Page 55 of The Wrecked One

Gwen: As for the team, no sign of the Sorens in Zurich yet. Carter may wind up buying the hotel for nothing.

Gwen: Although, it’d be kind of cool if we had our own hotel in Europe, right?

Gwen: Kidding. Kind of

Gwen: How are YOU? How’d you ? Was there still ?

Leave it to Gwen to make me smile and distract me from my heavy thoughts with her messages and emojis. Yeah, there’s fireworks all right.

Me: Thank you. I’m not ready to press Oliver on talking to anyone yet (just me), but hopefully he’ll reach out eventually.

Me: Falcon owning The Sapphire? I mean . . . maybe?

Me: Yesterday was rocky. Last night was rough. (Didn’t sleep at all.) This morning has me feeling a bit hopeful, though. And fireworks? You could say that.

She didn’t need to know about Oliver’s nightmares, or the fact he was training to go hand-to-hand with Hugo Soren in some deathmatch fighting ring, either. I also skipped over the Mason conversation. That still stung, and I didn’t want to repeat what Oliver had said to me.

At the door creaking open, I set the phone on my lap, focused on the towel snug around his hips before I took in the scar at his side.

Stabbed. Because of me.

“News from the team?” Why was he remaining fixed in the doorway wearing only that towel and a mischievous look on his face?

“They’re still at the hotel, hoping for the Sorens to show.” I really didn’t want to kill any potential progress we may have made by talking about Hugo. “Gwen let Julia know you’re safe and we’re together.”

His gaze immediately flicked to the dresser, his thoughts undoubtedly darting to the dog tags, just as mine had.

“My dad’s why,” he said, almost defensively, as he finally entered the room. “He’s why I took off Tucker’s tags.” He opened the dresser drawer and removed the chain, looping it over his neck. “He’s gone today, though.” Facing me, sporting a grimace, he added, “He blames himself for Tucker’s death. Thinks if he’d been around, maybe Tucker wouldn’t have . . .”

Ohh. I ignored the sounds of a text coming through and set aside the phone to stand. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Hands to his hips, he tilted his head, eyes on the floor instead of where I wanted them to be—on me. “I should get dressed if we want to head out soon.”

“Right. Okay.” I picked up my phone from his bed along with the hoodie. “Okay if I pack us some food?”

Still avoiding eye contact, he answered with a touch of hesitation. “Sure, that’d be great.”

I nodded, despite the fact he wasn’t looking at me, then left him alone, closing the door behind me. I checked my last message en route to the living room.

Gwen: Everything will be okay. It has to be. You’ve got this. Keep me posted.

Me: Will do. Thank you. (For everything.)

I powered off the phone and tossed it and the hoodie on the couch, then went into the kitchen and busied myself with raiding the fridge and cabinets for food.

I packed as much meat and cheese onto Oliver’s sandwich as possible, hoping food would help subdue any lingering grouchiness.

With everything prepared, I tossed our brunch into a reusable linen shopping bag. When I turned around, my breath hitched in surprise.

Oliver was hanging out in the doorway, casually watching me. He had on dark denim jeans, black Nikes, and a black tee, with a backward ball cap hiding his unruly hair. He looked like he’d jumped straight out of Savanna’s book, mimicking how she’d described her main male lead in the last scene I’d read.

He was squinting even though there was no window behind me. No light pouring in around me. “We either need to walk the mile to the truck, or take the bike.”

“Your dad fixed it?” I asked as he stepped inside the kitchen and took the bag from me. The little brush of our hands reminded me of Thailand, how we’d stolen small moments like that together whenever we’d been in public.

“Yeah, just a few screws loose.” He shrugged and tossed out, “I can relate.”

I’d spent months dodging human touch, and now I had to fight like hell not to reach for this man at every turn.

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