Page 39 of Somewhere You Belong

“Fuck,” I grumble as my eyes snap open and I stare up at the ceiling, my heart beating erratically from the dream that I haven’t had in months. It always pops up when I least expect it, but I’ve heard that’s par for the course after serving in a war for years, and something my therapist has helpedme through as well.

With a groan, I roll out of bed and brace my forearms on my knees, closing my eyes but still seeing the woman’s face staring back at me, life draining from her eyes—Willow’s eyes.

That same feeling filters through my veins, feeling the need to save this woman despite knowing it’s a lost cause, holding me captive as my body remains frozen in place.

But saving a different woman than the mother who haunts my dreams?

That hasn’t happened before.

It must be because I can’t get her off my mind. Her smart mouth, her fierceness, herbody.

I’m a thirty-four-year-old man, so I’m not a virgin—let’s be honest about that. But between my time in the service and coming home to build a business, the last thing on my mind has been pursuing a woman, or a relationship of any kind. I dated in high school, and casually hooked up with women while in the service—but none of them ever captivated me.

Not like Willow has.

And Willow isn’t justanywoman—she’s the woman who owns the house that I want, a woman that is so far from the type I see around my small hometown every day that it’s fucking with my head.

But maybe that’s the draw?

I see pain in her eyes, the same pain I fight to hide in the moments when memories and loss threaten to overtake me.

I see determination and independence, which is so damn sexy I find my thoughts drifting to what she tastes like while kissing her senselessly just to shut her up.

But like I told her, I also see someone who is lost, searching for something—and what that is, I’m not entirely sure yet.

What bothers me, though, is that I fucking care—because deep down I know I’m still a little lost too.

I want to know what she’s searching for, and I want to help her.

“Damn it.” Lunging from the bed, I make peace with the fact that I won’t be getting any more sleep tonight, glancing at my alarm clock that reads three in the morning. Sounds about right. That’s usually the time when my brain overtakes my body’s ability to shut off, and since I can’t usually fall back asleep, I accept the fact that my nightly rest is over.

I look in the mirror above my dresser, focusing on the scar below my ribs where that bullet hit me, running my fingers over the warped skin, wondering if the internal pain will ever decrease as much as the physical has.

Scars can serve as reminders on the outside.

But the internal ones no one can see?

I wonder if those ever heal, or we just learn to deal with them.

Lord knows I have plenty of those too.

Putting on a pair of running shorts and a zip-up jacket, I lace up my shoes and then head outside for a run to clear my mind and tamp down the adrenaline running through me.

Even though it’s still dark outside, I’ve never worried about running here alone with nothing but a few streetlights and the moon illuminating the dark sky. Like I told Willow, there are perks to living in a small town, and this is one of them for me.

Willow.

I wonder if she’s awake, if our interactions are running through her mind as much as they are for me. I’ve caught her staring at me more than once since she came back into town, so I’m fairly certain that this attraction I feel isn’t one-sided. But withher, there’s no telling.

Her fiery spirit is addictive. She has me yearning to see what she’ll say next. But even throughout our conversation yesterday, I could tell that she uses her snark as a defense mechanism. And maybe I can see that because I do the same thing.

After I kill four miles beneath my sneakers, I return to the bar just as the sun is cresting over the horizon on the water, lighting up the sky in soft yellows and oranges, making the water appear more turquoise at this time of day.

And I hate at that moment that I’m wondering if Willow is watching the sunrise too—sitting in the chair that I built for her, rocking with a cup of coffee in her hands, absorbing any sort of peace that the sight before me is offering, hoping she finds some too.

***

“Mom?” I softly shut the door behind me, balancing the cups of coffee I picked up on the way over here.

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