by Robin Huber
“Until I remember.”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“What?”
“I know you saw things...you saw something when you found me. You must know what happened, or at least have a good idea. Just tell me, so I’ll know. I need to know.”
“Makayla, I was only in that bunker for five minutes. There’s no way I could tell you exactly what happened. You’re the only one who can know that.”
“I might never remember what happened. And I don’t want to know every detail. I just need to know what you saw. Please.”
I know that she needs to know. It’s the only way she can begin to deal with it. But I don’t want to be the one who puts those images in her head. What if it makes it worse, or what if she hates me for telling her? “Makayla, I think you should just wait to remember on your own.”
She reaches for my hand—surprising me—and pulls me onto the bed beside her, unflinching and desperate. “Please, Kellan. I’m asking you to help me. Help me remember,” she begs.
I swallow hard and nod. “Okay.” I look up at her guarded eyes and take a deep breath, then I tell her what I saw—no assumptions, just facts. “When I entered the bunker I heard struggling, so I followed the cries down a long, dark tunnel. It was hot and it reeked of incense. I was alone, but Grant wasn’t far behind me. Adam was outside—he was the lookout. We killed several men who were outside guarding the bunker, but I got one of them to talk first. He said Quintero was inside and that they’d been ordered not to disturb him. It meant he was alone without guards.”
“Alone...with me,” she says distantly.
I nod. “After searching several rooms and following the sounds you were making, I finally found you in a small room in the back. You were tied to a mattress on the ground and Quintero was on top of you.”
She lets go of my hand and closes her eyes, and her breath begins to rush in and out of her.
“Makayla.”
“Was he...?”
“No. I think I got there just before. Your underwear was still on.” I try to reassure her. But the truth is, he’d been alone with her for hours, if not days. I interrupted him that time, but who knows what he did to her before that.
She buries her face and cries into her hands. When it turns into full-on sobs, I wrap my arm around her and pull her close to me, praying I don’t freak her out. I know it triggers something inside her sometimes when I touch her, but I have an overwhelming urge to comfort her. She lets me hold her, so I wrap my other arm around her and she cries against my shoulder.
“I’m sorry...I’m sorry,” I say, wondering if it was right to tell her or not. I can’t really figure her out. On one hand, she’s so vulnerable, so delicate. But on the other, she’s strong and really intelligent, with wisdom that seems beyond her twenty-five years.
She looks up at me and I see humiliation take over whatever she’s feeling. “Was I wearing anything else?”
“What?”
“You said I was wearing underwear. Was I wearing anything else?”
Fuck. I have to tell her. But the last thing I want is for her to feel ashamed or embarrassed because I saw her half-naked. I barely even noticed—I was just trying to keep her alive.
I release her and answer honestly, “No. You weren’t.”
She nods slowly and I swear I can see her shrinking into the bed under my stare.
“I wasn’t looking at you, Makayla, not that way.”
“But you saw me?”
“Yes.”
“And you touched me?”
My hands were all over her. I gave her CPR, for crying out loud—my hands were pumping away between her breasts and my mouth was on hers every few seconds. I can still taste the dirt around her dried lips. I can feel the weight of her limp body in my arms. “Yes. I had to, but–”
“It’s okay.” She reaches for my hand and holds it tightly in hers, sending a wave of relief through me. “I understand.”
I nod and exhale a heavy breath. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. You saved me.” She blinks at me through the dark, pulling a confession out of me that I’ve been carrying around since the moment it happened.
“I didn’t see the knife. I should have known better. I’m trained to know better. I should have killed him before he had the chance to stab you. It’s my fault.”
She shakes her head and raises her hand, gently pressing it to my cheek, and my blood pulses fast and hot through my veins. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Kellan. What he did to me”—she looks down momentarily—“was not your fault.”
“I killed him,” I say without an ounce of remorse. “And I would do it again.”
She drops her hand and nods.
“He’s gone. Do you hear me? He’s gone,” I repeat.
She looks up at me and whispers, “I’m glad you killed him.”
“You begged me not to leave you. When you came to. You were so scared. I’ve never wanted to protect someone more than I did in that moment.”
She swallows down the emotion I see on her face, and gazes at me. “I remember.”
My heart beats erratically and I work hard to keep it even. “You remember that?”
“Yes.” She smiles softly. “I remember you.”
I swallow the hard lump in my throat and vow, “No one will hurt you like that again. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
“I’m not afraid, not with you.”
My heart pounds faster and I say, without thinking clearly, “I’ll stay if you want me to. You can go back to sleep.” The fierce need I feel to protect her, even from her dreams, is overwhelming.
“Okay.” She bobs her head affirmatively, and I wonder if her need to feel safe is as strong as my need to protect her.
I grab a pillow and sit down on the cool tile floor.
“Kellan, you can’t sleep on the floor. The bed is big enough for us both.”
I glance down at the hard tiles, then back at the soft bed, conflicted.
“It’s okay,” she says, gazing at me with soft eyes, “I really do trust you.”
I get up and circle the bed and lie down several inches from her. “Go back to sleep,” I whisper, and she closes her eyes.
