Page 34 of The Wrecked One

My fingers brushed along my collarbone as I studied him, eyes glued to the details of his body as my stomach fluttered. For the first time in four months I felt something other than pain, sadness, and anger. Was this desire? I’d thought that part of me was dead and gone.

I hadn’t cringed or recoiled when he’d been on top of me. Did this mean I was capable of coming back to life? Being me again?

Oliver was on the bike now, the backpack dangling from his right hand as he waited for me.

Oh, I have to get on, too.

I stepped closer, my hands starting to tremble. This would be the true test. Could I willingly wrap my arms around him and hold on? Or would I freak out and go into fight-or-flight mode?

My nervous system had been stuck on high alert ever since the day we’d been taken. Trying to move past it, I’d started seeing Doctor Riley Logan, my therapist, biweekly. Riley was married to a Marine, a friend of Julia’s who became a friend of mine as well over the years. I had to go to someone I trusted for help. We met over Zoom since I wasn’t allowed out in public without protection. Of course, I was breaking that rule now in a big way.

Riley said I had PTSD, and she’d been teaching me to not only anticipate triggers but learn how to try and prepare for them. I’d been failing, and I didn’t deal so well with failure, personally or professionally.

I still had a hard time understanding why I was so skittish around men in the first place. Oliver had saved me from the horrible fate of being raped. And back in my twenties, I’d saved myself, so . . .

But my brain seemed to believe my nightmares instead of reality, and every so often, caught in the alternate reality only nightmares could fabricate, Oliver couldn’t save me, and he’d been forced to watch the unimaginable happen.

I supposed that was why I was struggling to be touched by a man. But some nagging part of me kept clawing into the past, searching for a different answer as to what triggered me. I kept coming up empty, though.

“What is it?” He angled his head, his worried eyes locking with mine, pulling me back to the fact I was actually there. With him. He was real. All six feet of him.

Oliver had always been able to read me well, but I wasn’t the same woman he’d left behind. And it was pretty clear he wasn’t the same man. We’d changed since our time apart. But how could we not after what happened in Thailand?

I wanted to yell at him for leaving as much as I wanted to cry for whatever pain had made him take off and not come back in the first place.

I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt as I contemplated what reason or excuse I’d give him as to why I was hesitant to get on the bike.

“Mya.” My name punched through the air, concern etched between his brows as he continued to observe me.

Standing there, frozen and unsure of what to do, worried I was about to slip into a state of panic, I thought back to what Riley had taught me.

I set a hand on my chest and another on my stomach. I took in a slow breath through my nose, counting backward from four. I held my breath for seven seconds, then exhaled through my mouth, my abdominal muscles contracting.

Oliver quietly waited for me as if recognizing something was wrong, and he was probably torn on how to respond—come to me or leave me alone.

“I, um, ever since that day, I struggle with touching or being touched by a man.” His eyes went wide at my revelation, and I quickly clarified, “Not touched like that. I haven’t let anyone or wanted anyone to, well, you know, do that.”

Oh jeez. It’s not like he’d think I’d had sex with someone else since he took off, right? So, I wasn’t sure why it was important I reiterated that fact, but I’d found myself awkwardly doing it anyway.

“Even when my dad tried to hug me, it was hard.”

My attention slowly moved to his bare feet resting on the dirt by the bike before heading up and over his khaki-covered legs and on to his face. His brows were pulled tight over his haunted, dark eyes. He let go of the bag and threw his leg around to get off the bike. “We’ll walk,” he said firmly, not pushing me to talk, and for that, I was grateful. “We have to stay on this exact trail and not veer off even a step to get to the cabin, okay?”

No, I can do this. I’m strong. It’s just a bike ride. I came all the way here alone, so I can do this. “I didn’t freak out when your body was on top of mine,” I shared. That’s huge. “So, maybe I can put my arms around you on the bike.”

He cupped his bearded chin, eyes thinning. I thought he’d planned to say something, but instead, he shook his head, picked up the backpack and used it to gesture for me to walk ahead of him.

I stared at his feet again, knowing it’d be hell to walk barefoot in the woods. And yet, he didn’t seem to care. He must’ve left in a rush to get to me if he’d come for me like that.

“No, we’ll take the bike.” I nodded toward it, determined for him to listen to me. “I don’t want you walking like that. I’ll be fine.”

“No,” he shot back without hesitation.

“I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.” Again.

“And I won’t give you a choice.” He left off “again,” too, but I still heard it. Loud and clear.

His shoulders dropped, some of his anger and tension going with it. Well, I could only hope. He was confusing me with his hot-and-cold attitude since the moment he’d saved me.

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