The Problem with Peace (Greenstone Security 3)

“It’s not suffocating,” I argued.

She leaned in to kiss my forehead. “But it’s not helping. Not really. I should’ve seen it earlier. You need people around when most people need space, so it stands to reason when most people need company, you need space.”

“No,” I whispered. “Just peace.”

As if it were as simple as leaving the apartment and teaching yoga.

But it was a start.

* * *

I should’ve expected Heath to be waiting in the parking lot for me.

I didn’t. Because even after a month of having him come home to me, fall asleep with me and always be there, I wasn’t used to it. I wasn’t letting myself become used to it.

Not when it was temporary.

My muscles ached slightly from the class, the instructor pushing us past our limits because “you’re not going to be able to take your students from your comfort zone if you’re still residing in yours.”

I liked it. Challenging myself in a safe environment. Even if I was prodding at doors that rattled when I opened my mind up in the practice. I knew the more I practiced, the more dangerous it would be. Yoga was more about the discovery of the mind than the stretching of the limbs, after all.

My skin prickled at that realization.

If I continued doing this, I’d have no choice but to face my demons. Luckily, those thoughts didn’t find traction, since Heath was pushing off his car—which he was leaning on very well—and striding toward me.

He didn’t give me a moment to speak before he pulled me into his arms with a gentleness that was characteristic of the way he touched me now. It was funny, people only tended to treat others with tenderness after they’d been broken.

His lips pressed to mine, gentle too, but with a slight hunger that I wanted to respond to. To feel. I almost did. I felt it, somewhere. The need for him. But it was buried in shame, in filth, in pain.

“Did Lucy call you?” I asked when he released me slightly, hands still resting on my hips. He was touching me more often now. It was getting easier to bear. Only with him, though.

I wondered if I’d ever get to a point where there wasn’t five seconds of revulsion to bear before relaxing—as much as I could—into Heath’s arms. If I’d be able to hug my sister without wanting to tear the skin from my bones. If I could shake someone’s hand again without having to run to the bathroom and scrub my own.

“What do you think?” Heath asked in response to my Lucy question.

He was good at that, yanking me from my mind the second things got too…prickly.

I looked into his eyes and let them hold me in the moment. “I think she called you the second I left,” I replied with a slight grin.

He nodded in response.

I let out a sigh and relaxed into Heath’s arms on instinct. His eyes flared at this since it was something I hadn’t done before, but otherwise, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“And do you agree with her rant that she no doubt repeated to you?” I asked. “Do you think it’s too soon?” I nodded my head back to the studio, waving to my instructor as I did so.

He waved back and inclined his head into a small bow.

Heath gave him an oh so manly chin lift.

I was surprised he was here after the class if Lucy called him so soon. He was all about protecting me. And I would’ve thought he was on the same wavelength as Lucy, poor, broken Polly couldn’t get back to her life yet. Not when she hasn’t shed a tear. Spoken a word about what happened to her.

They were waiting for that.

But they weren’t going to get it.

Heath’s eyes darkened. “If you don’t think it’s too soon, then, no,” he said quietly, running his hands along my jaw lightly. There were no bruises there anymore. But his eyes followed the roadmap of pain that was only showing on the inside now the marks had faded.

“As much as I’d like to keep you close within touching distance so I never have to relive those sixteen hours again, I can’t,” he continued, eyes meeting mine. “‘Cause I want you free. Want you to be Polly.”

“You want me to be Polly,” I repeated, the words ashes in my mouth.

His eyes searched mine. “Always.”

I paused, chewing on those simple words that were not at all simple. I couldn’t say I’d never be Polly. That Polly was lost and there was this…imposter in her place. No, I couldn’t say that out loud because I was afraid of what else I’d say.

So, in the middle of a parking lot, I said something else.

“We haven’t addressed this, not really,” I whispered.

Heath furrowed his brows, obviously not expecting this response. “What?”