by Teresa Hill
Had he used that same tone of voice with Amanda in Bukhai? Gentle, but firm, to try to soothe her and let her know she was safe with him, and to try to convince her to do what he said.
No, he wouldn't have had time. They'd had to move too fast. It wouldn't have been like this. But she must have been so like this woman, this bruised, beaten, terrified woman.
Will hadn't wanted her to see this, hadn't wanted her to feel this churning in her stomach, the burning rising through her chest and into her throat, her heart pounding, air getting harder to find.
God, she hated this feeling.
The rest was something of a blur that Amanda watched at what felt like a long distance. She saw another woman, the social worker, carrying a couple of shopping bags that Amanda feared was everything this mother and her two children now had in the world.
From the way the mother walked, her ribs hurt, Amanda knew, as her own still did at times. It was hard for the mother to hang onto both children and walk into the shelter's office.
Forms had to be filled out before they could be admitted to the shelter, Will said, but he promised to be fast. The children were scared and tired and fretful, and the mother was trying to hold everything together now that the social worker was gone.
Amanda wanted to help, not stand by quietly freaking out and thinking of no one but herself. She wasn't the only one in the room who'd had something big and bad and scary happen to her, and she was one of the grown-ups.
Putting on her best kindergarten-teacher charm, she set about getting the kids to trust her and come into the kitchen with her for a snack. With the office door open, the kids could still see their mother, and having something to eat had to be better than hearing the conversation going on in the office. Will was going over who was after the woman, what he had done and how much of a threat he might be.
Amanda fed the kids leftover macaroni and cheese she found in the refrigerator, and then bright blue popsicles, which proved messy but a happy distraction. Neither one looked so scared after that. She even got a smile out of them.
Will finished whatever he had to do in the office, asked Amanda to wait for him, and showed the woman and her kids upstairs. When he came back a few minutes later, the kitchen was filling up with women cooking dinner. He took Amanda into the living room, but people were there, too.
He finally led her back to the office and closed the door. Motioning for her to sit in the chair in front of the desk, he leaned back against the desk in front of her.
"Sorry. We have to go over certain rules right away with new residents, mostly about security measures, mostly making them swear not to give out the shelter's location to anyone. A lot of abuse victims, once they've been stitched up, cleaned up, calmed down, want to go back. Or they have friends or relatives who think they should go back. Someone here tells one person, who tells someone else, and pretty soon, a really angry man is trying to kick in the front door. We try hard to keep that from happening," He squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
"I looked at her, and I thought, 'So, this is what a woman who's been beaten up looks like.' I was unconscious for the better part of three days, so I didn't see myself right away. Is that how I looked, Will?"
His look was kindness personified, along with regrets and a hint of anger. Finally, he reached out, touched two fingers to her forehead and said, "No cut that needed stitches here, no broken nose, but yeah, pretty much."
She nodded, taking that in, wondering what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that kind of violence. She'd felt it when she'd regained consciousness, and it had hurt. But it had been three days.
She wondered, too, what it had been like to have Will taking care of her, trying to reassure her, to keep her safe.
He'd said she was afraid at times, but it hadn't always been like that, had it? At some point, wouldn't she have come to trust him?
Had he held her close, let her cry out her tears, tended to her wounds?
Amanda got to her feet and eased closer to him, and slowly, gently, his arms came around her. She leaned into the reassuring solidness of his body, the heat. She let her head fall to his shoulder, turned her face against his neck, and his hand went to the back of her head, slowly stroking her hair.
It felt blissfully safe.
A world of tension she hadn't even been aware of holding inside, began to seep out and drift away. Muscles that had been clenched tight in her hands, her jaw, even her forehead, eased.
She'd forgotten what it felt like to relax, and suddenly her body felt weak and shaky, like tension had been the only thing holding her together. She could feel Will breathing slow and deep and steady, feel his pulse in the side of his neck, sure and strong, as he stood there, holding her.
She never wanted to move.
"I'm sorry. I wish you hadn't seen that," he said. "I knew it would be hard for you."
"I looked over the kids. I didn't find any bruises, but someone should check to make sure they don't have any hidden under their clothes."
"We'll get them a check-up with a doctor. Part of the service here."
"Good, because someone has to protect them."
"I know. Someone will."
"The little boy is five. He should be in kindergarten."
"Uh-hmm," Will said.
"And then, his teacher can watch out for him, too. One more set of eyes."
"Yes. One more."
"I loved teaching," she said, finding it easier to talk when he couldn't see her face. "I loved my kids, and I don't know if I can ever go back into a classroom," she said. "The chalk alone... Maybe if I was in a place that had no chalk, only whiteboards, because I can't stand the smell of chalk. It makes me throw up."
"Honey, it's barely been two months. It's way too soon to be thinking about that."
"I just don't know what I'll do if I can't go back."
"It's nothing you have to worry about today, okay?"
She took a long, slow breath and tried to stop shaking. She didn't seem to be succeeding. "I know. I was just thinking of the little boy. I want him to have a good teacher. I want him to be safe."
