Chapter 29

While Nate cleaned up in her bathroom, Olivia slowly made her way to her kitchenette to forage for something to eat. After sleeping solid for so long and the extremely pleasant way she'd awoken, she was ready to devour her own hand. Or her own cooking.

She found a small platter of fresh fruit in the fridge Aunt Mae had probably put there and a plate of brownies on the counter. Perfect. Chocolate was the most important food group. She took both to the couch as Nate emerged from her room.

Lord, he was gorgeous. Sweats low on his hips and nothing else. Bare feet, bare chest. She even loved his bald head without his usual black cap. Before him, she'd not had an opinion one way or the other on tats, but he'd turned her on to them. Big time. Especially with his naturally dark skin and muscles.

He took a seat across from her with his version of an amused smile. "Brownies and pineapple?"

"And strawberries." She popped one in her mouth, chewing as she studied him. "Hungry?" She waved the plate at him.

"I'm good, thanks."

To her knowledge, all he'd had was a bowl of soup and that was hours ago. "I screwed up our sleep schedule, but there's nothing wrong with midnight snacks."

"I only eat at designated times."

The censure in his tone didn't sit right. He had weird food quirks and she'd been dying to ask him about them. "Is that because of the military? Habit?"

His gaze drifted away. "Partly."

"And the other part?" What wasn't she getting here? Was it a discipline thing because of a training regimen? Judging by his facial expressions when she'd watched him, he didn't care for eating with others. He acted as if food in general was a displeasure and, for a guy his size, he consumed very little.

He turned sideways to face her and crossed his arms. "I don't know how to explain it to you in a way you'd understand."

And there went those warning knells in her head. "Try."

"I'd rather not."

She forced herself to swallow the pineapple she'd been chewing as her stomach suddenly took a dive. "When you say cryptic stuff like that, I form my own conclusions and"

"Growing up the way I did, meals were a privilege. I never developed an affinity for indulgence like others. I eat when I'm hungry. Okay?"

No, not okay. "What does that mean? Growing up the way you did. Do you mean foster care?"

He glanced heavenward as if seeking patience. "Yes."

"And what do you mean by privilege?" Because that sounded an awful lot like he hadn't gotten fed routinely.

Closing his eyes, he let out a slow, even breath, then looked at her. "It was hard getting used to new families all the time. Everyone had a different way to cook even the simplest of things. I've consumed fifty alternate versions of meatloaf."

Yeah, that made sense. It was sad, but it's not as if that was something fixable. In a way, she'd taken Aunt Mae's recipes for granted, which was something Nate had never been allowed. And he hadn't exactly answered the question, just dodged it.

"Explain privilege." When he merely pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, she shook her head. "Were you...starved?"

Again, he took a deep breath like he was fortifying himself. "That's a strong term, but I suppose it's accurate in a couple cases. Most of the families I was placed with were nice. Some used food as punishment. Withholding it and so forth. It wasn't unusual for me to get ginked from one location to the next with zero warning. I never knew what I was walking into."

Lord. The fruit churned in her belly and threatened to come back up. What kind of person withheld food from a boy? "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Over and done. Doesn't matter."

"It does matter."

"Olivia." He sighed. "You keep doing that. Reversing the clock hands, dragging me back to the beginning. Why? It's in the past."

"Because it made you who you are." His expression indicated he was through discussing the matter, but he had to understand his childhood wrongs weren't his fault. They were the monsters, not him. "Justin and I were one living relative away from winding up in the system. If these things had been done to me instead of you, would you feel the same? Would you blame me like you do to yourself?"

He stared at her long and hard, his jaw ticking. The powerless torment in his eyes said he was pulling memories, inserting her instead, and it was ripping him open. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper and riddled with emotion. "I would never wish any of it on you. Not one second."

"You're not responsible for your past. Only how you choose to live in the aftermath." Her throat grew tighter because she knew, just knew, she'd only nicked the tip of the iceberg that was his suffering. "You can't run from it, but you can move beyond it." He shook his head, yet she kept at him since she assumed no one had ever bothered before. "It doesn't matter how much you resist. I have enough faith for the both of us."

