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“Thank goodness.” She looked back and forth between Cannon and Hawk. “It’s over.” Her brow furrowed, as if she couldn’t believe it. “Is it really over?”
“Yes, sweetness.” His hand tightened on hers. “It’s over. You get to have your life back.”
Twenty-Two
One week later
Thanksgiving Day
Fighting tears, Devon tried to push aside her morose emotions and focus on today and why she was in her kitchen finishing the holiday meal.
She had a lot to be thankful for, but she couldn’t shake the sadness and fear that still plagued her—neither directly connected to her abduction and the horror of those hours at the Baranov compound. She knew things could have gone so much darker and been so much worse. Another thing she was grateful for: that she’d been spared. She knew many women and men didn’t share her outcome.
Indirectly, however, her feelings were completely related to her ordeal. She was afraid she and her men had passed a tipping point, going too far to right things after the Baranovs had taken her. Since her rescue, they hadn’t touched her, and they’d gone back to being polite roommates, practically strangers.
How long before they all stopped pretending and parted ways? The question ate at her, not allowing her to have complete gratitude on this day of thankfulness.
She’d been saved, yet she might lose what was most important to her. When Cannon and Hawk finally left her, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stay in Daly. Not only would she lose them, but she’d lose this town, all her friends and the tenuous stability she’d found over the years. The only silver lining was, she could go anywhere now and begin again, without the fear of her stepfather or his associates coming for her.
She didn’t want to leave here! She didn’t want any of the crystal-clear outcome that seemed to be inevitable now. Cannon and Hawk were going to end things. They’d leave Daly and move on—or maybe, they’d just leave her to go back to living in the Last Chance’s bunkhouse and working solely for Briar and her men.
“Stop it. Stop it,” she muttered under her breath while she swiped her hand over her eyes. “Just get through today. Keep pretending, just like you have been.”
Pretend… Yeah, that’s what they’d all been doing for the past week.
Leaning against the counter beside the sink, she crossed her arms tight over her middle and stared across the kitchen at the double ovens. She could keep up the charade for a few more hours, right?
The turkey was halfway done. The sides would be ready at about the same time. The place settings were lain out. The wine was chilling. Their guests would arrive in a little over an hour. They’d all put on happy faces and go around the table to tell what they were thankful for.
She really hoped no one brought up anything to do with her past or the kidnapping. But would it be weird if she didn’t allude to it. She closed her eyes, and her hands fisted beneath her elbows.
“Stop it,” she gritted to herself. She had to get a grip and push all these feelings deep down into the box where she’d been hiding them.
Smiles. Smiles, everyone…
Yeah, it was totally Fantasy Island around here lately. No one wanted to bring up what had happened. She needed to get it out, though. Maybe, on Monday, she’d go to see Doc Walker, in town, and ask him to recommend a therapist she could see, even if she had to drive in to Gillette for appointments.
“Does the turkey cook faster if you stare at it?” Cannon teased, walking into the kitchen. She hadn’t heard him come inside. While she’d been cooking, he and Hawk had been outside looking after the horses.
“No.” She shook her head, though it wasn’t about the turkey. She had to get her footing back and act as if she was just fine for a little longer. “I was…just thinking.”
He made a soft sound and closed the space between them, his arms circling her waist and pulling her against his chest. “Sweetness, you’re safe.”
She leaned in to him, though she didn’t loosen her arms from where she hugged herself. Closing her eyes, she absorbed his comfort. This was the first he’d held her since the plane.
Since then, they’d been solicitous, but she’d felt them drawing away. Everything had been surreal. The night they’d gotten back from Chicago, they’d pampered her then tucked her into bed between them. Every day since then, had been nearly the same. They’d practically wrapped her in bubble wrap and treated her like fine, fragile China. While it was wonderful to be cherished, that had become the extent of their relationship. Her men had gone from friend-zoned bodyguards to lovers to…well, to this thing she couldn’t name.
She knew they worried she’d have flashbacks from her kidnapping, but despite that, she hadn’t had nightmares. She hadn’t experienced any PTSD-like episodes, even when a couple of Briar’s escaped cows had wandered over and triggered the barn alarms. Intellectually, realistically, she knew a trauma response could come out of the blue, but so far, she’d been fine.
But not fine. So, not fine.
And that was where the problem lay. She’d slept safe and secure between the guys each night, but they wouldn’t touch her besides what was perfunctorily necessary. There had been no real intimacy aside from small forehead or top of the head kisses.
It was killing her.
When she was alone, she ended up in tears. The couple times, either Cannon or Hawk had caught her breakdowns. They’d assumed she was having a flashback over what had happened. No amount of denying could get them to believe it wasn’t that. And their hands-off behavior got worse.
They were disgusted by her now. Obviously. They wouldn’t touch her, didn’t seem to want her, anymore. What else could she think?
