Page 6 of The Mountain Man's Siren

He laughs but the eruption of noise sounds more like a bark. “No, it’s not.”

He crosses his legs at the ankles and stares into the fire. “Not long after I joined the military, I was recruited by a government agency. I’ve spent most of my adult life on solitary missions in remote locations. No contact with other human beings for months, fuckin’ years at times.”

“I bet it was really hard. I mean, I don’t have any friends or anything. But at least at school, I get to be around other people. I can hear the chatter, the sound of people doing normal, everyday things.”

A pang goes through me. I’d gone away to film school with this idea that I would be able to fit in and finally find my place in the world. But even there, I’ve struggled to belong.

He tilts his head, studying me. “Shit, I have trouble believing a girl as beautiful and bubbly as you doesn’t have her damn pick of friends.”

My cheeks warm at his words. Beautiful and bubbly. I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.

I debate telling him the truth then decide he’s been honest with me tonight by sharing his story. I can be brave and do thesame thing. “Not when you’re the sick girl. Other girls invite you out but when you’re always canceling at the last minute or you’re in the hospital while everyone else is out partying, you get left behind.”

It’s one of the harder parts of having a chronic illness. So many days, I feel like I’m missing out on my own life. In the moments I do feel well enough to do something fun, there’s no one to hang out with.

I force a smile I don’t feel. “Sorry. I know. There are babies born with congenital heart defects and kids that are battling cancer. Here I am bitching about my life when so many others have it worse than me.”

A nurse gave me that lecture when I was eight years old. It was time to toughen up, she told the scared little girl in the hospital room who just wanted her mom.

Owen takes my hand in his much bigger one. His touch is warm and gentle as he strokes his thumb along the back of my knuckles. “Fuck that kind of thinking. Their suffering doesn’t negate yours. It’s not a competition about who suffers more or worse. Suffering is still suffering and it fuckin’ hurts.”

“Thank you.” I sniff, grateful he said that.

Sometimes, the hardest part of having a chronic illness is that everyone expects you to be the strong one. You’re supposed to be better and wiser because you’ve experienced more.

You’re meant to be the happy patient, the inspiration that everyone else can look up to. The problem is that this role leaves you no space to simply be human, to have sad days and angry days and lonely days.

I try to fight a yawn and fail. My eyes are heavy from the day spent reading and my belly is full of good food. More than that, I feel at peace sitting here with Owen while he holds my hand.

“Let’s start over,” he says softly. “I’ll be a better host tomorrow.”

I snuggle deeper into the chair and close my eyes. “I don’t want you to be nice to me just because I’m sick. That doesn’t make me feel good.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he answers. I don’t have to open my eyes to see the sincerity on his face. I can hear it in his voice.

Before I can respond, he drops my hand and stands.

“Time for bed,” he says, scooping me up into his arms. He lifts me easily and the feeling of being weightless in his strong embrace is even more cozy than reading in front of the fire. I burrow into his chest and inhale his spicy, masculine scent. He smells like home.

He sets me gently in the bed, pulling the covers over my body. He hovers over me for a few long moments, like he doesn’t want to leave. His presence makes it easy for my tired body to find rest.

I’ve almost drifted to sleep when he reaches for a strand of my hair. He tucks it behind my ear.

“I like you,” he confesses so softly that I barely hear the words. I wait for him to say more, my heart pounding. But he doesn’t. He turns to leave the room and I already miss his big looming presence.

“Then why are you mean to me?” I can’t quite hide the hurt in my voice. I keep my eyes shut, afraid of the emotions I might see on his face. For someone who likes me, he sure has been hot and cold.

“Because falling for me would be the biggest fuckin’ mistake of your life,” he answers as he turns off the lights.

Owen

Fuck,this is not how things were supposed to go. I just meant to feed her dinner. I didn’t mean to sit there and tell her about my past or bond with her. She’s sunshine, beautiful and warm. But my soul is stained with blood and darkness.

There are sins I can never atone for. Even if they were done in the name of serving my country and protecting those at home, I’m still a damn monster. Truth is, I deserve the darkness that haunts me. I deserve the nightmares, the flashbacks, and the unrelenting loneliness.

I’ve earned every moment of my pain. But she hasn’t. She is sweetness made to suffer by this cruel world. She’s lonely and aching for companionship.

I’m not fuckin’ stupid enough to think I can find a permanent place in her heart. Still, maybe while she’s here, I can ease some of her pain. I can bandage her aching wings, remind her that she was meant to soar.

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