3. Elliot

Islug back the rest of my coffee, though I don”t think the caffeine is working anymore. After six cups, I”m still dragging this afternoon. I woke up before the sun and ended up tossing and turning for an hour until finally rolling my tired ass out of bed.

I reluctantly did the set of stretches Brielle assigned to me, and as much as I hate to admit it, her minor adjustments to my form helped make things more bearable. My leg still spasms and I have moments of sharp, piercing pain like a mother fucker, but I can honestly say I feel better this week than I did last week.

Thanks to Brielle.

Rubbing my eyes, I try to clear thoughts of the curvy, blue-eyed beauty from my mind, but it’s no use. I’m reminded of her every time I do my stretches - three times a day, as per her orders. I think of Brielle in the mornings when the sun is rising and the dark reds bleed into oranges and yellows, like her strawberry blonde hair. Hell, just looking up at the sky on a clear day reminds me of her crystal blue eyes, filled with understanding and kindness.

I check my phone, taking a fortifying breath when I see it’s time for me to get ready for this week’s physical therapy session. So far, Brielle hasn’t pushed any further on having me show her my leg, which I appreciate.

As I step out of my cabin, I see Wilder and Huxley walking across the meadow in the middle of our circle of homes. For a second, I almost yank the door open and hide inside, but he already saw me, so that would just make things even weirder between us.

I shove my hands in my pockets and nod in their direction as I slowly make my way over there.

“Elliot, what’s up?” Huxley asks, giving me a friendly smile. He’s always been the more outgoing one of the group.

“Just, ah, headed into town,” I say, glancing at Wilder before making eye contact with Huxley. The flash of guilt in Wilder’s eyes feels like a knife twisting in my gut.

I wish I could tell him I don”t blame him, but the words won”t come out. It”s never been about placing blame. The wedge between Wilder and me is mostly on my end. How do I tell someone that I can”t stand the way they look at me? Like I”m pathetic and to be pitied?

Wilder is a reminder of that day, more so than the others, because he was with me the whole time. He saw the worst of my injuries and carried me to safety. Wilder saved my life… but I don’t know how to express any of that without getting tongue-tied and sounding like a sappy fool.

“Yeah, how’s the physical therapy going?” Huxley asks.

I wipe a hand over my mouth and tug and my beard, apparently hoping I’ll find some answers in there. “Fine,” I settle on. Say more words, my mind screams at me. Nothing will get better if nothing changes. “Uh, the new girl that was assigned to me is better than the last few people I had.”

“That’s good,” Wilder says, trying to join the conversation. “How’s it healing up?”

“Fine,” I say again. “Some days are better than others.” Wilder nods, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say it. To tell him it’s not his fault, that he didn’t kill my dreams. Instead, I clear my throat and fish the keys to the truck out of my pocket. “Better get going,” I tell Huxley and Wilder.

Both men nod and say their goodbyes while I climb into the truck and head down the mountain. My thoughts are all scrambled, and now my leg is throbbing, making it difficult to concentrate on anything. By the time I pull into the Veterans Affairs building, I’m in a shit mood. All resolutions to be more cooperative today have flown out the window. I’m in survival mode now.

Brielle is waiting by the receptionist’s desk when I walk in the door, giving me her signature bright smile. How can she be so happy all the damn time? Doesn’t life ever kick her in the face? Has she never faced adversity? I suppose she’s young - a solid decade or more younger than I am. Give it a few years and she’ll have a chip on her shoulder, too.

“Hi, Elliot!” Brielle greets me, those blue eyes sparkling with an innocence I lost years ago.

My first instinct is to growl at her, but I manage to stay silent. That might not be polite, but at least it’s not as rude as I would have been a few weeks ago.

“Rough day?” she asks as we walk toward her office.

“Something like that,” I rasp. What I don’t say is that every day is a rough day. From morning till night, I sulk around, carrying anger, guilt, and shame like lead weights around my neck. If I gave her a peek into the dark, twisted, depressing thoughts that run through my brain on a daily basis, she’d be scarred for life.

“Want to talk about it?” she asks once we get into her office.

