10. Strike
Strike
Strike gripped the barbell. It was too heavy, and he shouldn’t be doing this alone, but the sight of Millie talking to Liss, her eyes dark with grief and her face contorted with pain from what he’d done, made his heart so heavy, he had to do something.
The fear of what might happen if he didn’t punish himself with weights terrified him.
This was the only way he could reduce his anxiety.
But it wasn’t enough.
Nothing worked.
He added on another weight as he fought his memories.
Self-hatred was like acid pouring down his throat, eating at the parts that the past years hadn’t already destroyed.
He didn’t let emotion in, and yet now, he was struggling to stop it from crashing through his walls. Planning was another way he might regain control, but his head was so fuzzy from anxiety that he couldn’t assess every risk and how he would combat them.
Panic attacks were a thing of the past, but anxiety drove his lifting and dropping of the barbell. He’d ruined Millie’s life. It was his fault she was stressed, unhappy, and didn’t have friends.
Sadness cluttered the empty space in his heart. He’d experienced too much and developed unrelenting self-hatred. Dominating everything and everyone around him helped lessen the constant anxiety and stop bad things from happening again.
He focused on the movement of the barbell and attempted to calm his breathing, but terror made him want to yell and throw the weight.
“You’re a piece of shit. They were right. You’re the worst kind of person. No wonder she doesn’t want to know you.”
Tears blurred his vision, but still, he didn’t stop. Instead, he continued shouting his anguish as he pushed his muscles to the point of injury.
“Strike, stop,” Millie shouted from the doorway.
He re-racked the barbell. His breathing was erratic but easing a little from the rollercoaster pace it was reaching.
“What were you doing? You could have hurt yourself.”
He refused to look at her, instead focusing on the scuff mark on the white wall of Bear and Liss’s home gym. He pushed away the tears that collected in his eyelashes, desperately hoping she didn’t catch the movement.
“You’re not going to talk to me?” Millie pressed. “You don’t get to be angry with me after what you heard. You need to let me in.”
“Why do you care?” he mumbled, catching her dark-rimmed eyes and tight lips. “I hurt you, remember?”
“I never thought you were affected by it as well. I know, worst counsellor ever,” she said, forcing humour into the conversation. “I don’t like to see you hurting or suffering, even after everything.”
“I deserve to suffer after what I did.”
She neared him, not touching, but bringing enough calm for him to regulate his thoughts.
“Maybe you’ve suffered enough. We were kids, making mistakes and saying things we probably shouldn’t have. But if I’m going to accept you as my bodyguard and put my faith in knowing you’re going to keep me safe, I can’t have you injuring yourself. Okay?”
He stared at her, words trapped underneath his tongue. He’d made promises to her and broken them. Could he offer her anything but protection now?
“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid. Be the man I need right now. Promise me.”
He hesitated, but the sadness in her eyes broke his resolve. “I promise.”
They used to have a special way of making promises to each other, but that involved touch. That had been the promise of friends, even lovers. This was just work.
“Good. I can’t bear to see the man I used to love suffer, even after everything,” she mumbled as she left the room.
He flexed his jaw.
Used to love.
She may have stopped, but he never would.
He didn’t know how, but his brief chat with Millie had eased some of his self-hatred. However, frustration still dogged him.
His grumbles reverberated off the floor as he walked into the dining room.
“You okay?” Bear asked.
He grunted without making eye contact.
“Talk to me.”
He scowled at the breakfast Bear had lovingly prepared. “I didn’t think I’d ever see her again.”
“None of us did.”
He gritted his teeth so tightly, his jaw ached.
“You never told me why you left and joined the army,” Bear pressed.
“I made a decision based on the information available to me. In hindsight, it was wrong.”
Even with his head dropped, he caught the withering roll of Bear’s eyes. “And the less robotic version? I’m your mate, not one of the squaddies you commanded.”
Strike sighed louder.
“I’m here for you. When you left, it was one of the worst days, but it was harder for her. I saw Millie around school. She came to class and spent the rest of her time in the library, but her light disappeared. I recognise it since nearly losing Liss. Will you ever tell me why you left us?”
“Probably not.”
“For the brief seconds I’ve spent around Millie, I suspect she doesn’t hate you as much as you think.”
He gave Bear his surliest stare. “Even though she feels she should support me now, she did hate me. I broke her heart. I deserve her hatred and more.”
“For fuck’s sake, Strike. I love you, man, but I miss the old you sometimes. I just want you to be happy.”
“Then bring me a pancake.”
“Yes, sir,” Bear teased as he disappeared to the kitchen.
She hadn’t mentioned the letter. He’d explained everything, but she’d ripped it up. Maybe she hadn’t read it before returning it, or maybe his explanation had sickened her.
Chatter echoed through the corridors as Millie and Liss walked into the dining room. Millie’s hair fell in waves across her shoulders, and the leggings showed off a butt so curvy he forced himself to study the pancakes Bear deposited in front of him.
Strike watched warily as she sat as far away from him as possible. Maybe being hated was his kink. It had to be better than the power play he’d fantasised about after reading her favourite books. The fantasies that always featured Millie.
