Page 35 of The Wrecked One

“I don’t want you doing something that makes you uncomfortable,” he said decisively. “We’ll walk.” I opened my mouth, prepared to protest, but he gritted out, “Don’t argue with me. Now, go. I need you in front of me while we walk.”

“Still a stubborn ass, I see.” I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help it. Being a brat with him was easy. Oddly, it reminded me of happy times. He glared at me before rolling his eyes, too.

“Still a serious pain in mine, I see,” he grumbled, and I couldn’t believe it, but the moment my back was to him, a small smile made its way to my face. It was fleeting, but for the first time in months I felt like I was home again just by being in his presence.

We may have been in the woods filled with traps, and, apparently, IEDs, but I felt safe as we quietly walked.

I tossed a look back at him on occasion, ensuring he was real. That I hadn’t hallucinated the whole morning. He had the same expression on his face whenever our eyes met. Disbelief.

I’d pictured this moment so many times—it’d been the scene playing in my head to counteract the bad memories and flashbacks—but it’d never gone quite like this. Not with me nearly falling into a thirty-foot hole, that was for sure.

After a few more awkward minutes passed, he breached the silence with a curse. It’d been under his breath and probably accidental, but I stopped short to check on him.

He nearly slammed into me, clearly not expecting me to whip around. The bag was slung over his shoulder, and he was grimacing. There were only a few inches between us, and I peered down to see blood trickling from the side of his foot.

“I’m fine. The rocks out here aren’t so kind. Don’t worry.”

“This is why we should’ve taken the bike.” I shook my head, wanting to yell at him for being stubborn again, while at the same time, wanting to do the thing I’d struggled to do for months—hug him. He was willing to cut up his feet to spare me any possible discomfort. Maybe he hadn’t changed so much.

He forced a tight-lipped smile and lifted his chin, motioning for me to walk. “The cabin is up ahead. I’d like to get you inside so I can come up with a plan to get you back to where you belong and away from me.”

Annnnd there went that sweetness. Gone, baby, gone. “That anxious to get rid of me, huh?”

He leaned in a hair closer without quite invading my personal space. “You have no idea how badly I want—” He dropped his words, and watered down his heated stare with a sigh. “Just walk. Please.”

“Fine.” He was in pain, so I wouldn’t drag this out. My gaze landed on the knife wound scar at his side, and my stomach converted to a fist, pumping angrily at the memory. Or maybe that was my heart?

“Go. Please,” he rasped, reading my eyes. My sad thoughts.

I obeyed and continued following the pathway that was barely wide enough for my shoulders, let alone his broad ones.

Up ahead, I spotted a clearing. Within minutes, we left the wooded area and approached a one-story gray cabin that blended in with the environment. It appeared to jump straight out of Little House on the Prairie, and had seen better days. Like maybe a hundred years ago. Okay, that was an exaggeration, it wasn’t quite that small or decrepit looking.

When the front door opened, and a dog came barreling out, Oliver yelled, “Scrappy, halt.”

The golden retriever ignored his command, running circles around me instead, his tail whacking my legs in excitement. I reached down and patted his head. At least I can still do this. Touch a dog.

“He doesn’t listen very well,” Oliver said, coming up next to me. With his free hand, he gestured toward the cabin. “Dad, meet Mya. Mya, this is Sam.”

Dad? I averted my attention to the front door. A man stood there, casually leaning against the interior frame with a mug in hand. His hair was blondish brown, no real hints of gray. Clean-shaven, unlike Oliver, but the resemblance was there for sure. I’m so confused.

“Glad to see my property didn’t kill you.” He tsked. “You’re like my son. He thought it’d be fun to sneak up on me instead of?—”

“Not exactly a doorbell here.” Oliver walked ahead of me, still holding my bag and limping a bit, which I had to assume was a result of his feet getting roughed up because of me. “Can you show her in? Maybe start another pot of coffee? I need a minute.”

His dad casually looked at Oliver’s feet, then moved away from the door to let him in. The dog trailed in after Oliver, leaving me alone with a man I’d thought walked out on Oliver when he was a teenager.

“Mya Vanzetti,” was all Sam said.

When searching for Oliver these last four months, I’d looked into his dad’s background, too. But there’d been no known address for him. Of course, his father’s home was the last place in the world I’d expected Oliver would think to go. Maybe I didn’t know Oliver as well as I thought. “Yes, that’s me,” I finally spoke up.

“You’re one brave woman to come to my neck of the woods alone. Not the best idea, considering you’re in danger. A lot of bad people are looking for you.” He walked out onto the narrow porch. There was no cute bench or swing. Just enough room for two people to stand uncomfortably close to one another. So, I’d stay down below for now.

“I’ve been looking for your son.” That was the best I could come up with as this man’s brown eyes bore into me with unhidden curiosity.

“Seems as though you found him.” He let go of a gruff breath, his chest falling heavily with it. “I better up my security measures in case you were followed, or someone else finds us, too.” He went inside but kept the door open. As I stood and tried to determine what the hell to do next, he peeked out at me and asked, “Well, you coming in, or what?”

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