“Don’t see how that would help anything,” I answer honestly. Brielle gives me a soft smile that I don’t deserve. Why won’t she take the hint and either ditch me like my other medical professionals or stop talking to me like most of my friends and whatever is left of my family?

I watch the frustrating, mesmerizing, mysterious woman take a seat on the couch and pat the seat next to her. I stare at her hand, then look into those eyes that seem to see everything whether I want her to or not.

“Come on, I’m a good listener. Everyone has bad days. Maybe I can relate and then you won’t feel so alone.”

Her words take flight in my mind, spiking my adrenaline and causing my heart to thrash in my chest. Angels war with demons in my mind, half of me unable to understand why this woman doesn’t want me to be alone, while the other half is screaming that no one understands what I’m going through and everyone needs to stop trying so goddamn hard.

“Elliot?” Her tone is quiet, almost reverent, as if she knows I’m fighting an invisible battle. I can’t take it. Her kindness, her beauty, the way I ache for her during the week when I know I shouldn’t.

“You think you can relate to me?” I spit out, anger dripping from my words. Brielle widens her eyes at my harsh tone, but I can’t stop now. “You have a degree, a career, a nice lifestyle that affords you fancy shoes and diamond earrings. You may spend your days around hardened veterans, collecting sad stories from their time in combat, but that doesn’t mean you can relate to my suffering.”

I’m heaving by the time I finish my rant, gulping down air as I try to calm the fuck down. Brielle blinks up at me from her seated position on the couch, her face completely blank. No smile. No hint of playfulness. No witty remark or sassy comeback. When her chin trembles, I want to collapse into a heap on the floor and beg for her forgiveness. God, please don’t cry. Please don’t cry…

She stands up, avoiding eye contact as she smooths down her shirt and picks invisible pieces of lint from her pants just to have something to do other than look at me. Fuck me, I finally did it. I pushed her away. Like I wanted. Right?

Then why do I feel like the biggest asshole who has ever walked the planet?

“Brielle,” I start, though I don’t know what else to say. I can’t remember the last time I apologized.

“I hear you loud and clear, Mr. Erickson.” Mr. Erickson? Her entire demeanor has switched from open and friendly to cold and professional. I deserve this. It’s what I wanted, I remind myself. “Let’s get down to business then,” she says in a clipped voice.

Brielle walks past me, toward the file sitting on her desk, and without thinking, I grab her hand and hold it in mine. She gasps softly, looking down at our clasped hands. Her gaze turns toward me, those bright blue eyes once again filled with emotion. This is it. I can crush her or let her in. This moment will define the rest of my life, I can feel it.

“I wasn’t always like this,” I whisper, looking away from Brielle. “A bitter, broken monster who lashes out at anyone trying to help. I… I’m sorry.” I swallow thickly, feeling like I just ripped my heart out and laid it at her feet.

She squeezes my hand, drawing my attention back to her. Brielle takes a step closer, our bodies nearly touching. Her warm breath fans across my lips and all I can imagine is leaning down and finally tasting her sweetness.

“You’re not a monster,” she murmurs. “You’re in pain. Physically, mentally, emotionally. You went through something so traumatic it almost took your life. I’m sure there were some days you wished it would have.”

I nod, hanging on her every word.

“I can help, but you have to let me,” she continues. “I can’t make you want a better life for yourself. Only you can do that.”

“I don’t deserve a better life,” I say, the words slipping from my mouth before I can stop them.

Brielle’s eyes fill with tears, but this time it’s not because I was mean. She’s on the verge of crying… for me?

“Of course, you do,” she replies, her voice barely audible. “I see how you punish and isolate yourself. You deserve to lead a fulfilling life filled with people who love you.”

“I’ll just end up hurting them. I’m better off alone.”

“All that anger won’t go away just because you keep yourself locked up. It just turns inward, and that can lead to some pretty dark thoughts.”

I nod, all too familiar with my blackened soul and depressing thoughts. “How…?” I trail off, not even sure what I’m asking.

Brielle smiles for the first time since I yelled at her, and something settles deep in my chest. I never want to be the cause of her distress again. I only want her joy and laughter.

”You just took the first step,” she tells me, lifting our joined hands. She rests them over my heart, those crystal blue eyes pleading with me to follow her on this journey of healing.

