I heard a footfall on the gravel path and stilled, thoughts of Fiona having just left my brain. And even though I knew it was impossible, I didn’t want to give my place in the trees away. It was likely someone who worked for the family. We’d seen plenty of people at a distance the day before. The steps halted, and I stayed still.
Then, the bush and trees were crashing apart as Nash’s voice, filled with alarm, hollered out, “Dani!”
He stumbled to his knees next to me, lifting me partially off the ground into his arms and repeating my name with fear and anguish threaded through it.
“Holy shit,” I said, wriggling against him. “Nash, stop. I’m fine.”
My voice seemed to penetrate whatever place he’d gone. More than scared―petrified. The tough military man was shaking, and even as the fact that I was okay started to sink in, his face remained startlingly pale and distressed.
I pushed harder and ended up on my knees, just like him, with our thighs bumping. He took me in, molecule by molecule, as if doubting my own words. I put one hand on his shoulder and one hand on his chin, drawing his face so that his eyes met mine. Panic lingered there.
“Nash, I’m right here. I’m really all right.”
His eyes slowly came back into focus. He exhaled a heavy breath and touched my face with his fingers before crushing me to him in a hug that could break bones. He buried his face in my neck. I returned the hug, wrapping my arms around him and holding on while he fought for control, every muscle in his body held taut, ready to fight if needed.
Eventually, his arms dropped, and I reluctantly let him go. He sank into a seated position with his elbows on his knees, burying his head in his hands. I sat in a similar position but wrapped my arms around my legs so I wouldn’t be tempted to continue touching him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was almost back to normal, the anxiety and fear slowly disappearing behind his concrete wall.
“What the hell was that?” I asked.
He shook his head, swallowing. “Don’t do that again,” he said, and now his words were hard and harsh.
“Do what?”
“Go jogging by yourself. Lie on the ground like you’re…like you’re…” He didn’t finish it, and I suddenly realized he’d thought I was seriously hurt. Dead. Dying. Why on Earth his brain went there first was beyond me, but I felt a stab of guilt for causing him that much fear.
“I’m sorry. I… I honestly didn’t even think about telling you until I was already on my way back,” I told him. It was the truth. I hadn’t thought about how Nash would hate it until I’d been texting with Brady. I wasn’t accustomed to having to tell people my every move. To have people trailing after me. It wasn’t a life I wanted. If they didn’t catch Fiona soon, I was going to be more impatient than the country singer.
Nash stood, sticking out a hand to help me up, and while I didn’t need the help, I let him do it anyway, regret that I’d caused him to go off the deep end filling me. When I was on my feet, he looked me over again, as if he didn’t trust my words or his own eyes. There wasn’t a mark on me except pieces of grass and trails of sweat from the steady run.
He turned, dragging me by the hand back to the path, not letting go of my fingers as we walked toward the house. Our sweaty palms were sticky, but it didn’t prevent the energy between us from surging back and forth like always.
I wondered if he needed the touch to stabilize him. Like I often used touch to center me back to the world I was in when the anxiety got to be too much. I wondered if this was somehow Nash’s response to what he’d lived through in Africa, finding Darren and the others dead. I wondered if I’d somehow looked like them and triggered a response he hadn’t been prepared for. My heart leaped, beating a thundering tune. More remorse filled me until I thought it would burst from my chest.
We said nothing until we were back at the house. He would have gone in without a word, but I couldn’t do that. I pulled on his hand, halting him, doing what he had done for me in the elevator by rubbing a thumb on his palm.
“Tell me something good. Something about your childhood.”
His face turned dark. “Nothing. I don’t have good memories, Dani. Not a single one that isn’t tainted in some way.” Then, he dragged himself away and went inside.
My heart pounded harder, tears burning at my eyes, even though I wouldn’t let them fall. He’d lied to me. There were good memories. I saw them in the way he talked with Maribelle. I saw them in the way he talked about the flower fields. They were there. Goodness and light. But he’d surrounded them in a box of unhappiness. It was achingly hard to watch.
When I opened the door and went in, it was to find Maribelle sitting at the small kitchen table with a cup of something hot. Coffee, by the smell in the room. There was no Nash.
“Good morning,” I said, my voice shaky with emotions.
“Good morning. You were both up early,” Maribelle said, that playful tone in her voice once more, and I wanted to dissuade her of any ideas she had of Nash and me.
I filled my water bottle before crossing to her at the table, taking her in with her white hair glowing in the halo of sun filling the room and making her pale skin almost translucent.
“It’s not that way with Nash and me.”
She nodded. “So,
