by Amy Olle
With shaking hands, Mina fumbled with the packaging of a new paintbrush. Outside, storm clouds clashed and grumbled. She wandered the carriage house in search of scissors but kept forgetting what she was looking for, only to return to the paintbrush and recall.
Feelings so strong and so dark hovered near the surface, and she knew with a certainty that if she didn’t push them down, they would rip her to shreds. It’d already begun. She tried to overpower them. To forget or ignore them. To move past them. Around. Over. Under.
Anywhere but through. That path led to darkness.
But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t outrun them. They lived inside her.
Noah would arrive at any moment. She must appear calmer, or he’d ask questions. He’d want her to tell him why she was upset. She tried to think what she might say. What words to explain what she didn’t understand. In the kitchen, she pulled a knife from the drawer and attacked the plastic casing.
Then Noah was there. Close enough to touch her.
He did, and she jerked. The knife missed its mark and sliced into the flesh on her finger.
Pain snatched the air from her lungs. She whirled. “Don’t—” Her voice broke over the word. “Don’t touch me.”
Shock stunned him for a moment. Then he reached for a towel. “Let me see your hand.”
She clenched her hand into a tight fist and pulled it to her chest. The walls of the cottage inched closer, a menacing beast. Her breathing became fast, too fast, and each pull of air burned through her lungs.
He was looking at her with those damn black eyes, and she couldn’t think of anything to say to make him understand—except the one thing she absolutely could not say.
Noah’s mouth moved as he spoke, but she couldn’t make out his words. She could hear nothing except the sickening thud of her own heartbeat hammering inside her skull. Nausea rose to the back of her throat.
“Mina!”
Her name flew sharply off his tongue and broke through the fog of panic enclosing her. She blinked several times, and his face snapped into focus.
“Give me your hand,” he repeated.
She obeyed and he reached for her with slow, precise movements.
She hated herself for being so weak. Tears swam in her eyes when he pried open her fingers and pressed a towel to the bleeding wound.
She sensed his too-clever gaze on her face now and then, making covert assessments. As if she were one of his artifacts, withholding secrets he was determined to uncover. Her stomach wrenched with terror, but not of him. Rather, she feared what he would see when he looked at her. The real her.
She had to get away.
Her practiced lines tumbled out. “I think this renovation is getting to me.”
“You’ve been working hard.” He smoothed a hank of hair off her forehead. “You must be tired.”
“I am.” The exhaustion was so wide and so deep she feared it might drown her.
“Why don’t you try to get some rest?” Tension corded his neck and shoulders. “I’ll wake you in a bit.”
She fled to the bedroom and fastened the door shut behind her. Blocking out Noah and the small anguish marring his beautiful face.
In truth, Mina wanted to talk to him. She wanted to tell him it had nothing to do with him. That it was something else. Something inside her. That it was ugly and fierce, and she was afraid if she let it loose, it would consume her. She struggled to find the words, but no words could change what she was.
She prayed for courage but found none existed in her. Her vision blurred as tears of frustration and self-loathing filled her eyes.
The dying light threw shadows across the still room. She moved to the bed and sank down on it. While scenes played out before her eyes, she stared blankly ahead.
She caught sight of him through the window and smiled at his familiar, well-loved face. Like a big brother. She adored him and shamelessly sought his attention and affection.
She hurried inside. To him.
Icy rain pelted the window and the wind rattled the carriage house walls.
As she approached, his smile faded. She looked into his soft gray eyes, and what she saw there sent a ripple of fear chasing through her.
Resentment. Cruelty. Intent.
A crack of lightning lit up the room and then dashed her back into darkness.
Painful, grasping hands... tearing flesh... the stench of his panting breath on her face... the ache in her throat from screaming though she knew there was no one to hear her cries.
She felt again the nauseating dread that he’d come again.
The helplessness, the crippling fear when he did.
The images hounded her. Like a nightmare.
Except they were not the harmless imaginings of a dream but a waking nightmare. Memories buried so deep as to be nearly forgotten.
The truth took root inside her, expanding, twisting, filling all empty space and pushing out all that got in its way. Like weeds through cracks in the pavement. It scratched and clawed, tearing flesh from bone.
It’d always been there. Pursuing her, driving her, compelling her in every minute of every day to hide it, deny it, destroy it, defeat it, despise it. All in the futile attempt to change it and make it not true.
She didn’t want the waking nightmare to be real, but it was.
She didn’t want to be that person.
But she was.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The north winds battered the exposed shoreline of Lake Michigan. Noah’s mood darkened with the bleak winter day.
Large, wet snowflakes fell lazily from the sky as he rolled into the parking lot of the local ice arena. He grabbed the oversized hockey bag from the bed of his truck and made for the locker rooms.
She was avoiding him. He hadn’t laid eyes on her in days now, and the separation ate at his insides.
His heart slammed against his chest cavity as he tossed his bag to the locker room floor and dug out his gear.
Lost in his thoughts, Noah missed Shea sitting at the end of the bench until he nearly tripped over his brother’s big body. With a grunt, Noah sidestepped him.