”Thank you,” I rasp out, my voice gone at the moment. Brielle simply smiles and then lets go of my hand, continuing her route to her desk.

“So. Now that we’ve got that over with, how were the stretches this week?”

Just like that, she”s back to her normal, bubbly self. She didn”t linger on the emotional shit that I”m no good at, she just said what she needed to say and now we”re moving on. Could it really be that easy? I apologize, and she forgives, then we have a fresh start?

“Elliot?”

“Yeah,” I respond, my mind still reeling from how quickly we bounced back from my immature and inappropriate outburst. Is everyone like this, or is she special? Without a doubt, Brielle is special. I know that to be true down to my very bones.

We discuss the progress I”ve been making, and Brielle switches up some stretches to focus on different muscle groups. When our time is up, I don”t want to leave. I never thought I”d say it, but I want to hang around the VA if it means I can spend more time with Brielle.

“I guess that’s it for this week,” she says after the hour is up. “Just three more sessions, then you’ll be rid of me,” she jokes.

My stomach twists at the thought of not seeing her every week. Hell, at this point, I think I need to see her every day. We say our goodbyes and I head out to my truck, though I don’t start it up quite yet.

Sitting in the silent cab, I reflect on Brielle’s softly spoken words of comfort, the way she soothed my rage, and how she gave me a second chance. Alright, more like a fifth chance after how I’ve been acting lately, but still.

Taking a few deep breaths, I close my eyes and lean back against the headrest. For the first time since the incident, a wave of calm washes over me, loosening the ever-present vice around my lungs.

I don”t want to leave just yet. Once I head up the mountain, I know I”ll have to talk to Wilder. If Brielle can forgive me after only knowing me for a few weeks, maybe Wilder will be open to a conversation as well.

Sighing, I open my eyes and comb my fingers through my beard. This emotional healing shit is just as exhausting as physical healing. Maybe even more so.

When I start up the truck and look at the clock on the dashboard, I’m surprised to see that forty minutes have passed. I must have dozed off, or maybe all that emotional processing has made my brain slower.

I’m about to pull out of my parking spot when I see a flash of reddish-blonde hair that could only belong to one person. Brielle is standing in front of a car I assume is hers, trying to figure out how to open the hood.

I hop out of my vehicle and head her way, trying so damn hard not to scoff at the fact that she drives a pearl-white BMW. Brielle may have a silver spoon in her mouth, but she’s also real and down to earth. Plus, she’s the only person who has been able to handle me for more than a week, so that has to count for something.

”Hey,” I greet, hating when she shrinks away from my booming voice. I don”t know how to be gentle or sweet but for Brielle? I just might try. ”Car trouble?”

”Elliot. Hey. I, uh, thought you left already.” Brielle has always been confident and in control, at least in the comfort zone of her office. Right now, however, she”s out of her element. She”s vulnerable and has no idea how to fix her car if she can”t even find the latch for the hood.

“I bet there’s a button on the left of your steering column that pops the hood,” I tell her. She blushes in embarrassment and scurries over to the driver’s side door. A second later, the hood lifts.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ve got it from here.”

I give her a look and cross my arms over my chest. “Is that so?”

“Yup. Definitely. Just need to check the oil.” My look grows even more skeptical when her hand hovers over the different parts that make up the engine of her car. I’m no mechanic, but I know the basics of car maintenance. If her car isn’t starting, it’s not because of a lack of oil. Plus, this car doesn’t look old enough to even need an oil change yet.

“So, that one over there,” I say, pointing to the dipstick.

“Exactly. Just going to go ahead and, uh… pull this out?” It’s more of a question than a statement, and I take pity on her. I don’t want her feeling stupid or accidentally hurting herself.

“Why don’t I give you a ride home?” I offer.

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary. I can just call…” she trails off, her cheeks glowing red once more. Her breath grows shallow and her chin starts trembling like it did earlier today.

”I know a good mechanic,” I tell her. It”s not a lie. Wilder has been up on the mountain for almost a year now, working on the construction site, fixing the vehicles when they break down, and all around keeping everything up and running. I need to tell him how impressed I am with his hard work, but that will have to be a conversation for another time.

