Scooping her up, he balanced Maya over his shoulder as he began to climb the tree. Her hands fisted his T-shirt, but she still wasn't fighting him, and he had to take that as a good sign. It didn't take him more than a few seconds to get up through the branches to the tiny, little shelter he’d built.
“I’ve never brought anyone else up here before,” he admitted, wondering what the space looked like through her eyes.
It wasn't much, just a wooden platform with three sides and a roof, kind of like half a log cabin. There was barely enough space for two people, but as he set her down and then sat beside her, they both dangled their legs over the edge of the platform, and Thunder found the silence was companionable.
“I built my first treehouse when I was six,” he started talking. It wasn't a conscious decision to share, and it wasn't because he was trying to manipulate her somehow into sharing her own trauma. It just felt natural to talk to her about this. “It was where I used to go to escape my parents when they were in a rage.”
The one he’d made back then was nowhere near as nice as this one. That one was nothing more than a few branches tied together halfway up a tree in their backyard. But he’d madeit himself, with his own small, bare hands, and six-year-old Thunder had been proud of it.
“My dad had anger issues. No real reason why. We lived in a nice house, he had a good job, and we weren't struggling for money. No alcohol or drug-related issues. No gambling issues either. We went to church every Sunday, he coached my soccer team, my mom worked part-time, so she was home a lot, she would bake cookies, and go to every one of my games. On the outside, I think we looked like the picture-perfect, middle-class, suburban family. On the inside, we were anything but.”
Maya’s hand landed on his knee, and he stared at it. In the moonlight, it looked so pale, yet perfect against the black of his sweatpants. It looked right, like it was where it belonged.
“I was angry too. Angry that my dad beat on my mom, angry that my mom took that out on me. Angry that the older I got, the more my dad thought it was okay to start beating on me. Angry that nobody noticed, no one at church, or school, or soccer, or Boy Scouts cared enough about the fact that I was always covered in bruises. I learned that fists were the way you solved problems, and interacted with others. I started getting into trouble a lot at school. Lots of fights. Got suspended a few times. Arrested twice but let off both times with a warning. I ruined my chances of getting into a good college, my grades were bad because I didn't spend any time studying, and with all the trouble I'd been in, I decided that the military was a good fit for someone like me.”
A life-changing decision. For a while his life had improved dramatically.
Until everything fell apart.
“When there was an opportunity to sign up for an experimental drug program, I thought it was my chance to finally make something of myself. Instead, I wound up with evenmore anger than I'd had before, suicidal thoughts, and three years living in a cage.”
Placing one of his hands over hers, with his other, Thunder grasped Maya’s chin, making sure he had her attention. Once her wide eyes were focused on him, he continued.
“Your strength and bravery inspire me. I know what it’s like to be angry and helpless, to feel hopeless. But despite that, you're still standing, doing the best you can, and that’s all anyone can ask of you. You're so beautiful, babydoll, and I'm insanely attracted to you. To your body and your soul. But I won't have sex with you until you're ready to make love.”
Without realizing it, his body drifted closer to hers.
Hers to his.
His lips hovered just millimeters from hers. “It will be slow, tender, and beautiful. Beautiful just like you, my sweet, brave, strong girl. And you’ll want it so badly, it consumes you, and you can't think of anything else. Just like it is for me.”
March 4th
4:24 A.M.
Mesmerized by his words, the warm puffs of air against her lips, in the end, Maya was the one who closed the small distance between them and brushed her mouth to his.
Then, completely against her better judgment, she fell headlong into the kiss.
How did he kiss this amazingly?
She didn't even know that kissing could feel like this, like he was making love to her with his lips.
And his words …
Was there any chance they were true?
Could he really think she was beautiful? Brave? Strong? Was he really attracted to her? Did he really want to make love to her?
That couldn’t possibly be true, and yet … he was kissing her like it was.
Unless it was more games. Another ploy to get her talking. All these doubts inside her head made her feel nauseous. All she wanted was steady ground beneath her feet, and yet the world kept rocking.
The words she’d heard in that room a few days ago, a conversation between Thunder and his teammates that she wasn't supposed to overhear, replayed in her mind. They wanted information from her, and she was so sure that once they got it, she would be out of there so quickly her head would spin.
Breathing hard, she pulled back, studied Thunder’s eyes, trying to believe the lust she saw in them. Not just lust. There was respect there, too. And affection. So many things that looked genuine, but she was beyond terrified to believe them. Believe him.
“You're going to throw me away like trash,” the words tumbled out without her thinking about it. Despite her head knowing that trusting anyone was a mistake, her heart still felt like Thunder was a safe place.
