’m worried he’s going to get himself killed, just like his brother did.” He blinked back tears. “I wasn’t there for Tucker, to prevent him from . . . but I need to be there for Oliver.” He reached for my hand and discreetly slipped something into my palm. “That’s my number.” He set his eyes on the lake as if worried Oliver was looking on and might suspect something. “When it’s time for him to get his revenge, I need to be there. I have to have his back.” Zeroing in on me again, he emphasized, “I refuse to attend another son’s funeral.”