She’d seen Scott in various moods since she’d arrived in Florida—pissed off, raging, aloof, laughing, maybe even mildly happy. But this tense, pensive version was unfamiliar to her, and she had no idea how to proceed. Should she try to draw him out of wherever he’d disappeared to in his head? Or should she leave him be to process his stuff?
In the end, she landed somewhere between the two. Scooting closer, she rested her head on his shoulder and followed his lead, watching the water flow over the shoreline. Hopefully, he’d understand the silent support. She was there to listen if he wanted, but no pressure.
The gentle lapping of the water lulled her into a relaxed, nearly hypnotic state. So much more serene than the ocean, the Gulf provided a calm that felt like a warm hug. Eventually, her eyes grew heavy, and she leaned heavier on Scott.
“Deke didn’t know you well,” he said out of the blue.
Her eyes flew open, and her heart jackhammered in her chest. He was talking. “Well, you know our father exiled him from the family when he was eighteen. He told me Deke left on his own and wanted nothing to do with us. That he was rebellious, and maybe even a little dangerous.” She’d been so dumb to believe the lies but also young. “So, we saw each other only when I was older and understood the lie for what it was… my father trying to keep me on his side when he was the one with the problem.”
Scott shook his head. “No, I mean, he didn’t know you. He had no idea that you’re adventurous, sweet, funny, and would do anything for the people you care about.”
Her stomach twisted with regret. No, her brother wouldn’t know any of those things about her. They’d met a handful of times over the years and talked occasionally, but sadly, she’d always shown him the sides of her that he’d expected. She’d been too immersed in her own world to let him see the real Olivia.
“No,” she said, unable to keep the sadness out of her voice. “He knew me as the rich Daddy’s girl who was a spoiled brat.”
“Because you wanted him to.”
That had her insides stilling. “What do you mean?”
“It’s how you protect yourself.”
“No—”
“Yes. The expensive clothes, the makeup, the perfect hair… the prickly attitude.”
This conversation was hitting uncomfortably close to the truth. “Okay, Dr. Freud, I think this conversation is over.” She lifted off his shoulder. Who the hell did he think he was? This was the talk he’d wanted to have? One where he insulted her?
He turned his head and speared her with a look that went straight through her skin to the years of damage beneath. “It’s all armor. It’s to keep you from getting hurt. Or more hurt. If no one sees your soft, sweet, gooey core, they can’t damage it.”
Her mother died when she was a small child. Her brother had been banished. Her father was a man who doled out material items instead of affection. He’d gone through multiple wives throughout her life, bringing in women who tried to win her over only to leave her motherless again. Her fiancé cheated. Yes, she’d been hurt and tried to keep it from happening again.
Years were wasted with Lance, and her fiancé didn’t understand this fundamental component of her personality. He’d never bothered to lift her mask and peer beneath. Neither had her brother. But in a few weeks, Scott not only saw beneath her armor, but he yanked the damn thing off and exposed her vulnerable underbelly.
The instinct to stand up, barrage him with insults and strut back to the bike hit her so strongly that she almost gave into it. All her other shields were missing. She wasn’t wearing makeup, wore frayed denim shorts, an off-the-rack T-shirt, had messy hair, and flip-flops. She didn’t have any of her physical defenses. Scott stripped away her emotional disguises as well. And now she was bare before him in a way no one had ever been.
Terrifying as it was, it also felt incredible to have someone see her for who she was and understand the motivation behind her actions.
She opened her mouth to say something. Maybe confirm his analysis, but before she had the chance, he looked out at the water again.
“I’m the reason Deke is dead.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“WHAT?”
Her gasp of shock didn’t bother him in the least. Neither did her outrage at his previous words. He was too terrified he’d find hatred and disgust in her eyes to worry about her other reactions.
Following his return from the goat-fuck of a final deployment, he’d been debriefed by the Army. Exhaustively. They’d demanded details, no matter how small, of every second during his captivity. Even the special team sent to rescue him had been grilled on his state of mind, actions during the rescue, and whether they trusted him. Reporting that he hadn’t cracked, that he hadn’t spilled a single classified nugget of information—hell, he hadn’t so much as told them his full name—should’ve filled him with pride.