Freeing Liberty

by J. M. Paul

  Carly lifted the messy ponytail off my back and let it fall again. “How’s your hair?”

  “It’s good.” I laid out my clothes on my sleeping bag. “I actually like it.” And it was true. A part of me was relieved to be slightly transforming back into the person I used to be on the outside. “I’m not sure I said it, but thank you, Carly. I really do appreciate it.”

  She grinned. “Not a problem. Want me to braid it for you? It’ll keep it out of your face and off your neck.”

  I disliked wearing my hair up—if it was tied back, I couldn’t hide behind it—but dealing with errant strands of hair while it was hot and I was shooting didn’t sound appealing. If I was jumping off the cliff of change, I might as well jump from a higher ledge and go with it.

  Ten minutes later, Carly and I exited the tent to find the guys sitting at the picnic table, drinking sodas. Milo was in the middle of some animated story, and Bax laughed and shook his head. When Bax swiveled in our direction at our approach, I saw him do a double take.

  Uneasy in my new lighter clothing, I lowered my head to study my light-gray canvas shoes while I ran a hand over my head. Carly had pulled my bangs and the sides of my hair into an artful French braid. The rest of my hair was in a messy yet pretty bun with the braid twisted around it. I loved the look, but it left me feeling exposed.

  “Close your mouth, Bax,” Carly joked. She grinned at me when I peeked at her. Looking back at the boys, she raised her eyebrows. “Ready to get this show on the road?”

  We all checked our gear and scrambled into the van to head off for another photo-taking adventure.

  Like most places we had been, the Hot Springs National Park was a photographer’s dream. We had visited the pools of hot springs, but the portion that stole my heart was the Garvan Woodland Gardens.

  We each paid the more-than-worth-it fee of ten dollars a person to stroll the beautiful grounds, and we saw the Mystic Creatures, the Japanese garden, and the intricate Millsap Canopy Bridge. The bridge was my favorite feature until my sight landed on the treasure in front of me.

  I stopped in my tracks on the detailed stone path, gripping my camera in my hands, and I feasted my eyes on the Anthony Chapel. Its architectural significance was absolutely stunning.

  Nestled under a thick canopy of sky-reaching trees, the chapel looked as if engineers had simply bent the surrounding trees to crisscross one another and then put a peaked roof over the top. It was constructed of floor-to-ceiling glass walls that presented a picturesque view of the surrounding woodlands. The simple yet stately structure was intimate and elegant. The understated perfection spoke to me.

  People milled about, excitedly chatting among one another, as I walked, almost mesmerized, into the exquisite venue. It beckoned the overwhelming part of me that begged for solitude and respite.

  I stood still in the awe-inspiring space and let myself soak in the magnificence of bringing the outdoors into the indoors. It was lined with orderly cushioned pews, wall sconces, and rustic lighting fixtures. The long flagstone aisle stretched before me, and it was difficult to see where it ended. The huge windows overlooking the woods gave the effect of endlessness.

  My eyes lifted to the ceiling where multiple skylights encouraged sunbeams to dance across the patrons in an effort to spread hope.

  The atmosphere enthralled me, and without thought, I took photo after photo. My fingers and eyes didn’t stop. When my memory card was full, I sat in the back portion of the chapel and absorbed the ambiance and tranquility.

  The pew cushion dipped next to me, and without looking, I knew it was Bax. His presence was becoming well-known to me.

  His hand slipped over, and he worked his fingers between mine. We both turned our heads at the same time to meet each other’s gaze. A smile graced my lips as well as his. Bax gently squeezed my hand and then focused on the front of the chapel.

  I wasn’t sure how much time passed as we sat, united, with his thumb rubbing soft circles against my skin. But, however long it was, it wasn’t long enough.

  “Can we have steak instead of chicken? I know you girls like to eat all healthy and shit, but the amigos need some manly food.” Milo puffed his chest out when he said manly, and I had to hold back a laugh.

