Page 151 of Lucky 14

One bed. As in, one bed for all of us. Oakley, Kyan, Wyatt, and I won’t be separated. For a second, relaxation washes over my body, and that makes me stiffen.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

Cali leaves, but I’m still focused on the relief I felt knowing the men would stay with me. Something is wrong with me. It feels a lot like I’m showing sympathy toward the people who kidnapped me, which sounds a lot like Stockholm.

I’m not showing sympathy, right? I’m just trying to survive.

And yet…

I force myself back into the present, trying to ground myself in the room. Bed with a gray comforter, plain white walls, and…fuck, what is that smell? It smells like old clothes and sweat.

I glance around, then down at my shoes. My dirty shoes that are nearly unrecognizable.

Fuck. That smell is me.

My face heats again. I don’t smell bad. That’s not me. Immediately, I move to the shower, cranking it on until steam fills the bathroom. I get in, letting the hot water roll over me.

I can’t believe I fucking showed weakness in front of Cali.

PTSD. This is PTSD.

I stay in the shower so long that it’s hard to breathe from all the steam. When I step out and dry off, I realize the only clothes I have are the dirty ones on the bathroom floor.

That paralyzes me, wrapped in my towel. I don’t want to wear those. I’m not sure how long I stand there, but it’s long enough for the fog to clear from the bathroom mirror. I can see myself in it now. I look older. My eyes are more tired and yet wide at the same time, always looking around. My cheekbones are sharper, and it feels like I haven’t smiled in years. And I hate it. I found my confidence back in that house. I stood up to Wyatt, and I navigated Kyan and the discovery that they are a system. I beat the game. And for a second, I felt…okay. Where did it go?

I know the answer.

Oakley.

Was I okay at all? Maybe I lost the game the second I started showing sympathy to the people involved in my downfall.

Shaking my head, I try to break out of the thoughts. Maybe there are spare clothes in the room. When I go out, I see clothes on the dresser by the bed. They’re a buttery-soft light blue pair of PJs. The relief of having something that fits and isn’t my disgusting clothes is weird. I let my head fall down and just breathe for a second.

I don’t want the PJs, though. They’d be an embarrassing outfit to get hunted down and killed in.

I’m paralyzed there for a minute. Finally, I just put them on.

There’s a soft noise outside the room, then a tiny, tiny knock, and still, I jump.

Somehow, I know it’s Oakley. Oakley doesn’t like to make waves. He’s afraid it’ll mean people will leave him. I’m guessing his childhood was full of inconsistent relationships, including the loss of one or both parents, considering he was in foster care. He’s been trying to heal that wound ever since, throwing around those don’t-kick-me puppy eyes, hoping he’ll find the person to fill that hole.

What he hasn’t figured out is that he’s the only one who can heal that wound by deciding he loves himself and taking active steps to not betray himself. Like, not coming to an island to hunt and murder people. Like not bringing me here and lying about it.

Fuck.

I back up toward the bathroom and let out a breath. I can handle it if Oakley isn’t who he says he is. Right?

My chest squeezes. I can handle it. I just don’t want to. I got this stupid idea in my head that maybe there could be something…

“Holli?”

Oakley’s voice is soft.

I brace myself. Knowing is better than not knowing. So I open the bedroom door.

Oakley is standing there, two blue ICEEs in his hands.

I just stare at him; for some reason, the familiar treat looks so out of place here.