“I don’t know. Terribly, I imagine,” I finally respond.
“I can—”
I jerk my hand up to silence her. “I don’t want any pills.”
She gives me a sad smile. “I was going to suggest warm tea before bed. Focused calming breaths and meditation would help, too.”
“Okay.”
We chat a little longer, but eventually, she excuses herself and leaves. Stressed, thinking about Ryan leaving, I head back to his room and crash on the bed. The cell phone Jasmine gave me several days ago taunts me from the bedside table.
Sighing after staring at the innocuous thing like it contains the plague, I pick it up and resign myself to making the call I’ve avoided since I arrived in New Mexico.
I expect the call to go to voicemail because everyone, even my parents, screen their calls now, but my mother picks up after the first ring. So much for a few more minutes of avoidance.
“Mia?” My mother’s hope-filled voice comes across the line.
“It’s me, Ma. How are you?”
Max must’ve given them this phone number.
“I’m more worried about you, mi amor.”
I sigh, unable to hide my overwhelming thoughts. I love my parents. I truly do, but with everything that has happened to me, I don’t feel like the same person. Their little girl was beaten and raped out of me over the course of the seven weeks I was in captivity. Before answering, I wonder if I even deserve their love. Could I have done more to protect myself, short of not walking away with the stranger in the parking lot? Could I have protected myself better after they locked me in that tiny room with those other women?
“I’m okay, Ma. How’s Pa?”
“He’s fine. Worried about you. It’s been so long since we heard your voice. We miss you dearly.”
“I miss you, too,” I tell her, and that’s the truth.
I miss Sunday dinners.
I miss smiling as my mother frets around the kitchen, making sure everything is right as if a celebrity is coming to share a meal rather than just family.
I miss how easy it was to get out of bed back then.
I miss being able to walk around without the fear of being hurt.
I miss a million things, a million things I don’t feel like I’ll ever get back.
“Jason misses you, too.”
I should feel something with the mention of my fiancé. I should miss him the most, right?
I feel nothing. There’s an empty void inside of me, with no room left for him, and that makes me feel something dark, akin to self-hatred because even though Jason is the one I promised to marry, it’s Ryan that I picture when I think of more, when I think of a future.
“Jason hasn’t tried to contact me. He hasn’t called or sent messages through Max.” I don’t honestly know about the latter part of my statement, but I figure my brother would say something if Jason reached out to him.
“He’s a very busy man, Mia.”
It takes all I have not to huff my indignation into the phone. I haven’t been Jason’s number one in a very long time, so I shouldn’t be surprised by his lack of communication, but I imagine that most people would drop everything they’re doing to love and comfort someone who has been through what I’ve been through.
“Yes, well…” I don’t know what else to say about it. The issue is between Jason and me. My mother likes to meddle, and I learned long ago that coming to her to discuss issues about my fiancé only makes her remind me how important the man is in a family. My parents were born in Mexico, and they brought their old ways to Louisiana with them when they immigrated.
“When should we expect you home? Soon I hope.”
“I don’t know honestly. I like it here.”
Here isn’t there. Here isn’t where I was taken. I think I need the separation to maintain the minuscule amount of safety I feel being so far away. Plus, what do I have to go back to other than prying parents who want to shove me into the arms of a man that loves his fast-track responsibility to partnership rather than the woman he swore he wanted to have babies with?
“I have to go, Ma. I’ll call again soon.”
I hang up the phone before she can hear the lie in my tone.
I don’t get long to stew in my thoughts because a knock on the door echoes through the room. It’s cracked open, and for the very first time since I arrived, I don’t begin to freak out when it’s pushed open.
“Mia?” Emmalyn, the president’s wife, sticks her head inside but makes no move to come in. “I was hoping you’d help me make lunch for the guys. They’ve been in meetings all day, and they’re going to be starving when Diego finally cuts them loose.”
“Sure,” I answer, even though I know I’ll do my best to be gone from the room when they begin to file out of the conference room.
Misty and Khloe are also in the kitchen with a spread of ingredients in front of them by the time Emmalyn and I make it into the room.
“We’re making enchiladas,” Khloe says with a soft smile. “It’s the easiest way to feed all of them at one time.”
“The fastest, too,” Misty adds as she pops the top off of a rotisserie chicken. “They think it’s gourmet food when really it’s the simplest thing. Do you want to help me with the chicken?”
“Sure,” I tell her as I step up to the sink to wash my hands.
Soft country music plays in the background as we work. Misty and I pull the meat off the chickens while Emmalyn and Khloe get the sauce and tortillas ready.
In less than an hour, we have six pans of enchiladas baking in the oven and more rice and beans than I’ve ever seen, which is saying something considering my nationality.
Noise from the conference room drifts into the kitchen, and I’m seconds away from making an excuse to leave when a man covered in tattoos enters the room. He’s got stars tattooed on his face with little sparkling studs in the center, and his neck and hands are covered in ink. Months ago, I wouldn’t have given him a second look. Tattoos are so commonplace where I’m from, but they were rampant among the men in Miami, too.
“This is Jaxson,” Emmalyn says so closely to my ear that I jump, startled that I was so focused on him that I didn’t even sense her approaching me. “He’s married to Rob. Samson, whom you’ve met, is his son. Delilah is Samson’s twin. You’ll meet her during spring break.”
Jaxson smiles at me, but like many of the other men here at the clubhouse, he doesn’t offer his hand or invade my space.
Another man, one with a long beard and kind eyes, enters behind the tattooed man, and as crazy as it seems, when he leans over and plants a kiss on the star tattoo, it makes me feel more relaxed.
“I’m Rob,” the new arrival says, also keeping his distance. “Are you responsible for the amazing smells coming from the room?”
“I h-helped,” I tell them both, still leery of them even though they’re being nice. There were guys that seemed nice back at the compound, too, and that didn’t stop them from taking what I wasn’t offering.
Chapter 15
Scooter
I know Mia needs her independence. Her choosing to sleep in her own room is a step in that direction, and I imagine it’s been hard-fought, but that still doesn’t keep me from missing her warmth on my side or the sweet smell of her hair. My fingers itch to run up and down her spine, to tell her more stories about my life.