Page 3 of Strength of the Mountain
Get a serious job, Camilla. Wear clothes more fitting for an adult, Camilla. Fit into our little box of what we find acceptable, Camilla.
Okay, so I added that last one in there, but the subtext is loud and clear; I’m not the daughter they wanted.
I get caught up in the crafts and play time of the evening, loving that I get to spend a fraction of my time investing in these kiddos. Most of them come from impoverished and/or broken households, but it amazes me how resilient each child is. Some days there are more tears and temper tantrums than others, but every single week spent volunteering is so fulfilling. I feel honored to be a stable presence in these kids’ lives, even if they only see me once a week.
Before long, my two-hour Kids Korner time is already up, and I’m helping with coats and hats as the kids bundle up and leave with their parents. I finish cleaning up the room and packing the craft supplies and games into my rolling suitcase, satisfied at another successful Thursday evening at Hope Mountain Community Center.
I may not have had the rough childhood so many of the children I watch do, but I still used this place as an escape growing up. While both of my parents made enough money to feed and clothe me, they weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy. The people I met here always accepted me just as I was, even when my hair wasn’t perfectly brushed and I didn’t get straight A’s on all of my tests. They didn’t care if I was chubby and fidgety; they were just happy to see me and find out what I’d been up to. Ihope I provide that kind of safe place for each of the kids I see on a weekly basis.
The cool evening air kisses my cheeks and nips at my nose, but I don’t mind. I love everything about autumn, from the crunching of leaves underfoot to the damp, earthy smell of rain as it mists around me. The view from the little mountain town nestled in the Rockies isn’t too shabby either.
As I make my way to my car, something shifts in the atmosphere. It’s almost imperceptible, but I feel it all the same. I don’t feel threatened; it’s more like I’m aware of every single thing around me.
And then I see him. The man from last week, whose stern blue eyes and midnight black hair followed me to sleep every single night since the last time our gazes locked.
He steps out from behind the corner of the building, hands up as if to show he’s not a threat. I have no reason to trust him, but everything in me relaxes in his presence.
“I’m not a creep,” he states. The man winces at his introduction, which endears me to him even more. “I-I just mean… It’s not weird that I was waiting for you.” He curses under his breath and wipes a hand down his face in frustration. “I wanted to make sure you got to your car okay,” the confusing and flustered man tries again. “There have been some break-ins around town and shady people doing shady shit, and I don’t like the idea of you walking out here in the dark on your own.”
I nod my head at his explanation, but I’m stunned into silence. He’s watching out for me? Protecting me? Or, he could be cornering me and angling to steal my car or attack me. That’s probably what someone smarter and more worldly than me would think.
However, looking at him now, how his shoulders are drooped and his head is tipped down, I don’t think he means me any harm. Though he has muscles for days and tattoos crawlingup one arm, he’s not intimidating. Sexy as hell, yes, but not a danger. If anything, I want to give him a hug and tell him it’s okay to take up space and exist. I don’t know why I feel so strongly that he needs to hear those words, but I feel it in my bones.
The mystery man must take my silence as skepticism. “I was a soldier,” he blurts out. “And then a bodyguard. So, it’s not weird for me to want to… look out for you. Er, for everyone.”
“Thank you for your service,” I tell him sincerely. I wonder if he goes to the veteran’s support group on Thursdays. My heart hurts for the trauma he’s undoubtedly been through and the sacrifices he’s made. “Who are you now?” I ask before I can think any better of it. He furrows his brow, those blue eyes narrowing in question. “You said you were a soldier, and then a bodyguard. But, who are you now?”
The man blinks a few times, his mouth opening and then closing before his jaw tenses. I can tell I crossed a line, and I immediately start backtracking. God, why can’t I just have a normal conversation? Kids ask intrusive questions all the time, but I’m an adult and I should know better.
“Sorry, that was rude and none of my business,” I apologize. “I’m Cami,” I introduce myself, holding out my hand. My handsome stranger stares at it for a moment, and I worry he’s going to leave me hanging.
When his large, calloused hand wraps around mine, warmth travels up my arm and spreads throughout my chest and body. He doesn’t shake my hand; he simply holds it, his piercing blue eyes capturing mine as he gently caresses my knuckles with the pad of his thumb.
“Oh,” I whisper, unable to form any thoughts at the moment. He makes me feel both safe and on edge, my entire body thrumming in anticipation of… I’m not even sure. I just know I’ve never had this reaction to another soul in my whole life.
“Hayden,” he grunts before withdrawing his hand and shoving it into his pocket. “Go on, I’ll make sure you get to your car safely.” Hayden nods toward my car, and it should probably concern me that he already knows which one is mine. This must not be the first time he’s observed me walking in the parking lot alone at night.
With anyone else, I’d grab my pepper spray and let them know that I don’t appreciate stalkers. But Hayden… I don’t sense any malice or ill intent. In fact, he seems to be holding himself back, covering up something. Maybe his past or his pain, but something tells me it’s deeper than that. It’s like he doesn’t trust himself around me, though I don’t know why.
“Thank you, Hayden,” I whisper before turning around and walking the rest of the way to my car. When I look at him over my shoulder, he’s staring at me in disbelief. Is it so hard to believe I’d thank him for watching out for me? It cracks my heart in two and makes me more determined to get to know him. I think Hayden could use a friend.
3
HAYDEN
Who are you now?
That question has been playing on a loop in my brain all damn week, and I still don’t have an answer. How did she do that? How did Cami peer right down into the depths of my darkened soul and speak directly to my deepest insecurity?
“We have just enough time for one more person to share about their week,” Allen says, drawing my attention back to the present moment. He hasn’t tried to get me to talk since a few weeks ago, when I almost had a panic attack. I appreciate that he’s respecting my boundaries, but I think… I think I might be ready to open up, just a little bit..
“I, uh, I’ll share,” I say, my voice betraying my lack of confidence.
I avoid eye contact with the other men and women in the group, instead focusing my attention on a flyer hanging on the back wall. It makes it easier somehow, and right now, I’ll take all the help I can get.
“I guess I’m having an identity crisis,” I start, huffing out a breath and shaking my head. “My only goal in life was to be in the Army. When that was no longer a viable option becauseof…” I stumble over my words, not wanting to share everything. Not on this first day, at least. “Well, when I was medically discharged, I found something else to occupy my time. I worked security detail and did anything and everything to avoid coming back home. I was a bouncer, a bodyguard, a home security specialist, you name it. But now…” I shrug and rub the back of my neck, looking down at my feet. “Now, I don’t know who I am,” I admit shamefully. “And the fucked up part is, I’m scared to find out. What if I’m nothing except the monster the military made me? What if I have nothing left of my soul?”
My question hangs in the air, and I venture a look around the circle of fellow soldiers. Most faces are stoic and unreadable, but a few people are nodding.
