Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
August 17 th
5:31 A.M.
Connor hadn't slept a wink.
It seemed the people in the village were protective of their schoolteacher and nobody he’d asked had allowed him to sleep on their property, not even in a barn. The weather was warm, and he’d found a reasonably comfortable spot close to the tiny house where Becca lived with her friend Isabella. It wasn't sleeping outdoors that had prevented him from sleeping, in his years as a SEAL and working for Prey he’d slept in plenty worse places.
Knowing that Becca was so close and yet he couldn’t go to her was the cause.
For years, he’d dreamed of her, ached for her, beaten himself up for what he’d done, wished like he’d never wished before that he could go back and redo that night. The distance between them had always hurt him, but there had been nothing he could do about it.
Now she was so close.
It made it so much worse.
If he didn't know that going to her was only going to make things worse, he would be there, by her side, doing anything she required of him to earn back her heart.
Which was all he’d ever wanted.
One moment where stress had gotten the best of him had ruined everything. Not that he was making excuses for his behavior. Just because he’d been holding all his emotions about Becca’s assault and trauma inside for four months and they’d suddenly exploded out when he’d been unable to hold them in a second longer, didn't make it okay.
Nothing made it okay to hurt the people you love.
And he hadn't just hurt Becca.
He’d destroyed something in her.
Something he was desperate to put back together. If she let him. And he was pretty sure she had no intention of giving him that chance.
As he watched, she left her small house, her head down and arms wrapped around her stomach. She looked so small and fragile, but he knew looks could be deceiving. His Becca had always had a big heart, sometimes too big, a dead baby bird, a worm trapped on the concrete in the sun, another child getting in trouble in class, and so many more hurt her heart. She included everyone, she was the kid who welcomed in the new child in class, who stood up for those being bullied, who was a friend to everyone.
Watching her curl in on herself after her assault had been painful.
But he’d also seen her strength, her determination to keep moving on. While she might look small and fragile, his moonlight was so much tougher than she looked. She was a warrior, she fought with everything she had, and he was in awe of her.
Connor was determined to convince her of that.
So, he headed off after her. All he needed was a chance, he had to believe that, because if he gave up hope, he’d have to go back home and accept that Becca would never be part of his life again.
It was only as he followed her into the Cambodian jungle that he admitted to himself that he’d spent the last twelve years with the secret hope that one day things would work out the way they were always supposed to.
Now he knew the chances of that were close to zero.
“Nuh-uh.”
Just as he went to pass by Becca’s house, a woman stepped out and blocked his path. She was a tiny little thing with a mess of wild curls and a glare that was sharp enough to slice through glass. This had to be Isabella Baker, Becca’s best friend. He vaguely remembered the woman from college, and she’d been one of the few friends Becca hadn't completely managed to shove out of her life, even though she’d tried back in those early days when her trauma was too raw.
“You need to leave her alone, Connor Charleston,” Isabella snapped at him. While she was well under a foot shorter than him and had to crane her head up to meet his gaze, she looked like she was ready and willing to rip him to shreds with her bare hands if he hurt her friend.
Even though she prevented him from going after Becca, he couldn’t be more glad that his moonlight had someone so fierce in her corner.
“I just want to talk to her,” he told Isabella.
“Your talking made her have nightmares,” Isabella shot back, hands planted on her hips, glower set on her face. “I don’t remember the last time she had bad dreams. She’s doing well, she’s happy, and she’s moved on from what happened. Then you come back, and a couple of hours later she’s having nightmares and crying. It’s you. You brought it all back up. She doesn’t deserve that. She’s fought through hell to get where she is now, and I won't allow you to bring all that bad stuff up again.”
Hearing that his presence was doing more harm than good, cut through his chest like a knife. In those first days and weeks, only his presence held her together. That wasn't him being arrogant or playing up his own importance, that was what Becca used to tell him.
“That’s not why I came,” he told Isabella.
“To be perfectly frank with you, I don’t care why you came, Connor. I just want you gone. I don’t want my best friend to hurt again. I don’t want her to regress to waking up shaking and soaked in sweat from nightmares, to crying all the time, to jumping at every little noise. To live ruled by fear. She’s moved on, Connor, I think it’s time you do the same.”
Isabella’s words weighed heavily upon him.
It wasn't just that Becca didn't want to see him, didn't want to talk to him, didn't want anything to do with him. His presence was actually making things worse. Making her life harder. Bringing back all the things she’d been through.
Hanging his head, he had to fight against his instincts that screamed to go to Becca, fix this, make it right, earn back her trust and heart, or at least earn back her friendship.
But he couldn’t do that.
Not if he was hurting her.
He’d done that enough.
“Fine,” he said softly. “I’ll go. But I need to say goodbye to her. Tell her one more time that I'm sorry.”
