Natalie looked away. When she thought about all the times she’d beencorrectedby Damien for not doing something right...which had usually involved his fists or worse. He’d demanded that she be perfect. Always perfect. In her life. In her art.
She never was.
“Whoa, hey, what’s going on here?” He reached over and cupped her cheeks, wiping tears with his thumbs. “There’s no crying in SERE training.”
She tried to smile. “I couldn’t get it. It wasn’t right.”
“Are you kidding? You’ve now built a fire that’s so big we’re going to have to crack a window.”
“But...”
“Natalie, you did it. That’s what matters. And hell, even if you hadn’t been able to do it, you could’ve tried again tomorrow.”
There had never beentry again tomorrowswith Damien. Only pain.
The urge to run now was strong. She needed to get away even from Ren, who’d never been anything but kind. Knowledge that she didn’t have anywhere to go had panic lacing her veins.
“I—I need to go to the bathroom.”
She flung herself by him and through the door that led to the attached outhouse. She had to pull herself together.
Ren was right. Perfection was not required here. Who cared if she couldn’t get the fire started? Ren certainly hadn’t. And more importantly, shehadgotten it started.
She’d had such a peace this morning at the knowledge that Damien couldn’t find her here. It wouldn’t last forever; they’d have to leave soon—if not tomorrow, then in a few days, tops. She’d probably never have another place where she’d feel so secure again.
She wouldn’t let the ghost of Damien past ruin her present.
Since she was there she used the bathroom, then walked back into the cabin. She expected to find Ren with eyes full of questions she wasn’t sure she was going to know how to answer.
Instead, at first she didn’t see him at all. Then he straightened himself from where he’d obviously been putting something on the ground near the wall at the other end of the room, by the front door.
He held his hands out in front of him in a gesture of peace. “Look, I wasn’t snooping, but this morning I was looking through your backpack, trying to see if there was anything inthere that could be useful, that you might have missed in the inventory you did yesterday.”
She nodded. There wasn’t anything she was hiding in the bag. “I don’t really have anything.”
“You have these.” He motioned for her to come forward. After a few steps she could see what he’d laid out on the floor.
Her paints.
“I saw them this morning, but I didn’t know if they were yours. Then a few minutes ago you mentioned working at an art studio so then I thought...”
She couldn’t stop staring at them.
“Are they not yours?” he finally asked.
“No, they are. It’s just—it’s just... It’s been a long time since I’ve used them. I’ve been carrying them around, but never used them.”
“How about now?”
Her eyes flew to his face. “Now? Where? I don’t have any canvas.”
“I thought maybe a section of that door could be your canvas. You could give the owners of this cabin a nice surprise. And if they don’t like it, it’ll take them ten minutes to sand it down.”
“But...”
He smiled, handing her a brush. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”
She took the brush. It was time to take back part of what had been stolen from her.