Shea released a heavy sigh full of impatience. “I’m tired of this.”
Noah dragged his shoulder pads over his head. “Tired of what?”
“Of us dancing on eggshells around each other. Let’s just have it out.”
The familiar resentment twisted Noah’s gut. “Oh, please, let’s not.”
“You’ve obviously got something you want to say.”
“I really don’t.”
“Bullshit.”
All the self-doubts and bitterness amassed in a lifetime rushed to the surface. The ones formed early and residing deep in his heart, that no matter how fast or how far he ran, Noah couldn’t escape their view of him.
That he was expendable. Disposable.
Emotion rattled through him, choking him to silence. Without a word or even a flinch to acknowledge Shea’s charge, he laced up his skates and left the locker room.
In the arena, he took laps around the ice while he sized up their opponent. The Fighting Nolans had defeated the Mighty Drunks in last week’s game to move into first place in the six-team league. A win today against the Mother Puckers secured them a spot in the playoffs.
Jack skated by. “Your man’s the lumberjack.”
Noah looked to the men in casual conversation at the opposite end of the ice and pinpointed the broad-shouldered one with a bushy beard and red plaid flannel pants cut off at the knees to accommodate shin guards.
“He’s slow, but if he catches you, he’ll make you pay,” Jack said. “He likes to hit.”
A slow, predatory smile curled Noah’s lips. “Then it’s his lucky day.”
Jack’s maniacal laugh carried around the arena as he skated toward Luke, who’d finished stretching and had taken his place in goal.
A few minutes later, Noah glided to center ice and took his position for face-off.
The puck dropp
ed, and Noah attacked. He flattened the lumberjack on the first play and it was on. They battled for the next twenty minutes, at times abandoning the puck in favor of the cross-check. With time running out on the first period, Noah slapped the puck toward the net. Planted in the crease like an oak tree, Shea deflected the shot into the back of the goal.
Intermission pissed Noah off because it gave him time to think about Mina. Though he’d agreed to keep things casual between them, he deeply regretted that decision now. He wanted to know what was going on with her. Why was she pushing him away?
He wasn’t ready for their relationship to end. He didn’t want to stop being with her, nor did he want to be her plaything. A friend and a fuck. He’d had his lifetime full of being expendable to people, and just once he wanted someone to want him to stay.
The second period started with the lumberjack sending Noah into the boards with a legal check. It felt good to get hit. Noah repaid the favor on the next play, skating casually away as the poor sap crumpled to the ice. It felt better to hit, he decided.
In the end, the Fighting Nolans sent the Mother Puckers packing, six goals to none, and Noah and the lumberjack shared a robust post-game handshake.
In the locker room afterwards, Jack grinned at Noah. “I like you in beast mode. Bring that the rest of the way and we win this thing.”
As if there was ever any doubt that they’d defeat the other teams in the league of middle-aged, beer-drinking men. Jack by himself could’ve beaten half of them.
Luke’s cell was blowing up, and, phone attached to his ear, he ducked out with a wave for the others. Jack made for the exit while Noah crammed gear into his bag.
Shea straddled the bench, facing him. Expectant.
Noah whipped a skate into an empty locker, and the clamor echoed through the locker room. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want to hear the truth.” Shea folded his arms across his broad chest. “For once.”
“Why did you do it?”
“It was the only way.”
Noah’s bitter laugh grated like broken glass. “Fuck you.”
“He was going to kill you.” Shea’s eyes blazed bright. “I had to send you away.”
Noah shot to his feet and hauled his hockey bag over his shoulder.
Shea stood. “God damn it, Noah, listen to me. He wasn’t right in the head, and he was focused on you. I don’t know why, but he was. He was killing you. We all were.”
Noah held his body still while, inside, he cracked apart, carried away against his will to that fateful night. The memory so vivid it might as well have happened yesterday and not half a lifetime ago.
The telephone’s shrill ring had awakened him. He’d fumbled to answer it before the noise disturbed the baby or the baby’s exhausted parents.
It was Terry, the owner of Daniel’s favorite bar. Their dad was drunk, again, and there’d been a fight. Someone needed to come get him before the cops arrived.
Noah arrived a few minutes later to find Daniel slumped over the bar. Noah shook him awake. Daniel lifted his head and regarded Noah through red-rimmed eyes glazed by drunkenness.
“Take your hands off me,” Daniel said, his speech heavily slurred.
Unease prickled along Noah’s spine. “Let’s go home, Dad.”
Daniel stumbled, climbing off the barstool, and Noah reached to steady him.
Daniel exploded. “Get your fucking hands off me!”
Noah backed off and showed his hands at his sides in a sign of surrender, but Daniel’s course was set. He glared at Noah for many moments, a slight sway to his stance. Then he lunged.
Noah dodged the charge and executed a small deflection. Nothing more than a slight slap to redirect Daniel’s advance, but the move was enough to drop the inebriated man.
Cursing, Daniel struggled to his knees as he fumbled through his coat pocket with frantic, jerky movements. Noah bent to help him up when a final violent tug freed the object Daniel sought.
Noah froze with the flash of silver, his body understanding the danger before his mind could grasp it. Hard metal pressed to his sternum.