I close my eyes and try to fall asleep, but I can’t relax. I’m not sure if it was our conversation or her close proximity to me in the dark that’s keeping me awake. But I exhale a slow breath, lace my hands together over my chest, and try to stop thinking about her.
“Kellan?” she says, thwarting my efforts.
I open my eyes and look at her. “Yeah?”
She stretches her arm across the bed and places her hand over mine. “Thank you.”
I place my other hand over hers and the warmth of her skin travels up my arm all the way to my heart, which slows to a calm, steady pace...and I’m relaxed into a deep, peaceful, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 6
Makayla
I wake with the sunrise and see Kellan sprawled in the bed next to me, swathed in the mosquito netting that’s blowing gently around him in the warm breeze. I wondered if asking him to stay last night was a good idea...if I’d be startled to see him lying in the bed beside me in the morning. But I wasn’t. I just felt safe when I opened my eyes and saw him there.
His muscles are relaxed and he looks boyish in his sleep, not like the seasoned soldier he is. I stare at him for a long time, watching him breathe, watching his broad chest expand and fill out his thin cotton T-shirt every time he inhales. It’s hypnotic.
I think about what he told me last night, about how he found me. It was really hard to hear, but I’m glad he was honest with me. I hoped it would evoke some memories or glimpses, but it didn’t. I still don’t know what Quintero did to me before Kellan got there. Or how long I was alone with him. Was he the only one? I close my eyes and push the thought from my mind. I may never remember, but I’m ready to take Mia up on her offer, just to be sure I don’t have anything e
lse to worry about.
Kellan squirms, probably because he’s uncomfortable. His bare feet are hanging off the bed, tangled in the netting, and his pale-blue, cotton pajama pants are pushed up over his calves.
What happened to you? I wonder, imagining the cause of his nightmares. An explosion in the desert, a friend he couldn’t save? Or does it go back further, to his childhood, maybe?
“Kellan,” I whisper, but he doesn’t move. I call his name again, but he doesn’t hear me, so I scoot closer to him and lightly pat his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin through his T-shirt. I curl my fingers into a ball and wait for the dark to resurface and knot my stomach, but it remains dormant inside me, at least for now. “Kellan,” I say again, but he doesn’t wake up. I pull my knees under me and lean forward until I’m hovering over him, and I say his name once more, “Kellan.” My hair falls around his face and his eyes open—the brightest blue ocean staring up at me. “It’s morning,” I say quietly, “but it’s still early. I thought you might like to sleep a little longer in your own bed.”
He stares up at me with those eyes, but he doesn’t move.
“You can go back to your bed now.”
He sits up slowly and rubs his scruffy face, and I steal a glimpse of the muscles flexing in his arms when he runs his hands through his dark hair. “Morning.” His voice is low and husky.
“Morning. You should go sleep in your bed a little while longer. It’s early,” I say again, shaken by my reaction to just-woke-up Kellan. I can’t deny my attraction to him, though I’m pretty sure it’s classic Nightingale syndrome, or maybe even some sort of transference, where I’ve formed an emotional attachment to my rescuer. I wish I could ask my dad. He always helped me sort out my feelings.
“I don’t need a lot of sleep.” He stretches his arms over his head. “But I do need coffee. Do you want some?”
“Sure. Coffee would be great.”
He untangles himself from the netting and grabs his gun off the dresser, before leaving the room. And I promptly fall back onto the bed, grimacing at the pain I inflict. Ow.
A few minutes later, Mia knocks on my open door and walks inside. “Hey there.”
“Hey,” I say, sitting up slowly. “You’re up early.”
“I’m an early riser,” she says brightly.
“Me too.”
“You look so much better. How are you feeling?”
“I feel good.”
“There’s color in your cheeks, that’s a good sign. You hungry for breakfast?”
“Kellan’s getting me coffee.”
She sits down on the end of the bed and says, “How did you sleep?”
I shrug. “I had a nightmare. I still don’t remember what happened, but Kellan filled in some gaps for me.” I look down at my lap and then say certainly, “I’m ready to take you up on your offer now. If you could run some tests, maybe it will give me some peace of mind,” I say hopefully.
She sits up a little straighter and smiles softly. “I think it might.”
“But please...don’t tell anyone.”
“No, of course not. Well, I have to tell Dr. H, because he keeps inventory of everything we use. But he’s the one who suggested it in the first place. It’s not uncommon for someone who went through what you went through to want to know that everything’s...okay.”
I nod with understanding. “He won’t tell Derek, will he? Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.”
“No. Derek is a friend, but you’re our patient. We’ll protect your privacy. No one has to know.”
“Ok. I just don’t want Callie worrying about me any more than she already is right now.”
She gives me a reassuring smile. “We can do it later today, okay? I can do the tests here, I just have to get them from the clinic.”
“Okay.”
Kellan walks in with two cups of coffee and Jason follows right behind him with a plate of food.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Jason says, smiling as he presents me with a warm waffle and a sliced banana.
“Thank you,” I say, taking it from him.