"I know, honey."
"You know, I used to think the world was a mostly safe place. That sounds silly, given what my father does, some of the places he's been posted. But I always felt safe. And now, the whole world seems dangerous. To me, to that woman who came in here tonight, and to those two little kids and everyone here at the shelter. It's hard, to live in a world that seems so dangerous."
"The world hasn't changed, Amanda. It's always been this way. You just got closer to the dangerous part than you have before, and it's still too recent. You're not always going to feel this way."
"That's what Emma says, and the psychologist I saw before her."
"Well, if Emma says it, it must be true. I don't think she'd lie to you. Try to trust what she says."
Amanda smiled a little. "She says that, too."
"Well, there you go."
She felt him start to ease away, and she grabbed onto his sides and held on. "Not yet. Please?"
He stayed where he was, and let her stay close. He smelled so good, and she decided he had the best hands, big and warm, strong yet gentle.
One of those hands was slowly moving up and down her back, a simple touch that felt so good, soothing and nurturing, indulgent even.
Emma had said touch was good. She said Amanda should try to notice how nice it can be, how many emotions touch can convey. She needed to know hands don't always hurt. To recognize that touch can help heal a woman who's been the victim of a man's violence.
Amanda soaked up the gentle feel of his hands, of his arms around her, his shoulder to lean on, the heat coming off him, the need to bring her whole body into contact with his.
But it might not be what he wanted. He'd already tried to move away. Maybe he let her stay this close only because he felt sorry for her. She couldn't stand that, so she didn't let herself come any closer. She wouldn't risk losing what she had at the moment.
"I think you must have taken very good care of me in Buhkai, because of how safe I feel when you're close."
Right away, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. His body tensed, and he stepped away. She thought his eyes were full of regrets, maybe sadness, maybe even a hint of anger.
"Don't do that, Amanda."
"Do what?"
"Make me out to be some kind of larger-than-life hero, because I'm not."
"You are to me—"
"Honey, there are things you don't remember. Times I scared you. Times I let you down. Times when you were so angry at me. I killed two people right in front of you. I left that out of my little story a few days ago about getting you out of the school."
"Two of the men who took us hostage?"
He nodded.
"The one who raped me?"
"I don't know. I don't know which one it was."
"Because I'd really like to know for sure he's dead."
"Amanda, I don't see how any of them could have gotten away from the mob storming that school."
"I know. That's what everyone says, but I'd still like to know for sure."
"Well, I got the one with the big scar from a knife wound down his left jaw, and the one whose nose looked like it had been broken about five times. If you ever do remember—and God, I hope you don't—those two are dead. I practically laid them at your feet before I got you out of that place."
"And you think I'd have a problem with that?"
"I think that kind of thing scares the crap out of most people who haven't seen as many dead bodies up close and personal as I have."
"Well, I wouldn't know about that. I don't remember. Even if I did, the sight might be upsetting, but I can't imagine it making me scared of you or mad at you. Why would it?"
"People look at you differently when they know you can do things like that."
"Some people," she said.
"Okay, some people."
"Some of us—a lot of us, I bet—are just happy that people like you exist and can save us from people like that when we need it."
He shook his head, looking like a man full of regrets. "That's not all I did."
"Will, you keep trying to convince me you're a bad guy—"
"No, I'm trying to be honest."
"Fine, what else did you do? What was so bad that you think you need to apologize for it?"
Chapter 10
Buhkai, Africa
January 16th
They hadn't taken two steps toward the Jeep when she said, "Wait! The kids... What happened to the kids?"
Shit.
Will had been afraid that would come up.
"The last time I saw them, they were okay," he said, not exactly lying. In that moment, they had been.
"Where were they? Were they safe? They didn't get hurt? Those men didn't get them?"
"They didn't look like they'd been harmed." Again, not a lie.
"But they were safe? They got out, too?"
"They were on their way out."
"With a soldier? With someone like you?"
He nodded. If the Buhkai troops were like him, then, yes. "Amanda, we don't have time for this."
"Wait. You left them?" She roused from her stupor enough to yell at him.
"No. I got you out."
"How could you leave them in there?"
"I couldn't get five adults and four children out of there. Believe me, if I could have, I would have. I was trying to do that, but the crowd outside started charging in. It all turned to shit, and I did what I could. I got you out."
She looked horrified, looked at him like he was some kind of monster. "I'm not leaving them! I did... You don't know what I did for them, to keep them safe, and I am not leaving them now."
He took her by the arm, jerked her around to face the direction of the school, so she could see the crowd, the smoke, the fire, the chaos.
"You think you could even find four kids in the middle of that? Much less drag them to safety?"
Her eyes filled with tears that overflowed and ran down her cheeks, and she looked as if her heart was breaking. "They're just kids."
"I know. I'm not some kind of unfeeling monster. But I am just a man. One man. I did what I could. Now, we have to go. Are you coming with me willingly? Or do I have to knock you out and throw you back over my shoulder?"
