“They are beautiful.” Her words were a breath of sound.
His empty chest bloomed a wild bouquet of hope and joy. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, just joined her in watching the deer on the opposite shore.
When they disappeared into the brush, she shifted against him, turning to see his face. “Am I dreaming?” She reached up, winced from the movement, and put her hand over his mouth. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
That was the first thing she’d said to him when he found her in the torture trailer. Did she believe good things could only happen in her dreams? The goddamned spigot behind his eyes opened, clouding his vision of her.
He gently tugged her hand from his mouth. “This is real. I’m real. You’re real.” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, not wanting tears to obscure his vision of her.
She moved her hand to his forehead, her face flickering in pain from the movement. She brushed his hair back to see the puckered scab. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I thought you were dead.”
“I would’ve been if it hadn’t been for you.”
Emotions and memories blazed in her eyes, but they passed so quickly he couldn’t grasp them.
“How bad do you hurt?”
“I feel like I’ve been hit by an ocean liner and have the flu.” A barely perceptible smile tipped the edges of her lips. “I’ve been worse.”
He wanted to ask her more, but couldn’t find the words and wasn’t certain he’d be able to handle what she had to say.
“Hey, I’m okay. Really.” She must’ve seen the concern on his face. “Nothing some sleep, some food, and some time with you won’t heal.” She sounded sincere. She looked sincere. But something wasn’t right.
He should be happy she’d survived relatively unscathed. But that itself was the problem. No one could go through what she’d been through and not be affected. He’d never been a poster boy for mental wellness, but he did know she should be reacting to what she’d been through. Hell, it hadn’t even happened to him and he had reacted all over the place.
Was this what denial looked like? Could it masquerade as sanity?
“They need time alone.” Dad’s voice carried from the opening of the path that led to the sycamore.
“He can’t deny her medical care.” Kent was using his asshole voice. The guy might’ve toned down his asshole vibe for the ride here, but he was back to full power again.
Isleen could hear them arguing too. They weren’t using their indoor voices.
“One of the nudes over there said they kept her in that box for six days. No food. No water. I’m not a fancy-ass doctor like you, but she needs medical care.”
“She’s going to be fine.”
“Excuse me if I don’t take your word for it.”
Bring it on. Xander had reached full capacity on Kent questioning every goddamned thing he did. He stood, gently pulling Isleen up with him. She swayed on her feet and he wrapped an arm around her waist, tucking her in to him.
Kent rounded their tree—funny how Xander thought of it as their tree. The guy stopped, his gaze raking over Isleen. Taking in her splinted arm and the fact that she was actually on her feet.
“Kent, I’m okay.” Her voice sounded light and airy. “I’m just tired and don’t feel the greatest, but I’m good.” She sounded too chipper, like she’d just gotten over a cold, not been kidnapped and tortured.
“Jesus Christ.” Kent’s head wobbled on his shoulders. “You should be…”
“It’s their connection.” Dad moved in front of Isleen to look into her eyes. He reached out, pressed up one of her eyelids, and looked close. “I don’t get why you and Matt refuse to believe what’s in front of you.” He checked her other eye. “Well, young lady, unless you prefer to go to the hospital, we can take care of all your injuries back home. The Institute is a fully equipped medical facility.”
“I want to go home. But I need to…” Her voice trailed off, the false brightness in her tone flickering and fading.
“Baby, what do you need?” Whatever it was, Xander would find a way to give it to her.
“Kent…” She aimed her attention at the guy but said nothing else.
“What is it?” Kent asked.
Xander could see the guy would do just about anything to make her happy. Same as him. That was part of their problem—Kent was pissed because Isleen kept him in the friend zone.
She pressed herself against Xander. He could hear her heart galloping, her breathing wild. Whatever the fuck she was about to say upset her. He tightened his arm around her, offering her his own solid strength.
“Well…my mom…” Isleen’s voice dissolved.
“Shayla.” Dad said the name, expectancy dominating his tone.