“Dad—?”
“Why did you come back?” Spittle shot from Daniel’s mouth with his anguished words. “When you’re gone, at least I can pretend you’re not my son.”
Through the roaring in his ears, Noah heard the ominous click of the Glock turning over. A surreal stillness settled over him as he accepted what was to come.
“Danny!”
The thunderous bellow startled Daniel, who flinched but held the gun steady at Noah’s chest.
With a flash of movement, Father John detached from the shadows and snatched the gun from Daniel.
Daniel blinked up at his brother-in-law as if waking from a deep slumber. Then his face crumpled and he slumped to the floor.
“God damn him,” he sobbed.
John’s fierce blue eyes landed on Noah’s face. “Go,” he said. “Go now.” He bent over Daniel’s defeated form. “It’s over now,” John soothed.
Noah stumbled backwards, then turned and fled. At the door, he slid to a stop. He peered into the shadows at the figure standing there.
“Go.” Shea’s clipped command lashed at Noah. “Don’t ever come back.”
Swallowing back acid, Noah had fled town that night, an exile.
No matter how far he’d roamed, the pain of that night had stayed with him always. Each morning, he’d relived the heartbreak when he’d awoken and remembered, and again a million times throughout the day, every day, when he’d thought of them, wondered how they were, who they’d become. Like a thousand tiny cuts draining the life from him, slowly and with excruciating agony.
“You were eighteen at the time.” Shea’s quiet voice pulled Noah back to the present. “Just a kid.”
“We didn’t have the luxury of being kids,” Noah said.
“I couldn’t save all of you,” Shea said. “Not then. But I could save you that night.”
Noah stood with fists clenched at his sides. Air rattled through his lungs with a fractured wheeze.
“You deserved more than this shithole town could give you. I saw a chance to get you out and I took it.” The edge was back in Shea’s tone. “Leo was thirteen years old. He didn’t understand. None of them did. I broke their hearts when I sent you away. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that? I thought you hated me as much as he did. Jesus, Shea.”
“Would you have gone if I did?”
“It was my choice to make!” At the ring of anguish in his voice, Noah cursed.
“I know that. I do.” The color heightened on Shea’s cheeks. “But the thing is, I can’t look at you now and regret what I did. I’m sorry if that pisses you off. I won’t regret it, Noah, but I am sorry.”
Noah didn’t quite manage to still the quiver in his voice when he said, “Don’t you ever fucking do something like that to me again.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Misery destroyed her appetite and stole her sleep.
The waking nightmares continued to stalk her. Earlier that day, while working with Sam to configure the kitchen layout, she’d recalled the sickening sensation of coming to in second period math class, her textbook open in front of her.
She’d had no memory of how she’d gotten there, or of the problems written in the book that’d lain open on her desk. She’d had no memory of the prior weeks at all. Terrified the teacher would call on her, she’d buried her head in the pages of the textbook and beaten back the panic until class had ended. Then, she’d run to the restroom and locked herself in the last stall.
She’d remained locked in that stall the rest of the day.
Now, the antique clock struck the hour from the living room. Chiming twice, its rich knell proclaimed the late hour throughout the carriage house.
Mina burrowed deeper beneath the quilts piled on top of the bed. She could hear Noah in the other room, straightening his files and clos
ing down his laptop.
A moment later, he came into the bedroom.
To her.
She pretended to sleep.
Shame at her deception washed over her, but she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. To open her arms and her heart to him.
One more thing destroyed by the memories: she recoiled at the thought of intimacy. Even with Noah.
A tear leaked from the corner of one eye and plopped on the pillow. The bathroom door closed, followed by the sound of running water. A sob built in her throat and she buried her face.
She clenched the quilt tight under her chin. Cold seeped into her bones. Nothing could chase away the chill or the profound devastation that Noah wasn’t the cure for her contaminated soul after all.
With that truth exposed, she knew she might never be the woman he needed. The woman he deserved. The woman she didn’t have it in her to be.
She should let him go. Set him free to find a woman worthy of him.
A real woman.
The jarring jingle of a cell phone punctured the quiet in the room. Mina tracked the sound to Noah’s phone lying on top of her dresser.
She tossed back the covers. Her bare feet smacked against the cold hardwood floors as she scurried to reach his phone before the call ended. The small display screen flashed with a sequence of numbers when she picked up the phone and moved toward the bathroom.
She stuck her head inside. “Noah?”
“Yeah?” he called over the sound of the shower’s spray.
“Your phone’s ringing. Do you want me to hand it to you?”
“Can you answer it? Take a message and I’ll call ’em right back.”
She shut the bathroom door and accepted the call. “Hello?”
“May I speak with Noah Nolan, please?” The woman spoke with a thick Irish accent, and it took Mina a moment to adjust to her lyrical cadence.
“He, uh, stepped out for a minute,” Mina hedged. “Can I take a message?”
“Please. Tell him Anna called and the new project is a go,” she said. “We can’t wait to have him home in a few weeks.”
Mina disconnected the call and clutched the phone to her chest, over her wildly thumping heart.
