Chapter 16
Anastasia
“Zane!” I squeal my brother’s name and sprint through baggage claim to reach him. It’s been nearly a year since he was home, and now he’ll be coming home for good. Hopefully.
He holds out his arms and catches me as I jump. “Hey, little sister,” he says with a laugh.
“I’ve missed you!”
“I’ve missed you, too,” he replies with a soft laugh.
I pull away and grip his strong shoulders so I can study him. He looks okay, aside from some bruises on his face and a bandage on his forehead. It sickens me to see it, but these injuries don’t matter because he’s alive.
Alive and standing here.
Then I turn to the man who just walked over toward us. “Weston Hayes, is that a smile on your face?”
“For you, absolutely.” He opens his arms, and I step into his waiting embrace. My brother’s best friend, who has always been a second big brother to me. We’ve been through darkness together, bonding us forever.
I hug him tightly, then release. “Did you guys check bags?”
“No, but I have some other guys I want you to meet.” Zane glances behind him and waves.
A man who is even taller than Weston’s impressive six-foot-five crosses over toward us.
His eyes, a dark brown, are kind, but his expression is serious.
A thick, short beard covers the lower half of his face, and his dark hair has been cut short. “This is Ryker Granger.”
I reach a hand out, and Ryker takes it. “It’s great to meet you, Ryker.”
“You, too, Anastasia. Zane has told us a lot about you.”
“Hopefully only good things,” I reply with a wink.
He chuckles, his entire face lighting up when he smiles. “Of course. I don’t think he had a bad thing to say about you.”
As I’m about to respond and call him on that particular fallacy, I note a fourth man approaching. This one’s hair is dark as well, but a bit longer on top of his head than Ryker’s. His gaze is friendly, and there’s a smile on his face.
“This is Garrison Holt,” Zane introduces.
“It’s great to meet you,” Garrison says. “Cap’s been talking about his family non-stop since we met.”
I laugh, appreciating the kindness. “Well, we’ve heard all about you guys, too. The team of Navy SEALs who have followed my brother into countless war zones.” I glance around, realizing that one is missing. “But, wait, wasn’t there another one of you?”
“Are we not enough?” Ryker jokes. “Ouch.”
My cheeks heat. After all, there’s a whole lot of handsome muscle standing around me. I may be on a dating hiatus, but I’m not blind. And certainly not immune.
Zane waves at someone behind me. “There’s Sawyer now.”
I turn, and the rest of the airport disappears in the blink of an eye as I come face-to-face with Sawyer. His caramel eyes captivate me, and I catch myself staring for far longer than I should. His face is clean-shaven, his hair nearly black.
“Hey,” I say. “Anastasia.” I jut out my hand, not sure what else I should do.
Oh, boy, what is this feeling?
“Sawyer.” He takes my hand, and awareness shoots through me. The warmth of his firm grip is something I could easily get used to. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, and heat surges through my body.
Dating hiatus, Anastasia, I remind myself. No matter how attractive this guy is, he’s off-limits.
Besides, the last thing I need is to fall for one of my brother’s friends. What a mistake that could be.
With the memory fresh in my mind, I open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling. It’s still dark, with the only light coming in through my partially open door. Sleep has eluded me once more, and what little sleep I did get was riddled with a mixture of dreams and nightmares.
The memory of when I first met the team was a nice break from the latter.
“Ugh,” a muttered voice reaches me, so I get out of bed and head down the hall. The light over the stove is on, and Sawyer is standing just in front of it, his shirt partially over his head.
I’ll never tire of the sight of his muscled torso.
He turns, not seeing me, and I get a view of his back.
There are small scars right in the center of his back, and I try to remember if I’ve ever seen them before. Surely I’ve seen his back before, right? Except, I would have noticed those. As he struggles with his shirt, I move in a bit closer.
The cluster of small, round scars becoming sickeningly clear. “Sawyer.”
He turns toward me, eyes wide. “This is awkward.”
“Your back.”
His grin fades, and he struggles to get the shirt over his injured arm, but he hisses in pain. “Which ones?”
I move up behind him and gently touch the tips of my fingers to them. “What are these?”
He stills beneath my touch. “Uh. Cigarette burns. Courtesy of foster dad number five.”
“Sawyer.” Horror shoves the attraction I felt aside. As I try to count them, the knowledge of what was done to him sears me, shattering my heart. “That’s terrible.”
He turns toward me. “I survived.”
