Page 27 of Mountain Hero

So I give him a grateful smile and say, “Okay. Thank you. A shower and bed sounds great.”

At least, in theory, they did.

The shower was fine, though more challenging than I anticipated. I kept bumping my forehead while trying to wash my hair or inadvertently letting the shower spray hit it. And the heat was nice at first, but then it made me feel a bit dizzy. But at least I was clean and Enzo even found some moisturizer and conditioner for me, explaining they were left over from the last time his mom visited.

Going to sleep, though?

So far, it’s been a massive fail.

Even though I watched Enzo lock all the doors and windows, saw the collection of framed photos of him with his Green Beret team, and logically, I know I’m safe here, I still can’t fall asleep.

Even though I’m in one of the second-floor bedrooms, door locked from the inside, with no possible way for Thomas to get to me, it’s still not enough.

Tonight, I’m not sure if anything could be.

I can’t close my eyes for more than a few seconds before panicking, convinced I’m going to open them to find Thomas looming over me. Or worse yet, I’ll realize I’m back at his house and this escape was nothing more than an unfulfilled dream.

My head still hurts and I should take something for it; I’ve gotten as far as opening the pill bottle before I think what if Thomas breaks in and I don’t hear him?

It was one thing, sitting in the kitchen with Enzo. Or walking around the house with him. Even the hospital and the motel were more tolerable when he was there with me.

But sitting in this unfamiliar bedroom with only my overactive imagination for company…

It’s not great.

I’ve been in here for over an hour and I’m no closer to sleep than when I first got into bed. Actually, I think I’m more stressed out now, since dinner in the kitchen lulled me into a sense of security that’s gradually fading.

Maybe I can find something to watch instead. There’s a big TV in the living room and Enzo made sure to show me where all the remotes were and he even said, “I’m subscribed to a lot of the streaming services—Netflix, Hulu, Max, Prime—so there should be plenty of things to choose from. Not just true crime and police shows.”

The more I think about it, the better of an idea it sounds. I can go down to the living room, turn on a bunch of lights, find a comedy to watch, or maybe a completely unrealistic rom-com where the girl transforms from ugly to beautiful just by taking off her glasses.

Maybe the comforting drone of the TV will help me finally doze off. Or if nothing else, it’ll be something to distract me.

So I pull on a sweatshirt over my sleep shorts and shirt—I really need to thank Officer Nelson again for bringing me some of my clothes—and tiptoe out of my bedroom and into the hallway.

I thought I’d be nervous walking around in the dark, but as I get closer to the living room, I realize Enzo thoughtfully left little lights on all around the house. At least, I’m guessing he did it for me, though I supposed he could be afraid of the dark.

Twenty years in the Army, most of it in Special Forces… He could be suffering from PTSD. The dark could bring back terrible memories for him.

And just like earlier, when I thought about who Enzo might have lost, my concern shifts from me to him.

I don’t like the idea of Enzo being scared. Suffering. And a big, tough guy like him, Special Forces, so outwardly strong; he’d feel like he had to hide it.

It makes me wonder if he talks to his old teammates about stuff like that. Or did he share those things with his uncle, and now the person he talked to about his struggles is gone. Does he talk to his mom, who he mentioned now lives in North Carolina with her new husband, or does he not want to tell her things that would make her worry?

It’s unexpected, this protectiveness I’m feeling. Especially considering I haven’t known Enzo that long.

By the time I reach the living room, I’m wrapped up in thoughts of Enzo and what might have happened to him in the Army and my troubles have finally been shuttled to the side. I’m actually distracted enough to not notice the TV is already on, albeit with the volume down low, and I let out a squeak of fright as a rumbly voice asks, “Couldn’t sleep?”

I clap my hand to my chest—I’m not sure what that actually does, but it’s instinctive—and spin around to find Enzo reclining on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table.

Before I can respond, he drops his feet to the floor and says apologetically, “Sorry, Winter. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s okay.” I blow out a slow breath, trying to persuade my racing pulse to slow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“You’re not.” He flashes me a wry smile. “I couldn’t sleep. And I wasn’t really doing anything. Just staring at crap on my phone and watching a movie I’ve seen a dozen times.”

I glance at the screen and immediately identify the movie he’s watching. “Spaceballs?”

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