Blyssfully Undone (The Blyss Trilogy 3)

My nostrils flare in anger as I growl at him through clenched teeth, “Don’t you think I know she’s going to be haunted for the rest of her life? I’m the love of her life, dammit! She needs me; I can help heal her.”

Stryker bursts out in sardonic laughter. “It’s not about you! You impulsive jackass, none of this is about you. Are you that fucking dense? We just went over all this shit yesterday, and nothing has sunk in.”

My hands ball into fists, and I’m seconds away from jumping up off this porch swing to pummel his face into the wooden deck. Stryker raises his hand in defense, probably hoping to God I don’t punch the shit out of him, because he knows I can deliver a blow that will knock him out for the rest of the night.

“You’re a trained killer, Trav; all of us here are. It’s our second nature to kill and not look back. Even though we did train her, it was quick and dirty, and you know it. She wasn’t mentally strong then, and she’s not now. She shouldn’t be making any decisions right now, and the least you can do is give her the space she needs to breathe. She needs space.”

I spread my fingers wide and shake out my hands, trying to calm down. “I comprehend and recognize her situations for what they are, but I know her, goddammit. I know how she operates. If she gets too much quiet time on her hands, she might have the penchant to stew on it and begin to develop a mental illness. Depression sucks, man. That shit runs deep, and it not only steals your optimism, but it fucking obliterates it. It will drive a knife into my gut if I see that happen to her.”

“I get it. I know where you’re coming from,” Stryker agrees, “and I know you don’t want history to repeat itself, and neither do I. She’s not Clarissa, and I think she’s stronger than that. None of us here want to see her spiral down into the abyss of a depressive episode, but I think because you’re hypersensitive to her situation, you’re being too overbearing.”

He’s most likely right. Surprisingly, she’s taken to Quinn, and truth be told, I was shocked to see it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a soft side to that man, but I think he’s helped calm her quite a bit. He told me earlier he felt like he got through to her some, talking a bit of sense into her. God, I hope so. I don’t know what I’d do if she were to go off the deep end.

Stryker and I fall silent as I digest our conversation and think about the love of my life. Sometimes, in my head, I can still see her acting out with her quirky antics, and I laugh to myself when I think of all those crazy things that transpired at the cabin. I think about the palmetto bug episode, to gluten-free catastrophes I barely evaded. I’m trying my damnedest to understand her, but I’m failing miserably.

The screen door squeaks out in protest, breaking our silence. Both Stryker and I turn our heads simultaneously to see who’s stepped out onto the porch. I guess Stryker was right after all. He said she’d eventually come around, and here she is.

I school my features, however, wanting to act unaffected by the last twenty-four hours. As I eye her with caution, her lightweight sundress catches my eye. She must’ve pilfered through Quinn’s walk of shame closet. Damn, she looks fine. She’s barefoot, and her long hair is lying around her shoulders, and I can’t help but think what she would look like pregnant with my child.

I hate that I’m going to have to uproot her yet again, but that’s the way it has to be. For her safety and sanity, we’re going to have to disappear. If she can just get through this last leg of stress without breaking, we’ll be home free. She will adapt; I know she has it in her to do so. Once I help her get through her psychological turmoil, she’ll be back to her old happy and optimistic self.

Silently, she makes her way over and stops in front of me. Her eyes are still rimmed with a tinge of red, but at least the puffiness has calmed down. I get why she shunned me this afternoon. Not only was I an asshole to her this morning in the kitchen, but I wasn’t going to let her know about Adam, and she knows it. She’s been through enough shit. I wanted Adam’s marriage to not matter to her.

Stryker clears his throat, and moves to get up out of his chair, taking Jules entry as his cue to leave. “Later, man.” The screen door slams shut behind him, and I half-grin when he shuts the front door too.