Chapter 5
Five
SILENCE FILLED THE SNOWY AIR as time evaporated—Deckard just letting her sit in it. Her parents would have pushed, but here Harper could just be the damaged mess she was. It was hurting Deck—that was clear in his blue eyes—but he held it inside.
He was a man of justice. Of making things right. Not knowing what he should do to help had to be wrestling hard inside him, but the space she needed won out over his hunger for action, and her appreciation swelled.
After a time, Deck cleared his throat. “I’m not going to ask anything, but I’m here if you decide you want to talk at some point.”
“I know.” She traced the natural wood grain on the rocker’s arm in the porch light. “I appreciate you not pushing.” She was safe with Deck, not just physically but mentally too. It’s why she’d come to him.
“But . . .” He arched his back, stretching. “I want you to know you’re safe here. No one will hurt you. I’ll protect you with my life.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, the words getting choked in her throat. Tears burned her eyes. She glanced forward so he wouldn’t see her cry.
“You’re one of us, and we’ll protect you just as fiercely as we do each other.
” His rocking chair creaked as he pushed it back.
She joined him—rocking back and forth, back and forth.
Who would have thought such a simple motion would soothe the demons screeching at her, surrounding her. Waiting for her to sleep.
Time continued to mist away like the snowfall that had finally ceased.
How long had they been sitting there? Deck must be freezing by now, but he looked .
. . content. Content to be with her? No.
Content to be outside, to be near the horses and his family.
She was just a friend, but one he’d protect.
Though he’d protect anyone in trouble. That was who he was.
Brave. Never thinking twice before he ran headlong into danger.
Unfortunately, as her time in captivity had taught her, she wasn’t courageous. Wasn’t brave. She cowered and was now broken beyond repair. And there was no one to repair her. Certainly not the God who’d left her. No. She was fractured—split into parts she couldn’t contain.
The door squeaked open, and she bolted out of her seat, spinning around to face the intruder.
Riley’s eyes widened, but she remained calm.
“Honey,” Deck said, standing. “It’s okay. It’s just Ri.”
Hot embarrassment flooded her, seeping into every corner of her being. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why . . .” She did know. Her body wasn’t her own. It reacted separately from her, and she couldn’t control it. It bolted at the smallest sound.
“No need to apologize,” Riley said, stepping out onto the porch with no jacket. “Your phone has been ringing a lot. I thought you might want to check it.”
“Thanks,” she said, taking the outstretched phone from Riley.
“Did I leave it in the kitchen?” It was blue, unlike her old pink one that had been left in the Syrian wilds, and she kept not recognizing it as hers to take, but she needed to keep it near.
Needed to be able to call for help if things went pear-shaped.
“Oh My Dear” by Tenth Avenue North trilled on her phone. She really needed to change her ringtone. It hit too close to home.
Swiping the answer button, she lifted the phone to her ear, willing it not to be her parents again. They kept asking, kept pushing. “Hello?”
“Harp?”
“Susan?” Her dear friend Taylor’s sister-in-law. Susan was like an aunt to her and Taylor, but they didn’t really chat on the phone. More often in person at Taylor and Nick’s events.
“Yeah, honey. It’s me.” Sorrow rippled through her voice.
Harper paced the porch, worry rearing its ugly head.
“I . . . I ran into your mom this morning and heard you were back in town.”
Part of her was, but a bigger part of her got left behind—abandoned in that war-torn village in Syria.
“Yeah. I’m here,” she finally said.
“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news, but I wanted you to know. I tried calling you when it happened but couldn’t get through,” Susan rambled on.
Harper swallowed. “When what happened?”
“I’m afraid . . .” Susan paused, a sob erupting over the line.
Harper tightened her grip on the phone. She ran a litany of scenarios through her mind, tension racking her body. She didn’t have the bandwidth to handle anything more. Please don’t let whatever it is be as serious as Susan’s voice sounds. “What’s wrong?”
“Taylor’s . . .” Susan emitted another sob. “Dead.”