I nodded while poking at the peas on my plate. My assigned tech, Tiffani, was twenty-five, had grown up in Galveston, and never missed a single Sunday service at Eagle Lake Church.
I’d come to learn all of this because the woman hadn’t stopped talking since she discovered who I was. My silence went unnoticed as she filled our days with everything from her thoughts on battling Houston traffic, to the best sermons Tristan had ever preached.
“Pastor James is just like such a light, you know?”
Agreeing to come to True North had just like obviously been a stupid, horrible decision, you know?
She paused long enough to suck in a breath of air before launching right back into it. “At the time, I was waiting tables and just like, saw myself going nowhere. Once I read your father’s words, though, I realized, my vision wasn’t big enough. Now, here I am. He is a true prophet. I mean, like how blessed are we to have him right here in Houston?”
I scrunched my face up. Like, just so lucky, I can’t even stand it.
“Oh, listen to me! Rambling on and expecting you to answer. I’ll let you eat, and then we’ll get you back to your room for a little rest.”
My weekly schedule was really just different variations of the same thing. I’d spend thirty minutes with my physical therapist, Natalie, in the gym before meeting Fynn for an hour of speech. Then, it was occupational therapy with Andi, followed by lunch.
I couldn’t decide if the lingering exhaustion was due to the rigorous classes or just an inability to hear one more person drone on about how great Tristan James was.
On top of that, I was growing increasingly frustrated because I was no closer to discovering the truth. Trying to force my brain back to where it was before the accident was a monumental task, leaving me in constant need of a nap.
Not that those helped any.
I would doze for what seemed like minutes before Tiffani, or another tech would flip on the lights, announcing it was time for a second physical therapy session with Natalie. I took another nap before dinner at five and was back in bed by eight. The medicine the nurses gave was supposed to help me sleep, but it only seemed to make the nightmares more real.
The mesh tent surrounding my bed didn’t help—becoming a prison once it was zipped closed and locked—trapping me inside until the morning tech arrived. The staff insisted it was a safety precaution for brain-injured patients, but I knew the truth.
It was just another way for Tristan to exert his power over me.
A cage was a cage, no matter how shiny the metal.
“Your father is just like,” Tiffani sighed almost dreamily. “He’s just—”
Bigoted? I offered. Chauvinistic? A murderer?
Well, if Mama was to be believed. As we’d been told she’d passed from a brain aneurism, it seemed a little far-fetched. Those first two were spot on, though.
“I really hope Fynn can help you get your voice back.” Her eyes softened. “I’d really like to know what you’re trying to say. I literally cannot imagine how hard that must be.”
I immediately pressed my lips together and nodded. Pitching a fit and thinking ugly thoughts would get me nowhere. It wasn’t fair. No one knew what Tristan was really like, and being irritated at someone’s ignorance over the matter was just plain mean-spirited.
My injury had given me the chance to observe the goodness and generosity that people outside the church had to offer. And Tiffani, despite her misguided devotion, only wanted to help.
On the rare occasions I asked for assistance at home, I was expected to give something in return—very quid pro quo. True North was almost a foreign land, by comparison. The staff seemed not only willing, but eager to serve, expecting nothing in return. I longed for the days before the accident, when I could go to the bathroom alone and shower without an audience, but I was also grateful.
Grateful I’d been given the privilege of witnessing beauty in my brokenness.
Tiffani’s only real flaw was placing her faith in the wrong hands, just one of many who’d fallen under Tristan’s spell over the years. They dropped every dime in the offering plate, imagining they’d somehow stand out in a sea of forty-five thousand attendees, but it was never enough to gain favor with their idol. Tiffani blamed herself for not being enlightened enough spiritually—If, like, only she’d prayed harder…
In reality, her income alone would never be enough to set her apart from the politicians and celebrities vying for a coveted spot among Tristan’s flock. And if it were, she’d be forced to give up any ideas of gender equality, fully embracing her divine purpose to serve.
There was a distinct difference between church members and church followers. Church members were welcome to every Sunday service and heavily encouraged to ‘step out in faith and tithe.’
With the exception of Brad, the followers who lived within the community were connected to our family through either marriage or blood. They were also ridiculously wealthy and pledged more per year than most people probably made in twenty.
No, Tiffani was better off outside the walls.
“So, like, I think I keep missing him. When exactly does Pastor James drop by to check on you?”
Never, I mouthed. It seems I was sacrificed on the altar of a BMW Z4.
“I’m sorry,” Tiffani apologized. “I’m trying to read your lips but can’t quite—did you say Sunday at four?”
For only the second time in my life, I found I could speak without stammering, but no one could hear me.
How’s that for a paradox?
I shrugged noncommittally and went back to picking at my lunch. Tristan had returned to his stage, preaching the very sermon I’d heard in the van and giving interviews to any network that would have him.
“Is this seat taken?”
I paused in my pursuit of chasing an English pea across the plate and slowly raised my head. Except for the staff, no one spoke to me.
Ever.
My heart skipped and stumbled when our eyes met, temporarily forgetting the very crux of its existence.
Him.