When he looked up, Isabella’s frown had faded and she seemed to be debating with herself. “Okay. You can go say goodbye. I don’t think that could make things worse.”
“I didn't come to make things worse,” he murmured as he started walking in the direction Becca had gone.
“I believe that,” Isabella called after him. “You're not a bad guy, Connor, but you let her down. I get it. It was a lot on top of what had already been a lot to handle. But she needed you, and you weren't there for her. I don’t think I can forgive you for that.”
“Won't ever forgive myself for that,” he told her, then kept walking.
Expecting to find that Becca had gone to the schoolhouse, instead he found her standing beneath a tall tree, staring off into space. She was leaning back against it, idly tapping the line on her leg that he knew was where the top of her prosthetic was, and she didn't seem to notice his approach.
That was the old Becca he remembered from before, when she used to get lost in thought, living in her imagination and seeing the world through a colorful lens most of them didn't have access to. The Becca from after her assault noticed every little thing happening around her, hyper-aware of her surroundings, of what people were close, of gauging whether or not they were a threat.
Since the last thing he wanted to do was scare her, Connor made some noise as he approached, so she’d hear him and not get caught by surprise. At the sounds, her head snapped in his direction, and when she saw it was him, her brow furrowed.
“It’s okay,” he said, holding up his hands, palms out. “I got the message. I'm leaving, but before I go, I need to tell you one last time how sorry I am. I should have been there for you, Becca. I shouldn’t have panicked, shouldn’t have freaked out. You needed me, and I wasn't there for you, I won't forgive myself for that. Not ever, no matter how many years go by. Hurting you is my biggest regret, and I wish more than anything that I could make it right. But I'm respecting your wishes and leaving you alone.”
“You're going to leave?”
“Yeah. I came to make things right, but I'm making them worse. I won't do that to you, Becca. Besides, I don’t want Bella to beat me up,” he joked.
A tiny smile quirked up one side of her mouth. “She’s not your biggest fan that’s for sure.”
“I'm proud of you, Becca. What you’ve done, what you’ve built, how many people you're helping. I just wanted you to know.”
Her stance softened a little. “Thank you. I'm happy, Connor. Life didn't turn out the way I had always planned but I'm happy.”
While it hurt to know she could be happy without him when he could never be truly happy without her, Connor would never begrudge her that happiness. She deserved it. Deserved the entire world.
“I’m glad. I wish I’d handled things better, wish I’d never lost you, but I'm glad you're happy. I hope you get everything you want out of?—”
The unmistakable sound of gunfire erupted in the village, and Connor didn't hesitate, he threw himself at Becca, and took her down with him, rolling so his body took the brunt of the fall and then rolling again so she was beneath him as the shooting continued.
August 17 th
5:45 A.M.
It wasn't until Becca was pressed into the ground, a rock or stick or something digging painfully into the small of her back and Connor’s weight on top of her, crushing her to within an inch of her life, that it actually clicked.
Gunfire.
The loud rapping sound was actually someone shooting a gun.
Or multiple guns.
Here.
In her village.
Where she lived and worked.
Where she’d dedicated the last two years of her life to helping improve the lives of the people who lived there by giving them medical care and an education.
Now someone was ruining what was supposed to be a safe place.
She couldn’t just lie there while the people she cared about were possibly being killed. Everybody in this village had become a part of her family, and her best friend was out there somewhere. What would she do without Isabella's support? Her friend had been a rock for her all these years, and she needed Izzy.
Only when she began to struggle to try to dislodge Connor’s body so she could wriggle out from underneath it, he pressed down harder upon her.
Shockingly, it didn't instigate panic like someone lying on top of her usually would.
Probably because she knew that even though Connor had broken her heart, he would never physically hurt her. Never ever in a million—a billion—years use his superior size and strength to cause her pain and overpower her, making her do things she didn't want.
More than that, she actually felt safe having him with her.
Nothing would hurt her as long as Connor was there.
He wouldn't allow it.
That she believed even as she knew she would never trust him with her heart, that he would and had shredded to pieces.
But he would protect her from whoever was attacking her village. The problem was, who was out there protecting her people?
“Connor,” she hissed, managing to get her hands up between their bodies and planting them on his massive chest.
“Shh,” he urged. There was fear in the blue eyes that looked down at her when he slightly lifted his head.
No.
That was wrong.
It wasn't fear.
It was terror. The kind of terror she’d felt so many times since she was raped by a classmate and her entire world was tossed on its head.
“We have to do something,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice as quiet as she could, but she doubted anyone could hear her over the sound of the gunfire.
“We are doing something.”