  I stood with one hand on the grocery cart, perusing the meat selection. We were about halfway through our road trip, and I was sick to death of eating out. It was time for a home-cooked meal. Our campground in Estes Park, Colorado—a small city just outside of Rocky Mountain National Park—offered grills at every site, and I planned to take advantage. No one else cooked in our group, and I had grown up camping and learning from my mom, so I was going to take on the task.

  When Milo turned his pleading eyes on me, I walked over to the small meat counter. I wasn’t anything close to a vegetarian, but I typically didn’t eat a lot of meat. Not that I didn’t enjoy it, but it wasn’t a regular part of my diet. But Milo was right; a nice, juicy shot of protein sounded delicious.

  I picked out three New York strip steaks—Carly and I would split one because they were huge—and waited for them to be weighed and wrapped.

  “Yes!” Milo cheered.

  Then, he left to go search for who knew what—maybe Carly. Those two had been getting awfully touchy-feely lately. It was sort of annoying but mostly cute.

  “What else do you need for the steaks?” Bax stood beside me, anxious to help retrieve items.

  “I’d like to marinate them for a couple of hours, but I’ll get that stuff. You could get some fresh vegetables to grill?” I studied the list in my hand, trying to gauge if I had forgotten something.

  “Sure. Anything else?” He stepped behind me to look over my shoulder at the piece of paper I held.

  His close proximity made me warm and tingly, and I had to fight myself from leaning back into him. My body craved touch and companionship so strongly that it was almost impossible to hold myself straight. I stopped breathing when his arm snaked over mine and pointed about halfway down the list. My heart started to do the two-step in my chest.

  “What about potatoes? I’ll be in the produce section.” He tilted his head, so he could see me, and I felt his breath against my hair.

  A very small portion of me still panicked at him almost being wrapped around me, but the rest of me told my mind to grow up and put on its big-girl panties. Bax wouldn’t hurt me; he had proven that repeatedly. It was time I learned to enjoy a few of the best aspects of being a woman—learning how to flirt and enjoying a man’s attention. Not a boy, not a villain. A real honest-to-goodness man. Especially a guy as yummy and drool-worthy as Bax.

  “Y-yeah. You could get th-those.” It seemed like my throat was closing off. I swallowed deeply and shifted.

  Bax bent a little closer. I sensed my hair move, and I heard him inhale deeply.

  “Mmm,” he hummed. “Your hair smells so good, Libby.”

  An embarrassing squeak climbed up my throat, and heat spread throughout my body. My hands tingled, and I had to grasp the paper tighter, so I wouldn’t drop it and further humiliate myself.

  “Here you go.” The butcher plopped the wrapped steaks on the counter with a thud.

  I jumped at the interruption and blinked several times. For a minute, I had forgotten where I was, which was unlike me.

  “Anything else I can get you?” Meat Man stared at me with a bored expression.

  A cold shower?

  Bax gently squeezed my arm and walked toward the produce department without a word. I wanted to turn, so I could watch him unabashedly, but I controlled the urge.

  I cleared my throat and smoothed my damp hands—still holding the grocery list—down my T-shirt before I picked up the packaged beef and placed it in our cart. “Uh, nope. That’s it.”

  Blindly, I steered myself in the opposite direction I wanted to go.

  When I finally turned down the correct aisle, there was one older guy studying the shelves in front of him.

  As I made my way over to the marinade
s, someone pulled up next to me as I searched for a flavor I thought would satisfy everyone’s tastes.

  “Why do they give us so many choices? Like we don’t already have a hard time deciding, right?” A deep voice sounded beside me.

  I looked over to see the older guy who had been down the way smiling at me. He looked to be in his upper thirties and was easy on the eyes with his light-blond hair and dark chocolate irises. Those eyes scanned up and down my body in what I knew was a look of interest, not threat, but I found myself clutching my cart tighter.

  “Uh, yeah.” I focused on the bottles again.

  Obviously, my past experiences had made me socially awkward. I didn’t mean to be, but I found it difficult not to view any man who approached me as anything but menacing. I had been trained to do so.

  It was Joel’s fault that I was this way. He’d damaged me so fully that I now saw him in almost every male I had contact with. I didn’t want to be this way, but he had taught me to question everyone and their actions and to never trust, even when I knew not every guy had ill intentions.

