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She turned her cheek to my chest and continued her train of thought. “I guess the reason why I think it’s a memory is because this isn’t the first time I’ve had this nightmare. It was the same dream I had in middle school. Over and over. It started happening so often I was too afraid to go to bed. My parents had me see a hypnotherapist to help me, and it worked. I haven’t had the dream again. Until today. I’d honestly forgotten all about it.”
“I’m so sorry.” I slipped my fingers through her hair, trying to soothe her as I wrapped my head around everything she’d shared. We’d been through the wringer today in so many ways.
“What if something happened to me when I was younger, something traumatic, and my parents don’t want me to remember?”
I opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Two quick raps. They jolted me back to the past, to that room in Thailand, before I saw Mya being brought into hell with me.
“Your dad’s here. Earlier than expected.” Malcolm’s voice on the other side of the door rescued me from going down the path to that dark place again.
“Be right down,” I called out as Mya untangled herself from me to stand. I climbed off the bed and took her hands, giving them what I hoped was a reassuring squeeze before dropping them again. “We’ll figure this out, I promise.”
She chewed on her lip, working her eyes up my body, making her way to my face. She brushed away the rest of her tears. “I just want to be happy again.” She sniffled. “And despite all the craziness, one thing I know for certain is I feel happy when I’m with you.”
28
MYA
“Thank you for the clothes and your hospitality. We don’t want to endanger you by being here, though,” I said once Oliver made the introductions to our gracious hosts, Vanessa and Malcolm.
“You can stay here as long as you need to.” Vanessa smiled, and she reminded me a bit of Kerry Washington, who played Olivia Pope on Scandal. Vanessa was just as beautiful and had the same kind eyes and radiant smile as the actress.
Not a shocker given my line of work and personality, but I was a huge fan of that show. I’d even adopted Olivia Pope’s popcorn with red wine for dinner on many late-night working occasions. These last four months I’d practically lived off that diet.
“Like my wife said,” Malcolm began, offering a polite nod instead of the hug Vanessa had, “you two are welcome here. You’ll be safe.” He twirled his finger in the air like Oliver often did, signaling to the sky. “We have great security. And I’m assuming Oliver told you, but there don’t appear to be any immediate threats in the area. Those other men at the runway were handled.”
Right. One guy left alive for questioning. We definitely needed an update from Easton and Teddy, and to have that call with the rest of the team soon.
“Was this once an inn or B and B?” I knew it was an odd question to ask, considering we’d spent the day being hunted by The Collective’s goons and then jumped from a plane. And it definitely shouldn’t have been something on my mind after that free fall and knock to the head jarred loose that strange childhood memory. But we were waiting for Oliver’s dad to walk into the living room, and I wasn’t great with quiet. I usually felt the need to fill it with questions. Habits and all. Plus, I could use a break in conversation from the heavy.
“It was. You’re in one of the honeymoon suites.” Vanessa smiled. “Of course, it could still be, but Malcolm doesn’t actually let guests stay here. He’s paranoid, but I think it’d be fun to host couples.”
“I’m not paranoid.” Malcolm folded his arms and grunted. “Cautious is all.”
Vanessa elbowed him. “Mmmmhmmm.”
A moment later, Scrappy came flying my way, his paws skidding across the hardwoods as he slammed right into me.
“Down, boy,” Sam called out as he joined us, a pretty blonde at his side.
She was late fifties, maybe. Not quite Beth Dutton from Yellowstone, another show I loved, but pretty close. And fiction or not, that’d be weird since Oliver’s dad reminded me of her on-camera dad. But Cindy gave off similar badass vibes as Beth.
I need to stop comparing people to fictional characters, that’s more of an Oliver thing to do. Like Mr. Bloodsport. No, I didn’t want to think about Hugo Soren. We were in this mess, in part, because of him. Well, more than likely.
Sam crossed the room and gave Oliver a quick one-arm hug, careful of Oliver’s bad shoulder. A hesitant expression crossed his face, as if searching for a cue from Oliver about how to greet me.
I kneeled by Scrappy to pet him, and Oliver discreetly looked at me, then back at his dad, shaking his head, letting him know not to hug me.
I probably could’ve handled it, but I appreciated him continuing to look out for me like that. I mean, had Oliver cured me of my touch aversion after our unexpected bathtub moment? Or did it only apply to his hands on me?
I was curious to find out, but not ready to test it yet. Maybe when we part ways?
“Where’s your plane?” Oliver asked as Vanessa gestured us farther into her living room. The fireplace crackled, providing a comforting layer of warmth and home.
“The sheriff’s handling it. I had to land on an old back road. Thankfully, no cars were around.” Sam sat on one of the two loveseats facing the fireplace, pulling Cindy down next to him. Scrappy plopped down right on top of his shoes.
I sat by Oliver on the other couch. It offered a beautiful view of the lake outside the two-story window. Oliver surprised me by clasping our hands together, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. The gesture gave me hope everything would be okay. With him. With us.
“So, have you talked to your team? Do we know more about what’s going on and how we’re going to take down these sons of bitches once and for all?” Sam cut to it instead of giving us a few softball questions to deal with first.