She gasped, letting him know clearly that, in that moment, she thought he was some kind of monster. "You'd do that?"
He nodded. Shit, he really didn't want to scare her. She'd already been scared enough. But he would do it if he had to.
"If it kept you safe and meant I could get you out of here, hell, yes, I would. So, what's it going to be?"
And then she seemed to wither before his eyes, no fight left in her, no strength. "All right. I'll go."
* * *
Baxter, Ohio
He waited to see what she would do, what she would say.
"The teachers who died, Nigel and Amal? Were they alive when you last saw them?"
"Yes."
"Following us out of the school?"
"Yes."
"And then they just weren't there?"
He nodded. He remembered how relieved he was when he realized he and Amanda were out, then turning around and... Nothing. No one following them. There hadn't been more than a split second for regrets. He'd had to keep moving. Regrets came later, like when he was stuck doing nothing while he waited for his eye to heal or now when he had to tell Amanda about those moments.
"But the kids who were with Nigel and Amal got out," she said. "My father talked to Amal's father. He said we all agreed, all the teachers who were hostages, that we weren't going to let anybody hurt those kids, no matter what. That's what they must have done, protected them in the end."
"I don't know. I never got any details on how they died."
"You're just a man, remember, Will? One man. Did you think I'd blame you because my friends didn't make it out of there? That I'd think you—one man—were solely responsible for getting everyone out safely?"
"I wasn't sure. I blame myself, some days. I think about what I could have done differently—"
"You told me we were all lucky that day. All of us who got out of there alive. Was that true?"
"Yes, we were." And she was a kind, generous woman, trying to make him feel better.
"My father said there's a video—bad, shaky video—of the crowd rushing into the school. He didn't think there was any way I'd come out of it alive, but here I am. I know why. It's because of you. I'm not going to second-guess anything you did there. I have no complaints with you. I wish you felt the same way."
"When people's lives are on the line... You always want to save everybody." Especially for her. He'd wanted to be some damned hero for her.
"I hate that they're gone," she said. "They were good people, parents with kids, and Nigel had grandchildren. I met them once. But they're not gone because of you. I'm sure you did everything you could. It's who you are. So maybe it's time to cut yourself some slack. Do you ever do that?"
"There's not a lot of margin for error in what I do."
"And yet, you insisted that a lot of the reason you and I are standing here now is that we got lucky. So, if a mission goes well, it was luck, but if it went bad, that was you? You can't have it both ways, Will."
"I suppose."
"You still feel guilty?"
"Sometimes."
"Me, too. That I survived and they didn't."
He brushed his hand through her hair near the side of her face and then, for just a moment, let his hand linger there, cupping her cheek. "Survivor's guilt. You know what a load of crap that is, don't you? Nobody asked you whether you or the other two should survive."
"No, but I had my own personal savior, my own bad-ass Navy SEAL to get me out of there."
* * *
Amanda knew instantly it was the wrong thing to say. She just didn't know why.
He pulled away from her and stepped back, loo
ked taller and leaner, more the aloof military man.
"What's wrong?"
"Amanda, we went through something highly unusual together, something difficult and scary. Your life was on the line. It's not unusual in times like that to feel things that aren't real. An attachment. Gratitude that can seem like something else."
"I've heard the psychological theory."
"It's more than a theory. I've seen it happen, seen people act on feelings like that and get burned. You should be careful. I don't want you to get hurt."
"By you?"
"By anyone or anything."
When he said things like that, she wanted to dismiss everything he said before it. He was just telling her to not get too attached to him, to not care too much.
"Rescue women all the time, do you? And then find them falling all over you with gratitude?"
"No. That's not what I said or what I meant." His tone was even and patient.
"I know. I'm sorry." She'd been temporarily blinded by jealousy, by imagining women hanging onto him and crying their eyes out, seeing him as their own personal hero, and feeling safe, only with him. Thinking he felt as much for them as she felt for him. "It's just that even when you were warning me away from you, it still felt like you were worrying about me and trying to take care of me. It felt—"
Special.
She felt special to him, and she desperately wanted to be. Unwanted tears welled up in her eyes.
He turned his head and swore under his breath, so softly she could barely hear the word.
"I'm sorry," she said. "You have been nothing but kind to me, and you saved my life. I'm acting like I deserve even more than that from you—"
"That's not what I said," he repeated.
"Well, no. You're too nice to say something like that—"
"No, I'm not. If I want a woman to leave me the hell alone... Well, I wouldn't start the conversation with that, but if it needed to be said, I could do it. I'm not saying that to you, not anything like that. And I want to help you. I'm not trying to push you away. I'm just trying to tell you, plainly, so there's no mistake, that I'll be gone one day, and it won't have anything to do with you. It's just my job, my life. I'll go."
"I understand," she said, even if it wasn't completely true, because he obviously needed to know she'd gotten the message. "One day, you'll be gone. But even then, I'll be grateful. I'll always be grateful. Not just for saving my life. For being my friend right now, for however long that lasts."