I wasn’t sure who I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the crutch-wielding jerk from across the hall. I’d hoped our encounter in the hall was one we’d never repeat—yet, here he was again—proving that God must have had quite a sense of humor.
I’d spent a good chunk of my life wanting nothing more than to be seen, only to have my request granted at the most inopportune of times.
Be careful what you pray for, am I right?
“What’s that?” He leaned down as far as the crutches would allow, still towering over me in a way that felt intimidating. “Did you say something?”
Tiffani cleared her throat. “Well, she can’t—”
“Okay, great. Yeah, just place it right there,” he muttered distractedly. An aide placed his tray next to mine and returned to the kitchen before anyone could voice their objections.
Our new table mate flashed us a smile before glancing down to my wheelchair. “Oh, uh, you dropped something.”
A quick check of my lap confirmed the napkin lying near his feet was indeed mine. This was no paper napkin, either. Oh no, True North only used the best of everything. Linen napkins, starched tablecloths—even vases with fresh cut flowers.
It was such a stark change from the hospital—where everything was disposable and easily discarded. If I didn’t like the night nurse, it was just a matter of waiting for a shift change. Here, though, there was consistency with the staff and the well-decorated tables.
I pushed back from the table, only to be stopped by the sound of his voice.
“Stay there, I’ve got it.” He adjusted his weight and tried bending over, succeeding in rattling his crutches, but not much else. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, ridiculously satisfied in watching him make a scene over a scrap of linen.
“You know what? We’ll just do this,” he snagged a napkin off the table next to mine and handed it over with a flourish.
I placed it on
my tray, searching his face through narrowed eyes. What was it he wanted? There had to be a hidden motive.
There always was.
He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of my stare before carefully lowering himself onto the empty chair beside me. A strand of jet-black hair flopped onto his forehead, and he casually brushed it back without once breaking eye contact. Gruff exterior notwithstanding, the man was ridiculously good-looking.
I should know.
I’d been watching him all week. It would have been impossible to miss how attractive he was, and while, I approved of his features immensely, it wasn’t what had drawn me to him.
“It’s like geriatric hell around here, right?” he asked before taking a bite of his sandwich.
In the hallway, he’d noticed me in the fleeting way one would a fly buzzing around their head, but I’d studied him for days, learning about the kind of man he was.
And the more I observed, the less I wanted to see.
Unfortunately, this time, my blatant gawking hadn’t gone unnoticed. Tiffani scrutinized the two of us, her eyes sparkling with sudden interest. It was a form of communication that needed no translation.
I jerked my head in response, the back of my neck prickling with heated embarrassment. Knowing my face was likely the color of a strawberry, I turned away and began carefully rearranging the peas into a straight line again.
Good, Ariana. Really good. Completely normal behavior for someone who isn’t guilty of anything.
Even the slightest suspicion of wrongdoing on my part would no doubt lead to a visit from Tristan. And, as I still didn’t know what had led to the car wreck, I was eager to stay under his radar for as long as possible.
Cutlery rattled amid the low buzz of voices from other patients enjoying their lunches, all seemingly unaware of the disastrous situation unfolding just feet from their tables.
“You know, this facility is supposed to be the best in the country, but it’s nothing but old oil and gas tycoons who want to spend their time reminiscing about the glory days,” the man rambled in between bites. “They’ve all got one foot on a banana peel—and has anyone here actually seen the football player? What’s his name?”
Justin Thomas, I mouthed to the untouched mashed potatoes in front of me.
“He does all the charity work? God, it’s on the tip of my tongue. Watch, it’ll come to me in the middle of the night.” He hunched down into my line of vision. “Hey, you’re awfully quiet over there.”
I kept my head down and fidgeted with my new necklace, using my thumbnail to trace the miniature suction cups etched into each tentacle. I knew if I looked up, I’d want to dive into the icy blue waters of his eyes and never resurface. Just like a character from one of the books I kept hidden beneath my bed, the man could only be described as devastatingly handsome.
Handsome, for the obvious reasons.
Instead of moving toward my face, this wave of heat surged south, making my stomach flutter like a nest of birds ready to take flight. Clearly, the car wreck hadn’t destroyed everything, but I was beginning to question my body’s discernment.
Growing up, we’d been taught that sin was like a snake, lurking in dark corners, poised and ready to strike.
I disagreed.
Men like him, with their blue-gray eyes and beaming smiles, were the culmination of my every sinful thought—the reason my hand had found its way beneath my nightgown more than once over the last five years.
Maybe it was just me, but I’d always pictured sin as having full lips, a shadowed jawline, and dark eyebrows.
Yes, I’d noticed his eyebrows.
Some of the older men within the church had remarkably thick eyebrows, like bushy caterpillars sprawled lazily above each eye. His were nothing like that. They didn’t detract from his eyes. If anything, they only seemed to enhance his features.
My actions might have looked like interest to Tiffani, but nothing could be farther from the truth. I was simply observing him, the same way one might a bear in the woods.
Warily, and with extreme caution.
Because he was devastatingly handsome. Devastating, in that, once he opened his mouth, all of that beauty fell away, revealing the ugly underneath. It was any wonder his foot wasn’t permanently wedged in between his full lips.
