Burn (Bayonet Scars #5)

“Yes.”


Because I can’t go on in the world in an invisible, self-created bubble of fear. Holly is both my cousin and my best friend. She knows me better than anyone else. This girl has seen me at my worst and has never intentionally made me feel poorly about it. There’s nobody safer for me to work through my issues with. Well, there is, but I can’t allow myself to go down that road, and I certainly can’t tell Holly that in what few fantasies I have left, Ian is helping me through touch. Holly likes Ian, as well she should since she’s woken him up in the middle of the night enough times to work her out of her own head, but that doesn’t mean she likes Ian for me. I wasn’t particularly easy on her when she first hooked up with Grady, either. I’ve pretty much made an uncomfortable bed, and I’d rather not lie in it if I don’t have to.

Holly gives me a brief reminder of our touch therapy remedy and how it works. She’s not a doctor, and I think she got all this stuff off the Internet, but it’s been helping little by little, so I don’t much care how legitimate a form of therapy it really is. We’re to start out with her hand gently reaching out for mine. She’ll place her fingertips on the top of my hand for a very short amount of time and then remove them long enough for me to regain my bearings. We’re to repeat the process several times per session until I can reasonably stand her touch for longer periods of time without the sickness creeping up on me.

I liked being able to touch Ian—being happy to touch him— and I want more of it. I want human contact once more. I want to feel connected to someone by more than just familial obligation. I want to be loved and protected and touched.

So when it’s time for Holly to touch me, I don’t pull back my hand even though, instinctively, I want to. It’s just Holly, and the rational part of me knows that. It’s not that I fear she’s going to hurt me. It’s just that human touch brings back the sordid memories of those men and how I felt before they violated me—the nauseating dread when they put their hands on me, the horrifying anticipation of what kind of hell they intended to unleash. I had no idea. And every time another person tries to make contact with me, I feel the same terror I felt even before they forced themselves on me.

I manage through three rounds of hand touches, even initiating two touches on Holly’s wrist because I’m feeling brave. Holly suggests we give in after that, because although I’m making consistent progress, she doesn’t want to push me too much. While we’re on our last touch of Holly’s fingertips to my hand, the house alarm beeps, signaling that the front door is being opened.

Loud voices fill the Grady residence immediately. Holly slowly pulls away and grabs the soup bowl to take into the kitchen to clean off. I’d offer to do it myself, but I’ve never done well with food floating in water. Even before that night, I’ve not been a fan of cleaning up soup bowls. First in view is Grady, Holly’s man, and then comes Duke, whom I’m rather fond of. Before my life was flushed down the loo—again—I stayed with Duke and his woman, Nic, for a few weeks. That was back when she was pregnant with their daughter, Robin, who is now pushing two weeks old.

Ian had promised he would take me to the hospital to meet the baby, but I guess he forgot. I didn’t call or text him once Holly called to tell me that Nic had gone into labor. I just sat and waited by my phone, stupidly expecting him to remember a promise he’d made two months prior. I felt like such a sad sap, because it would have meant the world to me for Ian to take me to meet baby Robin. My disappointment at his absence was so profound that when Holly asked if she could take me, I selfishly turned her down and have so far denied myself baby time.

“Hey, Minds,” Grady says with the softest smile I think he’s capable of. By my estimation, Grady is the second-largest member of Forsaken. He’s a hulking man with a gruff attitude and one of the scariest glares I’ve ever seen. Holly used to share my opinion on this matter, but now she insists that he’s really just a big teddy bear. She’s clearly biased, but I’m also starting to suspect she might have some form of brain damage. Just looking at him reminds me of how defenseless I am by comparison. Not that he’d hurt me. None of the members of Forsaken would hurt me. I know that. Still, their muscled frames are intimidating.

“Hi, Grady.” I offer him a kind smile but can’t help the nervousness that sets in around him. I give Duke a wave and my best smile, which he returns in his own badass biker way. He opens his mouth and pauses, hanging there mid-motion for a long moment before the most exhausted yawn escapes his mouth. His heavy boots thump against the floor, and he throws himself into the kitchen chair nearest to me.