My heart is doing something strange inside my chest. “You’re saying I should suck it up, put on my big-girl panties, and get on a plane.”
“I’m saying that the only way you’re ever going to get this monkey off your back is if you give it the middle finger and tell it to go fuck itself. I know you’re capable of that.”
Give the monkey on my back the middle finger.
I study his face for a long time in tense silence before I speak again. “So that worked for you with your fear of heights?”
Connor slowly moves away from the desk. He looks at the bed, and then looks away quickly, almost guiltily, as if he caught himself doing something bad. Agitated now, he starts to pace back and forth across the room.
I can’t help but think of a lion, pacing in his cage.
“My father—a Texas ranch man, raised longhorns, still does—said no son of his was gonna turn out to be a lily-livered sniveler, so he basically forced me to join the Marines. And thank fuck he did, because by the time I was seventeen, I was on the express train to the United States penal system. So I had to deal with my shit. The military doesn’t care about your dainty little phobias. You must climb that rope, you must scale that wall, you will learn to be a team member and a leader and an example for others, in spite of yourself. Or you’re out. Disgraced.
“And though I was a hardheaded little fucker, even at seventeen I knew I’d rather die than be disgraced. So it became about more than just me and my fear. It became about making my father proud. About making my brothers proud. About honoring Mikey’s memory, instead of letting it cripple me.”
After I overcome my shock, I say softly, “Connor. That’s sort of…beautiful.”
“Thanks,” he says gruffly.
Then it seems neither of us knows what to say, because we just look at each other in awkward silence.
Finally, I draw enough courage to ask, “But you’re not really talking about my fear of flying, are you?”
He looks at me for a long time, and then blows out a hard breath and looks away. “You said something to me in the car on the drive out here that stuck with me. After I told you the story about the hero and the princess, you remember?”
When he looks back at me, I nod.
“You said, ‘A real hero would teach the princess how to save herself.’ I thought that was so profound. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” His voice gets gruff. “About you. What it might mean to you, if I could…help you save yourself.”
There’s no more air in the room. There’s nothing left to breathe. When I look down at my hands, they’re shaking.
Connor softly curses. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to talk about him—”
“It’s all right. You’ve been fair.” I glance up and meet his eyes. “It’s just that…some things shouldn’t be said out loud. It’s dangerous, summoning old ghosts. You never know what they might want from you in return for digging them out of their graves.”
Connor looks disturbed by that but waits to see if I’ll say more. There’s so much I should tell him, so much I’d like to say but can’t. But he deserves some explanation, at least, and so I try.
I rise from the chair, cross to the window, and stare out with my arms tightly wrapped around myself. I exhale a ragged breath.
“I have a little black box inside my head where I keep all the memories of that year I lived with S?ren. It’s this trick I learned. Compartmentalization, my therapist called it. The box is there to keep me safe. It has a big metal lock and sits in a dark corner with a layer of dust on top inches thick. Inside the box are monsters.” As I speak, my voice is growing more and more constricted. “I can’t open that box, Connor. Not even for you. But I will tell you this.”
I swallow twice before I can continue. “I haven’t lied to you about anything. I’m holding things back, yes, but it’s only to protect myself, not to deceive you. And I don’t…” My voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t want you to hear all the ugliness. Especially now.”
I hear him move behind me. I see his reflection in the glass. He’s so close, I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Why especially now?”
My laugh is soft and ragged. “You know why.”
When I feel his hands gently rest on my shoulders, I don’t pull away. Then his mouth is next to my ear, and his voice is a low, sexy rasp.
“Because you’re falling in love with me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself!” I scoff, but his words leave me breathless.
He threads his fingers through my hair, makes a fist, and softly tugs so my head falls back.
He whispers, “I’m not,” and kisses me.
It’s different, this kiss. So different from any we’ve shared before. It’s not demanding but endlessly giving, tender and sweet, filled with unspoken promises.
“I want to be on your team.”
Startled by the swell of emotion rising inside me, I break away, but he spins me around, pulls me back against him, and kisses me again. His strong arms wrap tightly around my body.