And he wasn’t even aware of it.
To be honest, before today, I hadn’t been entirely sure he was aware I existed. Sure, he’d looked right at me in the hallway, but he hadn’t seen me.
Not really.
I’d seen him, though.
In class, he refused to put in the work and complained about almost everything, leaving his physical therapist looking defeated. When his friend with the nice suits visited, his angry words drifted across the hall into my room.
I wouldn’t turn my back on a man like that any more than I would the errant bear. I’d mistakenly assumed he’d take a hint and leave when I refused to acknowledge him. Instead, he dropped the half-eaten sandwich to his plate and leaned in, searching my face.
“Look, I came over here for a reason,” he admitted softly as if trying to recall what exactly that was. “Can we start over and you forget everything I said? Hi, my name is Killian.”
Killian.
I stared at his extended hand and clenched my jaw before forcing my eyes up to meet his inquisitive stare. The corner of his mouth turned up when I made no attempt to take his hand. Meanwhile, I was busy dispassionately labeling his facial features to keep my resolve from slipping.
There was a slight bend in the bridge of his nose, probably from a break that hadn’t been set correctly. Unlike his left ear, the top of the right one curved ever so slightly away from the side of his head. And, even with the heavy stubble, it was obvious he had a cleft chin. I was nothing more than an impartial observer, completely unaffected by the beautiful man in front of her.
Seconds passed, and he slowly lowered his hand back to the table with a forced laugh. “Christ, is this because of the autograph? Look, you caught me at a bad time, but that’s actually what—”
I don’t even know you, I mouthed, surprised by the low growl that accompanied my words. I looked past Killian to Tiffani before realizing the sound had come from me.
“Yeah, well, you sure could have fooled me. It seems like I’m intruding on your lunch, so I’ll leave you ladies in peace.” The rubber tip of his crutches gave a slight squeak against the tile as he stood, but this time, I didn’t bother looking up. I needed a minute to fully appreciate what had just occurred.
I’d done it.
Tiffani’s expression remained blank, which surprised me. I might have welcomed her sudden vow of silence a half-hour ago, but now it felt strange. If anyone should have had something to say right now, it was her.
Well? I mouthed, slightly disappointed when there was no sound.
Baby steps.
She released an unsteady breath and leaned back in her chair. “I can’t believe that just happened. Like, I’m literally speechless right now.”
I nodded in agreement—although technically, I’d been speechless for about a month now.
“Ariana, do you realize what this means?”
I can make sounds? I asked, the side of my mouth lifting in amusement.
“He knew what you were saying,” Tiffani said, bringing her eyes back to mine. “Fynn can’t even understand you, but Killian did! Twice!”
I stared at her, certain I was gaping.
Had she been at the same table I had? I’d growled—not loudly, but obviously, the next step was speaking. What did Killian have to do with any of it? Not only was the man a jerk, but a conceited one at that.
An autograph?
Please.
Tiffani pushed her chair back from the table, laughing softly to herself. “I think we’ve had enough fun for one afternoon. Let’s get back to your room for a little rest.”
I agreed, still stewing over the man’s odd behavior. Who did he think he was—the president? I’d s
imply needed help. Help that he’d refused to give. No wonder his physical therapist looked haggard—Killian was probably convinced the poor guy was in love with him.
What a lunatic…
“Watch out, this one would just as soon run you over as look at you.”
I tensed and squared my shoulders, my breaths quickening at the sound of his voice. Saliva flooded my mouth, leaving me wishing—not for the first time—for the power of invisibility.
And there it was, folks.
Blink. Blink.
Devastatingly handsome—the absolute worst kind of handsome a man could be.
It wasn’t as if Killian was the first man to taunt me—heck, he wasn’t even the tenth. I’d learned it was best to just keep my head down, letting the ugly words roll off me like water on a duck’s back. But something in his tone had me clenching my fists and jerking my chin up in defiance, daring him to continue.
Maybe I would run him over with my wheelchair.
Those crutches were going to slow him down considerably.
Killian flashed me a confident smirk, one of his eyebrows cocking up in amusement. The older man at his side seemed less impressed as he dissected me with a thoughtful frown.
I was busy debating the pros and cons of attempting another growl while snapping my teeth when Killian’s gaze swept across my face. The scrutiny left me feeling out of sorts, like a specimen in a lab. I lowered my fists, tucking my trembling fingers into the fold of my dress, suddenly eager to be dismissed.
Had I been born anyone else, I imagined I would have found the quirk of his mouth mesmerizing, his words little more than playful teasing. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have given Killian second and third chances, hoping he’d prove himself to be different. I would have wasted precious time trying to understand what made him tick while he hid his true nature behind pretty smiles.
I was wrong before.
Killian wasn’t devastatingly handsome.
He was charming—which might have been worse. A bear in the woods was a blatant threat, but charming men weren’t bears. They were the foxes appearing in folklore—tricksters who cleverly camouflaged their true nature to outsmart prey.
Through The Water: Fairest Series Book Two Page 7