He froze, eyes wide and nostrils flared as if he'd never heard of such a thing. "It's not up to you, nor is it right for me to look to you to absolve my pain."

"Take a good, long look. See me? This is what caring looks like. I realize you probably don't recognize it, but make a mental note for future reference. And don't think for a moment that I don't know what it means to hurt. Despite my size, I'm not fragile."

"That's exactly my point." He growled and scrubbed his hands over his head. "You've been hurt enough. I'm not adding to that."

"Too late. That's what people who give a crap do, Nate. I'm not interested in absolving your pain. Only you can do that for yourself. But I can climb inside and share it, lessen the burden. My actions are not your decision. It's done. Get used to it."

"Christ, Olivia." Bit by bit, the fierce warrior shrank into the background and his expression softened. The guy who'd tended to her with wrenching gentleness returned as if he'd lost his will to fight. His throat worked a swallow. "Justin said you were stubborn, but I think that might be the world's largest understatement."

She grinned. "Now you're beginning to understand." She cleared her throat as her gaze dipped to his body. All the grooves and ridges, the ripples and contours. Her skin grew hot. "Terrible as foster care was for you, at least it taught you discipline. If you want to put a positive spin on things, glance in the mirror."

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile. "I suppose it prepared me for the Army and MREs, too. Since I often had to eat things I didn't like as a kid, I lacked the ability to appreciate taste."

"What's an MRE?"

He scratched his jaw, rough with stubble. "Meal, ready-to-eat. Individual field ration in a pouch."

She gagged. "Ugh."

He laughed, grated and low. "Your brother initially had the same reaction. You get used to it. Some of the guys called them meals, rejected-by-everyone."

Since he'd brought it up, she followed the topic change to keep him talking. "What was it like over there? Were you with Justin's unit a long time?"

He nodded. "Met him on my second tour. We did a couple more together." He glanced away, his dark gaze distant. "Most of the time, it wasn't so bad. I think your brother had a hard time adjusting at first, but he was a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. Everyone loved him. Talked a mile a minute."

She laughed. "I think he had to in order to get a word in. He grew up with two females."

"True." His smile slipped. "Nothing much got him down. He had an infectious grin and was quick to use it."

"Yeah." She sighed, missing her brother with a fierce pang of longing. "I think I miss that most. His cheesy grin." And one wrong move by a commanding officer meant she'd never get to see it again. "We knew there was the possibility he might not come home, but I never let it gel in my mind. It hit me hard when the soldiers showed up at our door to deliver the news. I kept thinking it was a mistake. Misguided delusion, I suppose."

"A coping mechanism." He rubbed his chest as if it hurt. "I did the same thing every day recovering in the hospital." With a sharp inhale, he slammed his eyes shut and shook his head. Once he opened them, some of the distress was gone. Not all, though. "You want me to put that away?"

She glanced at her plate, having lost her appetite. "No, thanks." The things he'd mentioned about food and foster care sprang to mind, then how he'd said he didn't appreciate taste. Perhaps she could do something about it. "I'll be right back. Don't move."

Heading into her bedroom, she snatched a sleep mask from her nightstand drawer and returned. "Experiment time."

The color drained from his face. "I'm not wearing that, if that's what you're thinking."

She tilted her head. "Do you trust me?"

"You know I do, but I'm not"

"Comfortable? Taking away your eyesight might force you to bring internal images to mind?"

Mouth firm, he narrowed his gaze. "Yes and yes. The last time we did one of your experiments I wound up flat on my back in a treehouse with your mouth driving me out of my mind."

She hummed her approval. "And when you think about your teen years, about the gang, are the memories as terrible?"

He opened his mouth as if to argue and quickly shut it again.

"Precisely my point. Experiment successful. You shouldn't have taught me coping mechanisms if you didn't want me to try them."

"For you." He leaned forward. "They were supposed to help you."

"They did. And now they will in your case." She climbed on his lap and straddled him. "Complaining yet?"

He dropped his head to the back of the couch and closed his eyes, his shoulders sinking in defeat. "Would it matter if I did?"