As soon as I’m out of her line of sight, I touch my fingers to my lips. I’m no saint. I’ve had my share of one-night stands. Even paid for an escort or two when I was young and stupid and deployed overseas. Serious relationships aren’t my thing.
But with her? I’m starting to want something more. Something I can’t have. Leaning against the counter, I will my dick to calm the fuck down. Hope has only been here for twenty-four hours, and while I’ve managed to chain my demons so far, how long until they break free and Hope sees who I truly am?
If there’s a God, she’ll be gone before that happens.
And you’ll be alone. Again.
For the first time in three years, the idea of a solitary existence with only Murphy for a companion fills me with something other than relief.
Get out of your own head. Hope needs food, and so do you.
“Steak and potatoes okay?” I ask as I pull out the cast iron pan, then peer back around the corner. “Don’t have a lot of variety this time of year. Unless you want bacon and eggs again.”
“I can eat anything.” Frowning, she wrinkles her nose. “Except tofu. I don’t ever want to see another piece of tofu again. In any form.”
After I set a pot of water to boil, I start seasoning the steaks and scrubbing the potatoes. “No tofu here. I think Old Man Parker would laugh me out of his store if I asked him to order me some of that shit.”
Hope pushes to her feet and makes her way into the kitchen.
“Thought I told you to say put?”
The look she shoots me is nothing short of indignation. “You didn’t tell me to do anything. Just said, ‘this is a bad idea,’ and walked away.”
Well, shit. “You need to rest.”
“I need to feel like a human being.” Cradling her left arm with her right, she leans against one of the exposed wooden beams at the entrance to the kitchen. “Why do you live all the way out here?”
“Better for everyone.” At her huff, I turn my attention to the stove, hoping that’ll put an end to this line of questioning, but she doesn’t back down and clears her throat. Defiant Hope is back. I flick my gaze to hers, finding her watching me closely. “Too much noise in the city.”
“Noise. And that made you come all the way out here? You couldn’t have split the difference and moved to the suburbs? You’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“If I weren’t, you’d be at the bottom of the ravine.” It’s the wrong thing to say by a thousand miles, and Hope’s shoulders hike up to her ears. “Fuck. I’m sorry. This is why I’m better out here. I don’t do small talk. Or niceties. I’m an asshole. One hundred percent. And you should go back to the couch.”
Way to lean in.
I don’t expect her to straighten. Or take two steps closer as I add the salt and potatoes to the boiling water. “You’re a smart guy, Wyatt. Your bookshelf is full of nonfiction and classics—along with the oddest collection of science fiction, thriller, and fantasy novels I’ve ever seen—and they’re not for show. All the spines are broken. You can’t tell me you don’t know how to make conversation. And I don’t believe for a hot minute that you’re anywhere near as much of an asshole as you think you are.”
“I know how to talk to people.” My voice takes on a hint of exasperation, and some of my demons start clamoring to be released. “SEALs don’t just know how to fight. We’re trained to blend in. We need to be able to operate on foreign soil without raising any eyebrows. We spend as much time in the classroom as we do in the water. So yeah. I’m smart. Smart enough to know I’m too fucked in the head to be around people on the regular. That’s why I live way out here. Because if I didn’t, I’d go off on my neighbors for slamming their door one too many times or shooting off fireworks on the Fourth of July. Or worse. I’d spend half my nights huddled in a closet because it’s the only place I’m certain no one’s going to sneak up behind me.”
My outburst has her stepping back, horror and sadness welling in her eyes.
“Go sit down,” I snap. “It’ll be another fifteen minutes until the food’s ready, and I’m not going to spend the whole of it explaining myself to you.”
Watching her slink away is harder than all the work I did today. Harder than anything I’ve done in months. Maybe years. And when she eases herself back down onto the couch and wraps her good arm around Murphy, tears glisten on her cheeks.
But it’s her whispered, “I’m sorry,” that has me wanting to punch a hole in the wall—even though it’s solid wood. It was barely loud enough for me to hear, and the way her back shakes as she clings to my dog is enough to destroy me.
I can’t be…human. Can’t be around people. No matter how much I want to change, I’ll never be anything more than a broken recluse who’s better off alone.
6
Hope
Murphy doesn’t leave my side until I stop crying. As soon as I let go and sit up straighter, he pads into the kitchen to join Wyatt. Alone—despite the six-foot-four self-proclaimed asshole cooking me dinner twenty feet away—I stare at the flames flickering in the stove until my eyes unfocus.
Why didn’t I listen? Just mind my own business and let him have his secrets?
Because you needed someone to talk to. Because he saved your life. Because you’re wearing his pants. His shirt. His robe.