Kellan hands me a cup of coffee and walks over to the window, sipping from his mug as he peers out of it. “Looks like rain today.”
“There’s a storm coming through,” Jason says, standing next to him. He looks over his shoulder at me and says excitedly, “You should see these cumulonimbus clouds, Makayla. They’re really something.”
“He means thunderclouds,” Mia says, shaking her head.
“I actually know what they are,” I say, grinning at Jason. “Dense, towering clouds that carry water vapor upward on strong air currents. They create heavy rainstorms.”
Kellan looks over his shoulder at me and smirks.
“You like storms?” Jason asks, sitting on the end of my bed, bouncing me a little as the mattress absorbs his weight.
I smile and nod. “I love them. We used to get big thunderstorms in Houston and my mom and I would sit on the back porch and watch the wind and rain, listening to the thunder. I wanted to be a meteorologist when I was little, so I took it upon myself to learn the various types of clouds.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Well, I love beautiful, dark thunderclouds,” I say, smirking at Mia, “but nothing beats a blue sky filled with soft, white cirrocumulus clouds, stretched across the atmosphere like the ripples of sand under the shallow water at the beach.”
“Huh,” Jason says with genuine intrigue, “I’ve never heard them described that way. But you’re right, they do look just like ripples of sand under the water. Do you know why sand ripples that way?”
I take a bite of my waffle and smile. “No, why?”
“When wind, or water in this case, flows over loose particles of sand, it drags them across the ocean floor until they pile up. The back and forth motion of the waves creates a symmetrical ripple—the slope between the ripples is the same, kind of like a U. Whereas, the sand on the bottom of a river, for instance, would be asymmetrical—the slope between the ripples leans to one side, like a slanted U, because the water always flows in one direction over the sediment.”
“That’s really cool.”
“Told ya he’s smart,” Mia says, propping her elbow on his shoulder.
“Sounds like you and Makayla might have a lot in common,” Kellan says to Jason, giving me a quick wink that makes my heart flutter, causing me to cough and choke a little on my bite of waffle.
Jason pats my knee, giving it a little rub. “You okay?”
In the three seconds that pass, I drop my fork onto the plate, clench my fists, and draw my knees up to my chest. “Don’t,” I say quietly, feeling a dark cloud settle over the room.
“Makayla?” Mia says, reaching for me, but Kellan stops her.
“Don’t touch her.”
“Makayla, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” Jason’s voice fades away as I’m consumed by the dark.
I feel a callused hand on my thigh, traveling up to my hip. “No!”
“Makayla, it’s okay. You’re okay.”
I open my eyes and see three very alarmed faces looking at me, but I focus on the one that’s closest. Kellan. “I’m sorry,” I say to him. I look up at Mia and Jason. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s my fault,” Jason says. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t know,” Mia says to him.
I look at the worry and remorse on his face. “It’s okay, Jason, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“It’s not surprising,” Mia says. “You’ve been through a trauma. We need to be more cognizant of it,” she says, glancing at Jason. “It will take time to feel...normal again.” She gives me an empathetic smile. “We’ll give you some alone time. Just keep resting. It will help.”
I inhale a shaky breath and blow it out slowly.
“Come on,” she says to Jason, and he follows her out of the room, giving me one last apologetic look that stabs at my heart.
“Not you,” I say to Kellan, wh
o is giving me a conflicted look. “Will you stay with me?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
He closes the door and I immediately start to cry. “What the hell is wrong with me? One minute I feel okay and the next, I feel like a crazy person.” I sniffle and wipe my eyes. “Jason is so sweet and I just treated him like some kind of pervert or something. All because he patted my knee.”
“Makayla.” He sits on the bed warily. “I’m no clinician, but I think you have PTSD.”
I nod, wishing like hell I could talk to my dad, and more tears come.
“I know what it’s like.”
I look up at him and wipe my eyes again.
“I had it for...a while. After I left Afghanistan.”
I sniff and ask gently, “Do you want to tell me what happened...why you left?”
He looks down for several seconds and I see the struggle on his face when he looks at me again. “Not yet. I’m sorry. It’s just really hard to talk about.”
“It’s okay. When you’re ready, you’ll tell me. Or you won’t.” I shrug and give a tight smile. “Either way, it’s okay.”
“I want to tell you. I’ve never wanted to tell someone before. But I want to tell you.” He laughs over the pain in his voice. “That sounds fucking crazy.”
“No it doesn’t.” I look in his tortured eyes and see an ocean he’s drowning in. And all I want to do is save him.
“Just...not yet.”
“Okay.” I fight more tears, and don’t even know who they’re for, him or me.
“You let me comfort you last night. It didn’t trigger anything...when I held you?”
“No. It felt...good.” I shake my head. “I don’t know, I think it’s when I’m not expecting it or something.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Yeah.”
I reach for his hand and hold it in mine. “This”—I look down at his wide hand and long fingers wrapped around mine—“this feels good. It feels safe. You make me feel safe.”
He gives me a soft smile. “Good.”
“Tell me about the island.” I’d like to hear about his past, but I’ll have to be patient. The island will suffice, since I probably won’t get to see it for a little while.