“Bear, you did this?” she asked, her shoulders bouncing. “I didn’t know you cooked.”
Strike glanced at her from beneath his eyelashes as she stared at the feast of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and more. Her eyes sparkled as she grabbed a muffin.
“My mum taught him to cook some bits, and he’s learned more recently. He prepared the bread himself,” Strike explained.
Bear beamed as he shoved a forkful of pancake into his mouth.
“It’s his downtime coping mechanism,” Liss replied. She pointed her knife at Strike, fixing him with her scowl. “Don’t say coping with me.”
Strike shrugged, but his lips quirked. His stomach groaned as he added poached eggs to his plate. Deftly, he slid a fidget tool from his pocket and rested it on his leg where no one saw it.
Millie reached for her glass and knocked her spoon on the floor. She dived under the table to find it.
Liss mouthed, You fucked up. We’ll speak later.
Bear shook his head. Strike fiddled with the tool as Liss eyeballed him. He’d avoid her before he left. She was better than an MI5 agent at extracting secrets.
Millie returned to her chair. Her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at him. She must have caught what they’d said or… He touched the fidget tool again. Had she seen it from under the table?
“How are your parents?” Millie asked as she lunged for bacon. “You were at their house to clear it?”
There was a softness that hadn’t been there before she caught him in the gym. Maybe their animosity could thaw while he guaranteed her safety.
His cutlery hung in the air from his stilled hands. “They’re good. They decided it was time to move on. They have a small place thirty minutes from here, and they travel a lot.”
“They were in Egypt a couple of weeks ago. They sent me a picture from the Nile,” Liss said, swiping a muffin from the basket in the middle of the table.
“Where are your parents?” Strike asked Millie. His stomach bottomed out when she dragged her tongue across her lip, which was moist with syrup.
“On a Caribbean cruise. They left yesterday. I won’t have to tell them what’s happening, and hopefully, they won’t find out until it’s over. My mum usually calls every night,” Millie added, slathering butter onto the warmed bread.
“Every night?” Strike repeated, scrutinising her.
“They’re still super protective.”
Strike bristled, struggling to hide his normally robotic mannerisms. Mille didn’t know the half of it when it came to her mum.
“That’s what happens when you’re the miracle baby girl your parents wanted but gave up having until they were in their mid-forties,” she added.
“That’s why they’re protective?” Liss asked between chews.
“Yeah. Dexter, my brother, is, too. He’s like a second parent even though he’s only eight years older. He lives in Sweden with his wife, but he’s always checking up on his ‘baby sister,’ telling me what to do, too.”
“He was always good at that,” Strike grunted. “The perfect child except when he wasn’t.”
Confusion clouded Millie’s features as seconds ticked by. He’d promised Dexter he’d never share with Millie or her parents that he’d rescued him one night. She clearly didn’t know about her brother’s brief drug problem.
Strike forced a smile. “He used to have words with me every time he visited to make sure we weren’t dating or that I wasn’t looking through your window when you got changed.”
Strike shifted in his seat as he caught Liss and Bear’s flickering glances.
“You were too busy holding up signs telling me I smelt of dog food,” Millie replied with a half-smile, pushing her glasses against her nose.
Strike’s laugh echoed around the room. “It cheered you up.”
“You always knew how to make me laugh.”
“And you knew how to make me smile.” He held her stare. His pulse skittered. The pull she’d always had on him as a teenager still gripped him. “Making you laugh was my favourite thing in the world, Sunset.”
She gasped. He gave her the nickname the night of their first kiss. They’d watched the sunset as he told her he’d had feelings for her for years, but had been too shy to say anything and scared to ruin his friendship with his best friend.
“Sunset?” Liss asked.
“Shush, nosey madam,” Bear whispered. “They’re having a moment.”
Millie reached for her juice, breaking eye contact and busying herself. “No moment. We’re chatting like old acquaintances. Isn’t that right, Strike?” She emphasised his name.
He tucked his smile back where it belonged, in the past. “Yes, Millie, that’s right.” He immersed himself in the salty goodness of the bacon he gobbled, yet his skin continued to prickle under her covert stare.
Bear’s phone flicked with light. Strike checked his notifications. The rest of the team was parking. After breakfast, they’d discuss his plans, which included protecting Millie before saying goodbye to her forever again.
“I brought your memory box in. I wasn’t sure if you wanted it with you,” he said nonchalantly, not ready for the chatter to cease.
She worried her lip, making it even more rosy and kissable. “Memories can be a double-edged sword.”
The door banged.
Millie jumped. Her brown eyes were huge as she stared at him like he could save her. He wanted to run to her, to hold her. He manipulated his fidget tool aggressively.
“Mixie, it’s okay. It’s Stal, Nails, and Luke. You’re safe with me. I’ll never let anything happen to you, because you’re—”
“Where’s the food? I’m fucking starving.” Stal’s Irish accent sounded in the hallway, along with his heavy footsteps.
Strike stood as Bear busied himself with the food, and Liss greeted the men walking through the doorway. Millie stared at him, her eyes still wild, expectant.
He pursed his lips and focused on his food.
Thank fuck he hadn’t finished the sentence. Nothing good could come from the word “mine.”