Chapter 8
Eight
Good job, Ivy. If you needed further proof from the Universe that you made the right call not writing romance, this was it. And now you’ve made the remainder of our confinement together the most awkward thing ever.
What was she supposed to do now? Ignore the six-thousand pound gorilla in the room? The one with the “Crash and Burn” t-shirt, who was pointing and laughing?
Pretend nothing for the win. She’d been captaining the U.S.S. Denial for months now, so she ought to do just fine at that.
By the time he got the fire going again—it seemed to take Harrison about fifty times longer this morning.
Because he was avoiding her? Nooo, why should she think that?
In that time, she’d made a mountain of French toast and improvised a pour over system for some coffee because hell if she was going to face him again without it.
For just a moment, she considered being really cowardly and petty and taking her breakfast up to the loft to eat alone.
But other than the bathroom, there were no real walls in the whole cabin, so what point would that serve other than highlighting the division between them?
Straightening her shoulders, she carried the platter of French toast to the table and set it for two.
He’d either eat or he wouldn’t. She wasn’t going to let this breakfast go to waste.
Sitting down with her coffee, Ivy forked a couple of slices onto her plate.
She could feel Harrison’s eyes on her from the other side of the room.
Irritation rose up to choke out the embarrassment, but she didn’t give it voice.
This was on her. She was the one who’d made it weird.
“For the record…” Ugh! If she was anything other than relaxed and normal, it would exacerbate this awkwardness between them, and it was already as big as the Statue of Liberty.
“Come eat while it’s hot.”
He crossed the room with far less noise than a man of his size ought to make. With no more fanfare, he dropped into the chair across from her, his gaze flickering to her face and back to the food.
“Looks good.”
“I made too much. But the leftovers should reheat okay in the oven later.”
He loaded his own plate and they ate, silence descending again.
Ivy kept her focus on the food and on the life-giving beverage she’d managed to brew.
Coffee—even weird, MacGuyver-brewed coffee—made everything better.
As the caffeine hit her system, she tried to set aside her discomfort to get a better read on him.
But she couldn’t quite manage anything longer than quick glances in his direction, all of which showed him eating with a single-minded focus that probably spoke more of his inclination to avoid the awkward than the superiority of her cooking.
She hated that their camaraderie had been ruined and wondered if she should just bring up the possibility of heading into town today as soon as conditions would allow.
“I had an idea about how to maybe fix your plot problem.”
Jerked from her thoughts, Ivy lifted her gaze to Harrision’s. “What?”
“You said they wanted a spinoff series with Michael, right?”
So they were going to talk about her books now? Okay, she’d take that olive branch. “Yeah.”
“But he’s not that interesting on his own. He’s too closed off. We know he’s been through some shit—all of them have—but he gives off this air of having dealt with all of his. That doesn’t make him compelling as a character we want to follow for several more books.”
“He’s boring.” Maybe she should’ve been offended by his assessment, but she couldn’t disagree with it.
“Not boring. Just not the obvious choice because we don’t see where his character arc would take him. We don’t see how he might change or what he needs to learn.”
Ivy put down her fork and wrapped both hands around the lingering warmth of her mug as her brain latched onto the problem.
“Yes. I’ve gone rounds with Michael, trying to figure out what the hell his goal is, what he’s motivated by, and getting nowhere.
Because he really doesn’t have one. Not like Sloan.
He’s not a team player. It was why he left. ”
The awkwardness faded as Harrison’s eyes snapped with interest. “Was it? Or was it because there was someone else on the team that reminded him of old wounds? Someone who’s been where he’s been, who went through the same kind of dark shit but hasn’t made it out.
Someone he doesn’t want to give enough of a damn about to peel back some of that armor and revisit his own pain in the name of helping her find her way. ”
“Her? You’re talking about Annika?”
He nodded. “I think Michael really left because he couldn’t handle being around her.
Because her shit—whatever it is—hit too close to home.
And he got through his by not letting himself care.
