Page 46 of The Wrecked One

Oliver opened his eyes at my saucy remark, and his chest inflated with a heavy breath. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the woods.

Sam had to call Scrappy back when he tried to run off with him.

Don’t blame you, boy. I hate watching him leave, too.

My eyes connected with Sam’s a moment later, and I jerked an awkward thumb over my shoulder toward the cabin. “I’ll be inside.” When he said nothing, just returned his attention to the bike, I went ahead into the cabin, shoving away the hope that he’d ask me to hang out for a bit. Have some heart-to-heart chat about his son.

With the overnight flight and time difference screwing with me, I really did want to rest and shut my eyes, but Oliver was right. I’d be up all night and would pay for that lack of sleep tomorrow, and I had plans tomorrow. Big ones. Like winning Oliver back over somehow.

I brought my backpack, an old Jansport I’d had forever, into his bedroom and closed the door behind me, deciding to take up his offer to use his bed. Not to sleep, but to read.

Griffin’s wife, Savanna, had sent me a paperback advance reader copy of her book releasing next month. It was a sweet gesture, but I hadn’t been sure I’d be up for reading anytime soon—nevermind a love story, no less. But I didn’t do well with idle time, so I’d take whatever distraction I could get. I just hoped it didn’t hurt my heart to read about romance knowing my life was more of a thriller instead.

First things first. I set the book—which featured a handsome dark-haired model on the cover (sadly, with a shirt)—on the dresser, and reached for Oliver’s cologne. The smell still lingered in the room from whenever he’d sprayed it before, but I wanted to inhale more of his signature scent, indulge and surround myself in it.

While spritzing it into the air, I took in the nearly bare room. A double-bed mattress and box spring on a simple metal frame, covered in a plain red comforter, was against one wall. A small empty nightstand in desperate need of a lamp was next to it, the only other piece of furniture aside from the dresser.

I swapped the cologne for the book and went to the bed. I didn’t want to accidentally pass out, so I propped up the two pillows behind my back to read. With no headboard behind me, I hoped they didn’t slide down the wall to the floor.

Removing my shoes, I settled in and tucked my knees to my chest, staring at the cover for a moment. Savanna’s name wasn’t on the book. It wasn’t safe for her to reveal her identity. With Griffin once being part of Delta Force and now with Falcon, he had to keep her safe from all potential threats, not just The Collective.

“Brittney Sa—” I forgot how Savanna said to pronounce the non-phonetic name she’d chosen. And I was a little bummed no one would know it was really her, but I was still so proud of her, though. She wasn’t letting our current hell of being hunted by The Collective stop her from following her dreams of becoming an author.

Griffin was her biggest fan, and he was always gushing about her. Seeing a big, growly alpha talk like that made my heart sing. So, when I opened the book and saw the dedication, I wasn’t surprised.

To my husband, for being the inspiration for the kind of heroes I write about. You’re my rock. The father to our incredible son. My everything. I love you.

A sigh slipped free at that, and I smoothed my finger along the lines, hoping one day I’d be able to publish something myself again. Not fiction, but an article exposing the truth about The Collective, and maybe Oliver could even have a photograph or two with it. We had made a great team back when we . . .

I let go of those thoughts. Dropped them right there. Leaving them in the past where they belonged. It hurt too much to think about. And I was supposed to be getting lost to fiction instead of lost in my own head, a much more dangerous place to be.

Doing my best to shake free the negative thoughts, I waited for the fleet of goose bumps to leave my arms, then flipped the page for the prologue.

Ironically, Griffin’s mother was a famous romance author. She’d been one of Savanna’s favorites before she’d even met Griffin and had her own second-chance love story herself. Despite Savanna telling her husband not to let his mom pull any strings and help promote her book when it released, I knew he’d be doing it anyway. Family helped each other. Well, typically.

Falcon was one big family, too, and we were all hurting over losing Oliver. It was up to me to bring him home where he belonged.

Okay, I can do this. I can read something other than research about The Collective. Which was all I’d done obsessively for months. Well, that and try to find Oliver.

My parents now knew about the mess I was in, and they’d spent the last four months actually agreeing on something for once—trying to encourage me to move in with them. That, or check myself into rehab.

How’d Mom put it? “You have an addiction to getting yourself into trouble. I thought working with Mason and his brother was bad, but this new team of yours is much more dangerous.”

Besides an epic eye roll, my only comeback was weak, but no less truthful. “I don’t need rehab, Mom. I need to take these assholes down and find Oliver.”

Fortunately, Dad had shoved a peace-offering cocktail into her hand before either of us really got ramped up into a full-blown argument. They’d split up because my “picture-perfect family” was far from perfect and my dad couldn’t stop screwing women half his age. But despite my parents’ issues, they were now a united front in trying to get me to quit Falcon, worried I’d die if I didn’t.

Thinking about my parents was already a romance-reading mood killer, so I did my best to shake free my thoughts and read.

The story was super well written, and I wound up lost in the book, devouring each page. I also found myself doing something I’d never done before while reading. I began picturing myself as the female lead, Lorelei, and Oliver as Chase, the main male character. Although, I couldn’t quite imagine Oliver in a suit, telling me to get on my hands and knees and crawl to him like this guy was doing, but . . .

Had I done that in real life before? Yes, but because I’d wanted to. I’d been a particular brat one day last November BT (before Thailand), and after locking the office door, I’d gone to my knees and quietly made my way over to Oliver. I smiled at the memory of him dropping the papers he’d been holding, staring at me, slack-jawed in shock.

I’d made good use of that smart mouth of mine in a different way, and I was pretty sure he’d rather enjoyed my not-an-apology-apology.

I blinked, realizing I was lost to real-life thoughts and had no clue what I’d just read the last few pages, so I set aside the book and headed to Ireland in my head. To my memories there with Oliver the night we first made love. Each hot moment unfurled in my mind and kept going until Oliver saying my name jerked me back to the room, startling me.

My eyes flashed open, shocked to see him standing in the doorway. How was he already back?

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