“No, we’re not. We’re just lying here.” Didn't he work for Prey Security? Hadn't he been a Navy SEAL? Just because he’d come here to talk to her and not because of his job didn't mean he would have come unarmed, surely there was something he could do.
“We’re keeping you alive. That’s what we’re doing.”
“But what about everybody else? Who’s keeping them alive?”
Guilt and remorse filled his sky-blue eyes, and she knew it wasn't fair to put the weight of the couple of hundred people who lived in the village on his shoulders. “I can't save them all, Becca. Not on my own with only one weapon. If it were just a few assailants, or just a few people to save, then maybe, but not like this. I'm sorry.”
“H-how do you know there isn’t just one person sh-shooting?” she asked, hating that her voice trembled on a few words. Now was not the time to fall apart. She had to be strong, had to hold it together.
“Because I know what it sounds like when multiple weapons are firing simultaneously,” Connor replied.
She didn't even want to think about him knowing things like that.
While she’d always known Connor would follow in his father and grandfather’s footsteps and join the military no matter how many times he’d told her he wasn't going to enlist, she didn't like to think about him being in danger. Even now, over a decade after he’d shattered her fragile heart, she didn't like it.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered. How were they going to survive this was what she really wanted to ask. If several men were shooting up her village, sooner or later they would find her and Connor even if they stayed there and were quiet. Besides, it was cowardly to hide with the only skilled, armed man there while everyone else died. “What about Izzy? What about the children?”
He was torn, she could see he was.
The thing was, even though she had so much anger still inside her, all directed at this man, and even though he’d hurt her so badly, she believed him when he said he was sorry for what had happened. At heart, Connor was a good man, she knew that, she even got why he’d panicked and ran. If she’d had the luxury of running from her life, she would have bailed, too.
And maybe that was why she was so furious. He’d done what she’d wanted to do but you couldn’t run from yourself, no matter how badly you wanted to.
“I could … hide?” she suggested. “Then you could go.”
“Becca—”
“Please, Connor.” While it irked her to ask this man for anything, much less beg, she wasn't above doing it for this. For the best friend who had stood by her no matter what, and for all those sweet little children who looked up to her. She had to do something to help them. There was no way to know who was attacking the village or why, but depending on their motives, they could slaughter everyone they found, old and young alike.
There were plenty of rumors that a leftover pocket of Khmer Rouge, now using a new name, lived and operated in the area. They trafficked anything they could get their hands on, drugs, weapons, and people. How could she just lie there and not try to do anything to protect the people she cared about?
“All right. I’ll see what I can do, but I can't make you any promises. Do you understand that, Becca? Not because I don’t want to, but because I can't. I'm outmanned and outgunned, and even if you hate me for it my priority is you and your safety.”
“Okay,” she agreed. Part of her wanted to argue with him about it, but in the end he was right. He was only one man and said he only had one weapon. No way could he take on a potential gang alone, and she didn't want him to get himself killed.
“You're going to head that way,” he said, gesturing to their right. “You're going to keep walking—walking, not running, so you aren't as obvious—and you're not going to stop until I find you.”
“How will you find me?”
“Trust me, I will.”
Without waiting for a response, Connor stood, grabbing her hands and pulling her up with him. When he gave her a gentle nudge in the direction he’d told her to go she hesitated.
That moment of hesitation was the only reason she saw it.
Movement.
Two men, dressed in black, with assault rifles in their arms, heading right toward them.
Even though his back was to them she knew Connor sensed their presence.
“Go,” he ordered as he spun in a fluid motion, bending down and coming up with a knife in his hand, which he threw at the two men. The blade of it buried itself in the neck of the closest man and he fell to the ground.
Connor had killed him.
By throwing a knife.
How did you even learn to do that?
And did she really want to know?
Actually part of her did. How empowering must it feel to be able to protect yourself like that? Of course, Connor wasn't infallible, there was every chance he could be shot and killed, or killed any number of other ways, but he could do things she could only dream about.
“Becca, go. Now,” Connor ordered as he dodged low, and charged toward the remaining man aiming his weapon right at them.
Part of her that wanted to argue, she couldn’t go running off and leave him to fend for himself. The other part knew staying was being a hindrance. If she stayed, Connor’s attention would be split between her, himself, and trying to save the village.
She had to go.
Only she couldn’t seem to go slow like Connor had told her to.
Becca took off in a mad run. Infinitely glad that she’d gone back to her hut the earlier this morning to swap out her crutches for her prosthetic.
She was making way too much noise.
Should slow down.
Should do as Connor instructed.
But she couldn’t.
Couldn’t stop running.
Now that she was moving away from the village any bravado she’d possessed seemed to disappear.
Leaving her just plain terrified.
A feeling she loathed.
It was only when two men appeared before her, weapons in their hands, slimy grins on their faces, that she slid to a stop.