For a second, she looks like she’s going to decline, but then her shoulders drop and she nods her head. I don’t like seeing her like this - deflated, sad, and only a fraction of the bright, bubbly woman I’ve come to know.

I shut the hood of the car and lead Brielle over to my truck. She’s silent the entire ride, except to give me directions to her house. I even try starting a few conversations, but she doesn’t take the bait. Have we switched roles here?

When I pull into the winding driveway leading up to her mansion, I finally understand why she was so reluctant to have me give her a ride. I yelled at her earlier today for having a fancy, expensive life, and here I am, dropping her off at a goddamn castle with an honest-to-God bubbling fountain out front and perfectly manicured bushes lining the driveway.

“Thanks,” Brielle says in a rush as she unbuckles her seatbelt and throws her door open.

“Wait,” I call out. “Do you want me to have my friend take a look at your car?”

Before she gets a chance to answer, the double doors of the mansion fly open, revealing a woman in a pink silk robe with matching stiletto heels. I furrow my brow, not sure what to make of her. She stumbles forward, wobbling on her ridiculous shoes.

“Mom,” Brielle says, ignoring me and shutting the door to the truck. Something twists my stomach up in knots the longer I’m here, taking in this scene.

The woman lurches forward, and Brielle runs up to her before she falls down the porch steps. ”Don”t touch me!” Brielle”s mother shrieks. They exchange a few more words I can”t hear, and then the woman wraps her bony hand around Briell”s upper arm and yanks her up the last step, causing Brielle to whimper.

I step out of the truck, unable to sit by any longer. “Everything okay here?” I ask, my voice stern and in control. I may be a dumbass when it comes to apologies and social interactions, but being a bodyguard of sorts is right up my alley.

The older woman in the pink robe stares at me as if just noticing me and my truck. Her eyes scan me up and down, a look of disgust scrunching up her face, which I notice has eyeliner and lipstick smudged all over as if she just woke up from a drunken stupor. From everything I’ve seen so far, that’s probably what happened.

She drops Brielle’s arm and scowls at me before stomping back inside. I take a step forward, but Brielle puts her hands up, silently asking me to stay put.

“Are you okay?” I ask, trying to make my voice softer.

She doesn’t answer at first. She doesn”t even look at me, her gaze focused instead on the ground. I hate seeing her like this. Plus, now I feel like even more of a dick for yelling at her earlier. Yeah, it’s obvious money has never been a problem in her life, but that doesn’t mean she doesn”t have other shit she’s dealing with. I’ve been such a selfish, self-absorbed ass for so long, but I want to change. I want to be better. I want to be someone worthy of Brielle.

“I will be,” she finally answers. “I… please don’t… don’t tell anyone.”

“Who am I going to tell? I’m a loner, remember?” My lame attempt at a joke is rewarded by the smallest of smiles. I’ll take it. “But more importantly,” I continue, “you shouldn’t be ashamed of your mother’s behavior.” Brielle shrugs. “Can you at least let me know if you’re safe here?”

This causes her to snap her head up, those blue eyes latching onto mine. She looks confused as if it”s incomprehensible that I would care about her safety. I suppose after the way I”ve treated her, that”s fair. Still, it stings.

“She’s not usually so… My mom has had a rough couple of years ever since… Well, anyway. I’m okay. I promise. Just a rough day, right?”

I frown, not liking how dismissive she”s being about her situation. Then again, who the fuck am I to call her out on it? I”ve been nothing but dodgy since the day we met.

I don’t want to leave, but I don’t have any other reasons to stay. “You have my number, right? Somewhere in your work records or something?”

Idiot. Just give her your number.

“I’m okay, Elliot. Thank you for the ride. This isn’t your problem to deal with.”

I open my mouth to try and say something, anything to keep her out here with me, but I’ve got nothing. Brielle gives me the saddest little wave, and then scurries into the house, shutting the double doors behind her.

Well, shit. My sunshine has been dealing with her trauma all the while helping me overcome mine. She”s too good for me, but I want to keep her anyway. I want her light all to myself, so I can nurture it and watch her grow.

As I pull out of the driveway and head back up the mountain, I know I’m going to have another restless night. This time, I’ll be worrying about Brielle until I can figure out how to help her.