Page 99 of Fallen Stars

My heart wrenches in my chest as the air evaporates in my lungs.

Every instinct in me says to close the distance between us and comfort him, to wrap him in my arms and tell him he is safe. Every fiber in my makeup says to inch closer and soothe his concerns with calm reassurances and tender touches.

But I can’t.

Levi isn’t scared. He is downright petrifiedof me.

The last thing I want to do is retreat. But it’s not about what I want right now.

Levi needs to not feel threatened, endangered or powerless—three things he has inevitably experienced during his captivity. He needs a sense of safety and strength. He needs the opportunity to dig deep and unearth his fortitude.

Dropping to my hands and knees on the floor, I reluctantly push myself away from him. Less than a foot—I’m unwilling to add any more distance.

“Levi,” I whisper as I dip my chin in an attempt to meet his gaze. “It’s Ollie.”

Eyes on my hands, his cracked lips move over and over, but I still can’t hear what he says.

Before we left for the island, law enforcement prepped us for possible scenarios we’d encounter. The biggest situation being how the victims may behave as we happen upon them. Some have been missing more than six months. Others, a few weeks. Unaware of their living conditions or treatment since their disappearance, we had no clue what version of hell we were walking into.

Levi is one of the most courageous and headstrong people I know. But after weeks or months in hell, even the most unyielding of minds can be broken and trampled.

I test the boundary between us and scoot forward an inch or two.

He doesn’t flinch and shrink away.

Progress.

“Levi,” I murmur, keeping my tone passive and low. With immeasurable restraint, I lift my hand, flip it palm-side up, and extend it toward him. “It’s Ollie,” I repeat. “I’m here to take you home.”

“In the shadows, we hide,” he mutters on a loop as he studies my hand.

My heart soars at his words. My words.My lyrics.

Thrilled as I am, I school my features and do my damnedest to remain impassive. The last thing I want to do is spook him.

Wanting to connect with him and earn his dismantled trust, I take a deep breath and whisper a different line from the song.

“Forever mine… until every star falls from the sky.”

Lifeless blue eyes flit to mine and narrow. Incredulous, he studies my face for any sign of familiarity. Slowly, he relaxes hislimbs and tilts his head. Inching closer but maintaining some distance.

I don’t move, don’t speak, don’t offer anything further. I resist every urge to lunge forward, wrap him in my arms, and press my lips to his.

Levi needs to make the next move. He needs the control that was stolen from him.

“Ollie?”

The backs of my eyes burn and my nose stings as my name leaves his lips. Saliva pools in my mouth as emotion clogs my throat.

Rolling my lips between my teeth, I slowly nod. “Yeah.” I blink a few times. “It’s me.”

His brows and lips twitch as his chin wobbles. “Ollie?” he repeats as though he’s unconvinced. “You’re really here?”

My vision blurs as a slow, gentle smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. The first tear rolls down my cheek as my hand extended between us trembles. “I’m really here, Levi.”

I fight the inclination to call him by the term of endearment I gifted him months ago. Damn, do I fight it.

Not knowing what state any of the victims would be in, we were coached to only speak with them simplistically. We were told to use their name repeatedly—if we knew it—so they would feel a sense of identity. Though it sounded off-putting, we were told to speak with them in a calm, even, plain voice with basic words.

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