By hardening himself. She challenged that, just by being in the same space with him.
So what better way to introduce conflict than to put the two of them together on some long-term mission or case where they can’t escape each other because that’s the job? ”
Were they still just talking about her book? Ivy wasn’t sure. But she considered. “He needs a proper foil. The protagonists always do, but in the past I’ve always used the antagonist for that. It hadn’t occurred to me to use somebody considered one of the good guys.”
“Part of why your characters are so interesting is that they aren’t all good or all evil.
They’re complex. Annika is volatile. She’s entirely in control—until she’s not.
You’ve never gotten into the why of that, and as a reader I always wondered what her secret was.
She’s never said—or I guess you haven’t—but there was always that intimation that she’d done something that made her question whether she was one of the good guys.
That her real motivation for being on the team was to earn redemption for…
whatever that thing is she won’t tell anybody. ”
Ivy didn’t admit to him that Annika had kept her secret because she as the author didn’t know what it was. It hadn’t been relevant to the book she’d appeared in, so Ivy hadn’t delved any deeper. She wasn’t sure she should now.
But Harrison saw something in her character. He’d spoken of redemption, of Annika wondering whether she was one of the good guys. Was he projecting?
Ivy considered what she knew of him, both what he’d told her and what she’d surmised.
He’d been Special Forces, out of the military for a few years.
He’d said himself he’d come here to escape something and she was a welcome distraction.
She’d seen first-hand that he could still get lost in the past. He’d all but fallen all over himself to apologize when he thought he might have hurt or taken advantage of her in that state.
His streak of honor was wide and obvious, yet he wasn’t willing to acknowledge it.
He hadn’t wanted thanks or praise for her rescue, and clearly he didn’t see himself as a hero.
She suspected he’d lost someone on his team or under his command.
Maybe both. Didn’t matter whether it was bad intel or an accident or just the realities of battle.
He was the kind who’d blame himself either way.
That would be a helluva thing to carry and a logical reason for why he’d cut himself off.
He didn’t trust himself to be responsible for anyone else.
And maybe, just maybe, his failure to respond to her had more to do with not believing he deserved anything good in his life than with general horror over her forward behavior.
So how could she help him see he was wrong?
“The secret Annika’s been guarding so fiercely, that would have to come out over the course of the series, is about how her last squad died.
She’s carrying all this survivor’s guilt, and it’s slowly killing her.
What she’d have to learn as the series progressed, is that shit happens.
Especially in war. There was nothing she could have done, and it wasn’t her fault. ”
“How will she figure that out?” Harrison’s voice cracked a little, and he seemed surprised he’d even asked the question.
That alone let her know she was on the right track in her assessment, so she chose her next words with care, trying to figure out what it was he needed to hear.
“I don’t know yet. But maybe the new team would help.
Maybe Michael would help. Because, you’re right, he’s dealt with his issues.
He’d be a good, prospective wayfinder for her, if she’d open herself up to listen to whatever he’ll share.
But being off on her own, closing herself off from life, hasn’t helped.
The alternative is that she looks at the opportunities she’s presented with and actively chooses life, chooses to engage, chooses to feel. ”
His throat worked and those dark eyes were fixed on hers with an expression she couldn’t quite read. “Even if feeling is what makes her reckless?”
Ivy wondered again if he was still talking about the book.
“Feeling isn’t what makes her reckless. It’s not letting herself feel.
Because closing herself off gives all of it a chance to fester rather than bleed free.
It’s that build-up that drives her outbursts.
” Even as she said it, she knew it was true.
Of Annika, and probably of Harrison, too.
“Some hurts can be packed away and forgotten about, and they’ll fade with time.
And some become caged animals that do more damage, become more feral, the longer they’re ignored.
She’ll have to eventually bring it out into the light and work with it to work through it to have any chance at being whole again. ”
Her brain sputtered with the first sparks of creativity she’d felt in ages, and she began to see how it could be. Annika would challenge Michael, and he, in turn, would settle her. They’d be more together than alone…