“Sawyer.” My eyes fill, and Sawyer takes my unbroken hand in his, then presses it to his chest. There is a scattering of scars on the front of his body, too. Bullet holes and a handful of smaller injuries I’d really rather not focus too intently on.
“Baby, I’m fine.”
“How old were you?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Eight.”
“Eight?” I exclaim. “Are you serious? Did he go to jail?” Surely they threw the entire book of justice at him. Surely he’s rotting away in some jail somewhere.
He shrugs. “Last I knew, no.”
“Are you serious?”
“Baby, it’s okay.”
“I just—” I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart.
How much more did he suffer at their hands?
What else did they do to this sweet boy?
“I’m sorry.” I shove the feelings aside.
If he’s not focusing on it, then the last thing I want to do is drag that pain out of whatever box he stashed it in.
Something I know quite a bit about. So, I clear my throat and force a smile.
“So were you trying to do some late-night laundry?”
“I was eating a snack, as one does, and spilled some salsa on my shirt. It wouldn’t have been an issue, except I wasn’t paying attention and moved weird.” He gestures to his half-clothed torso, the salsa stain bright against the light blue fabric. “And, here we are.”
Smiling, despite the ache still in my belly, I grip the fabric and slowly help him guide his injured arm out.
“I promise, I have been undressing and dressing myself successfully for quite some time now,” he says.
I smile and set his shirt aside so I can put some stain remover on it. “Sure you have. I’ll treat this stain and get it ready for the wash. It will be good as new.” After applying the stain remover, I pop it into the wash and delay it for an hour; that way, the remover will have time to set in.
When I turn around, Sawyer is leaning against the counter, watching me. “It really is okay, Anastasia.”
“It’s not,” I reply. “But I understand not wanting to relive it. Still, I wish I could go back and help you. I wish I could protect you from all that pain.”
His gaze never leaves my face. “What did I do to deserve you?”
“You’ve just been you.” Unable to resist, I reach out and touch his chest, right over the scar that nearly stole him from me seven months ago. He’d been shot while trying to protect Katelyn, and they’d taken him right alongside her.
So many scars.
So much pain.
When he looks in the mirror, does he remember? Does he relive those moments? I know that I certainly do whenever I catch sight of my scars in the mirror. Those reminders of the worst night of my life.
I drop my hand and start to pull away, but Sawyer reaches out and grips my wrist. He pulls me in closer and wraps his good arm around me while I lean into him. I rest my cheek against his chest.
The warmth of his body soothes some of the pain of knowing all he went through.
“You struggling to sleep, too?”
“Yeah. Did you ever finish that snack?” I ask.
He shakes his head, but doesn’t verbally respond.
Instead, he stands there, staring at me as I pull away and move through the kitchen, prepping a fruit tray from the grocery store run my mom dropped off yesterday.
Since I’m practically on house arrest until this guy is caught, she’s been doing all of the shopping.
“Anastasia.”
“I’m fine, Sawyer, honest. You caught me off guard, that’s all. Standing in my kitchen, all shirtless muscle on display.” And those scars.
Sawyer laughs softly and pushes off the counter. “That’s not it, but I’ll let it slide…this time.” He kisses my cheek, then heads into the living room and reaches into his bag. He withdraws an olive-green t-shirt and holds it out. “Take pity on me?”
“What was all that about dressing yourself?”
“I like it better when you do it.” His grin fades just slightly. “Besides, my shoulder kinda feels like someone blew me up a week ago.”
I laugh and cross over to take the shirt from him. The scent of his pine body wash fills my lungs, but I honestly kind of miss the slight motor oil scent he used to carry on him. It was faint, a reminder of how he spent his day.
And now it’s gone.
Working slowly, I guide the sleeve over his injured arm, then stretch up while he ducks down so I can put the neck over his head. Then, I hold the shirt steady so he can slip his good arm into the hole.
“Better?”
“Much. Thanks.”
“No problem.” With a smile, I head back into the kitchen to retrieve the fruit tray.
Then, I return to the living room where Sawyer is already sitting on the couch.
I take a seat beside him and fold my legs up underneath me before popping a grape into my mouth and offering him the tray. “Hey, do you remember the day we met?”
“At the airport?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He considers. “You were wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that said, ‘God’s In Control. Just ask Jonah,’” he replies.
“Oh, and your hair was longer then, and you’d braided it in long pig tails.
” Sawyer takes a strawberry from the tray and takes a bite while I stare up at him, trying to recall what he’d been wearing.
Even with the dream, I can’t quite recall.