Page 15 of Entwined Hearts

I lean back against the headrest, sensing him watching me.

“Sorry, I can see he means a lot to you.”

I bite back the tears brimming inside me. “It’s just hard. Jake’s my best friend.”

“Some friend,” Colby says, his eyebrows arching. “You should have seen his face after you came back from your trip down memory lane.”

I cringe.

Colby’s voice hardens. “That’s not friendship.”

“You’re right. But he’s not normally like that. I think he’s stressed.”

“You don’t have to defend him, Anya.”

We drive in silence for a while, the streetlights flashing by my open window. Marisa has said the same thing. That Jake is selfish, self-absorbed, and he only loves me when it’s convenient. But they don’t know about how he was there for me during our capture, how he kept me going when I was so scared that I couldn’t walk.

“He’s the only one who knows what happened in Morocco.” I pause as the memory of the first night we camped with our captors revisits my mind.

“I’m no shrink or anything, but you might consider changing that.”

“What, tell people?” A shudder passes through me.

He shrugs. “If it’s one thing I know, keeping it inside won’t make it go away.”

It’s not that I haven’t thought about this. Jake encouraged me not to dwell on it, though. He said it was better to fill myself up with the activities I enjoy—like climbing—and that taking on new projects would help me forget what happened.

I shift toward the window, letting the breeze cool my forehead. “Maybe.”

He turns onto my street. “Well, if you ever want someone to listen, I’m here.”

A cascade of memories flashes through my mind, and I feel my heart pump faster. “I wasn’t…assaulted,” I say in a rush.

Colby winces, but his eyes overflow with compassion.

My face heats with embarrassment.Wow, Anya, what a conversation starter.“Sorry, I just…that’s what everyone wants to ask but doesn’t.” I look away. “I’ve wanted to say it, so people know, so they can stop worrying if I’m like…damaged for life.” I’m afraid I’ll be unable to stop chattering, so I force myself to gulp a breath.

Colby coasts to a stop in my driveway, then parks behind my car. Jake’s van is gone. That he could pick up his life so quickly hits me like a punch to my throat.

“I’m glad they didn’t hurt you like that,” Colby says, turning off the engine.

I sigh, but it doesn’t help ease the ache overtaking me.

“Did they ever catch them?” Colby asks. “The men who did that to you guys?”

I shake my head. “I’m not sure the police even believed us.”

“Wow, that’s shitty.”

I relax against the corner of the cab. Outside the window, cricket music sounds from the yard somewhere.

“They should pay for what they did.”

I shake my head, pulling at a stray thread on the bottom of my cutoff shorts. My bracelet flashes in the glow from the streetlight behind us. Should I keep wearing it? Part of me wants to rip it off and cram it into the nearest storm gutter. The other part remembers the story of how Jake picked it out for me. And how he didn’t say we’d be apart forever. There’s still the possibility that after time alone, he’ll want me back. Maybe if I can learn to get over Morocco.

“So, when we were outside, and I…” I grimace. Just talking about what happened is hard, and I spend a disturbing moment wondering if I’ll ever get over it. “You were so calm.” I glance over. “Why?”

“I know someone who’s battled PTSD.”

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