  Whatever logic I tried to tell myself, it never worked. The guy standing next to me was innocently making conversation, not jeopardizing my safety. He probably had a happy wife, two-point-five children, and a dog or two. More than likely he couldn’t wait to get to his family in their beautiful home.

  None of that logic mattered to my wrecked psyche. Without any wrongdoing on his part, I saw Mr. Perfect Life as dangerous, and I treated him as such.

  Living that way was torture, but I wasn’t sure how to change.

  When I was so broken, how could I go about repairing the fissures that ran so deep in me that it was impossible to be glued back together?

  Ernest Hemingway had written that we were all broken, and that was how the light got in. What if I’m simply a reflecting glass, and any light that enters hits my damaged soul and bounces out? I was cloaked in such blackness that I worried even the brightest light couldn’t illuminate the darkness in me.

  I’d thought this trip—the distance and experiences I would obtain—would slowly start to heal me, but I was quickly learning it didn’t matter how far away I got, the uncertainties and fear would follow me anywhere. The evilness had been planted inside me and had spread its seed deeply.

  “You look like you know what you’re doing. I’ll get whatever you pick, and I’ll have you to thank.” Mr. Perfect Life turned toward me.

  I stepped back, bumping into the cart, which caused me to stumble.

  “Whoops, careful there.” The guy reached out to steady me.

  When his hand touched my skin, I froze with what I knew was panic on my face.

  “Is there a problem?” Bax’s voice sounded from behind me.

  My uneasiness slipped away, knowing he was near.

  It also helped that the guy released my arm and stepped back.

  I heard Bax move closer, and when he entered my sight, I could see the stern look on his face and his poised body. He was in protection mode, which I treasured about him, but it was unnecessary. However uncomfortable Mr. Perfect Life had made me, it was no fault of his own. It was all on me. He hadn’t done anything, except try to make easy conversation with a stranger.

  “There’s no problem, Bax.” I grabbed three bottles of savory marinade and handed one to the guy. “Try this. It won’t disappoint.” I threw the other two bottles in my cart and started to walk away, hoping Bax would follow me.

  He did.

  “What was that about?” he asked.

  “Nothing. The guy was just being friendly.” I shrugged, trying to brush off my overreaction. I hoped Bax accepted my easy answer.

  He didn’t.

  “Then, why did he have ahold of your arm? You don’t like to be touched, especially by strangers, Libby.”

  I stopped and faced him. “Because I was overreacting, as usual. I’m trying to work on it.” I put my hand on my hip.

  Bax studied me for a moment. “I want to help you with that.” It was said lowly and with meaning.

  “You are. You’ve helped me more than anyone, and I thank you for that.” I reached out and touched his shoulder.

  He grabbed my hand and lifted it to his lips.

  My heart plummeted into my stomach in the best possible way, and I couldn’t help the smile that slowly raised the corners of my mouth.

  “It’s about effing time, chico.” Milo tossed something into the cart and smirked at us.

  Carly stood behind him, beaming.

  Bax released my hand, and a sliver of disappointment crept in at the loss of contact.

  “What are you talking about?” Bax took control of the cart and started walking.

  We all followed him.

  “You two.” Milo flicked his finger back and forth between me and Bax. “I interrupted an almost kiss in Hot Springs, and now, you’re kissing her hand. I understand the need to take it slow”—Milo sympathetically looked at me—“but it’s about time you two got caliente.”

  Milo sneered, grabbed Carly’s hand, and led us toward the cashier.

  The bonfire crackled next to me as I flipped the sliced vegetables on the grill, and then I placed the three New York strips next to them. I had wrapped the baked potatoes in tinfoil and put them next to the hot coals of the fire a while ago, so hopefully, everything would be done at the same time.

  “How much longer until dinner, cocinero?” Milo cracked a beer open and tipped it back for a long swallow.

  “About ten minutes.” I pulled the potatoes off the fire and set them on a plate to cool. They would hold their heat for a long time.

