Page 75 of Finding Fate

Fate

Today

My cheeks burn fromsmiling so long at my reflection. The person staring back at me is me. The real me.

Fingering a pink lock, I relish the soft texture the dye gives it. It's perfect. He's perfect.

The books, the hair—I want it all to mean something, but I know it doesn't. As I saw downstairs with Mya, Nash is just an overprotective guy who wants to know I'm safe and help me get acclimated, nothing more.

Ugh.

Closing my eyes, I bury my face in my hands. Less than twenty-four hours with him and my resolve to stay away has blurred. This is a bad idea. For his sake, I need to leave before his life is once again in danger because of me. But I don't want to leave. Really, really don't want to leave. Here I'm safe and comfortable enough to figure out who I am again. And who better to do that with than the guy who helped me hold onto the core parts of me that would’ve faded away without him?

When I tiptoe back down the stairs, everything is quiet. Not until I'm halfway down the stairs do I find him lying on the couch, eyes closed. Too bad he put a shirt on earlier. I didn't mind the view.

As I approach the couch, he doesn’t stir, which is a little concerning since he's my current protection.

Wait a second.

"Why am I here?" I ask, confusion and a bit of accusation in my tone. "What's going on that you haven't told me?"

Those brown eyes flutter open and lock with mine. "What's going on that you haven't told me?" he retorts.

"You first."

"Not a chance."

"Yesterday everyone was on high alert, and even now you're carrying that thing around." I motion to the gun attached to his hip. "I know why I'm not safe, but why do you think it?"

"Your hair looks good. Just like I pictured it. Suits you. Did you know that’s where I got Poppy from? Mya loved Trolls and the second I saw your pink hair in the pictures for the mission – bam your nickname was born. The guys gave me hell for it."

"Don't change the subject, dammit," I shout, slamming my fists against the back of the couch, which makes him smile. "Tell me what's going on."

"Slow down there, Poppy."

"My name isn't Poppy, or Pops," I shout again. The building anger and release feels amazing. "Stop it with the nickname. And while you’re at it, stop being all nice and acting like...." Not knowing how to end the thought, I turn and stomp to the kitchen.

"Acting like what?" he says at my back.

"Why am I here?" I whisper. "I want to leave."

"No you don't," he counters, so close his breath brushes past my ear.

"You don’t know anything about me," I hiss and whip around to face him. I shove my palms against his chest, but he doesn't move an inch. "Just because I told you things while we were...."

"Held captive and you were scared shitless every second of every day?"

"Yeah, that. Just because—"

"Stop. Say it. Say you were held captive, against your will. That you were forced to do and see shit no one should ever see."

"No," I shout and take a step closer, putting us inches apart. "I brought that on myself. I went on my own. You were the captive, not me. I’m not a victim. I got what I expected—"

"Bullshit!" he yells so loud that I stumble back, but he grips my shoulders, holding me in place. "It was nothing like you expected. You were a fucking prisoner, say it."

"No." I shove against his chest again, but this time he stumbles back from the unexpected attack.

"That night they dragged you out of there, the night everything changed. What happened?"

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