  Milo and Carly giggled while they pulled out the A1 Steak Sauce and condiments for the potatoes. Bax stood next to me with plates when it was time to pull the vegetables and steaks off the heat.

  When everything was complete, we sat at the picnic table and dug into our first home-cooked meal in over a month.

  “Oh my God,” Milo said with a mouthful of steak. “I think I just fell in love with you, chica.” He chewed, swallowed, and shoved another large slice of meat into his mouth. “This is muy bueno!”

  Carly chuckled at Milo’s overzealous compliment. “Yeah, what he said.”

  I felt a hand on my knee and jumped. My gaze landed on Bax, and he lightly squeezed my leg and then placed his hand back on the table.

  “It’s delicious, Libby. Really. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I smiled at everyone, and in my head, I gave myself a pat on the back. At least I knew I could cook without having someone over my shoulder, telling me how I had messed everything up. There were no complaints, and I had my mom to thank for that.

  “You need to cook like this for the rest of the trip,” he spoke with a mouthful of food in true Milo fashion.

  “Yes,” Bax and Carly said in unison.

  “Where did you learn to cook?” Carly speared a piece of zucchini.

  “My mom. We used to camp all the time when I was a kid, and since I was the oldest, I always helped prepare our meals.” I worked hard to keep the sadness out of my voice, but I knew I’d failed when Carly gave me a sympathetic smile.

  Milo burped obnoxiously, breaking the heaviness that had fallen around the table. When I looked over at Bax, he gave me a knowing smile and lightly bumped me with his shoulder.

  The meal progressed in easy conversation about the ghost tour we had taken earlier—after I had had the stitches removed from my arm, and Carly had had her ankle checked out at a clinic in town.

  The ghost tour was at The Stanley Hotel, where The Shining—the book by Stephen King, and the movie directed by Stanley Kubrick—were based. I hadn’t been excited to go with them—tempting ghosts to appear wasn’t my idea of fun—but I’d agreed to tag along, thinking of the element of mystery the location would add to my portfolio.

  I remembered the shot I had gotten of a single door at the end of a hallway, and that pic alone had made the trip worth the effort. The haunted hotel was a beautifully spooky
structure to shoot. And thank goodness we hadn’t seen or felt any specters.

  Tomorrow, we planned to head into Rocky Mountain National Park, and that was much more my speed. Estes Park, where we were currently camping, was a valley just outside the park. It was absolutely breathtaking, giving a front-row seat to the sharp mountains reaching toward heaven.

  Carly and Milo flirted and touched as they cleaned up dinner. Since I’d cooked, I was shooed away from the chore.

  “I’m going to go for a walk. I can’t sit around the campfire with my stomach so full.” I pressed my hand against my abdomen and thought about unbuttoning my pants.

  I started down the road when Bax jogged up beside me.

  “Mind if I join?” He flipped his baseball cap backward.

  “Sure.”

  When we were far enough away from camp that Milo and Carly couldn’t see us, Bax reached for my hand and entwined his fingers with mine.

  I looked down at the point where we were conjoined and then met Bax’s gaze.

  “Is this okay?” he questioned.

  It was more than okay. In fact, it felt like this was how things were always supposed to be between us.

  I grinned and tightened my hand around his. “It’s perfect.”

  We walked in silence for a long time, simply enjoying the sights and sounds around us. My attention stayed trained on the mountains and Bax’s warm, soft hand in mine. He would move his thumb over my skin every so often and lift it to his lips to kiss. The contact felt like it was slowly starting to fill one of the many voids inside me. Just when I had thought there wasn’t any way to seal the cracks within me, Bax had swept in, and he was showing me that it might be possible.

  Cautious hope started to bloom in my chest, and the sides of my lips quirked up at the thought.

  When we rounded a corner that would lead us back in the direction of camp, Bax pulled against my arm, drawing me to a stop.

  “Mind if we sit for a while? I’m not ready to go back.” Bax tugged on his ear. “I need a break from the constant giggling and flirting.” He widened his eyes in mock horror at the sudden displays of affection Milo and Carly had been showing.