She still wasn’t.
“Home, sweet home,” Ryder said when he parked in front of her building.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, staring at the building that had once been her happy place. The building was only a ten-minute walk to the beach, she had her own little yard where she’d planted her own mini apple orchard and added flowers in boxes under the windows. She’d painted each room of the apartment, choosing the colors carefully to go with the feel she wanted, she’d sewn the lacy curtains herself, and spent months making the patchwork quilts both for her bedroom and the spare one. The paintings on the walls had been done by one of her best friends, and there were lots of framed photos of happy times with the people she loved.
This place had been her home, but now it felt as foreign to her as that cell in Mexico had when she’d first awakened in it.
“I’ll grab the bags, you go open up,” Ryder said as he opened her door for her and handed her the keys that had been in her purse the night she’d been abducted. Knowing that there was a chance someone had targeted her, taken her for a reason, didn’t make coming back here any easier.
What if they came back for her?
No.
Ryder and the others wouldn’t let her come back here alone if she was in danger.
Would they?
They were SEALs, not cops, it wasn’t their job to keep her safe or find who had kidnapped her.
Taking the keys, she walked up the short path to her front door. Green apples hung from her trees, and it looked like the grass had recently been cut. The flowers at the windows were bright and colorful and she tried to let their cheeriness infuse a little cheerfulness inside her.
When she opened the door she knew immediately that Caroline hadn’t just stopped by here to get her some clothes, she had come and cleaned to make sure everything was ready for her to come home. The floorboards sparkled, there was a stack of wood next to the fireplace, the frilly pillows on both of the sofas were arranged perfectly in the corners, the wooden dining table had been polished, and there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. There was fruit in a bowl on the kitchen counter and cookies in her cookie jar, the fridge was fully stocked, and she was sure the carpet in the bedrooms had been vacuumed.
“Caroline cleaned and got food,” she said when Ryder closed the front door and set her bags on the table.
“She wanted your home to be ready for you,” he said.
“She’s so sweet, I’ll have to text her and thank her.”
It was so overwhelming to be back here. She was happy that she wasn’t a prisoner anymore but felt out of place back in the real world.
Since she didn’t want Ryder to know that she was struggling she pasted on a bright smile. “Thanks so much for everything you’ve done for me, Ryder, I can’t ever thank you enough for saving my life and for bringing me home.
He cocked his head, studied her for a moment, then said, “Sounds like you’re dismissing me.”
“Not dismissing,” she said quickly. “It’s just there’s no reason for you to hang around now, I’m sure you’re dying to go back to your own place, or you have work to do back at the base, you’ve given up enough of your time for me.” She wanted to beg him to stay, not to leave her alone, and the longer he was here the closer she came to caving and doing just that. She needed him to leave and the sooner the better.
Ryder closed the space between them in two strides, his hands curled around her shoulders, and he stooped so he was looking her in the eye. “You make it sound like you’re a burden and that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
Why did he have to say such nice things?
They’d kissed a few times yesterday, and she couldn’t deny that his touch affected her not just on a physical level. She was still attracted to him, she even still loved him, but she didn’t trust him anymore and she had vowed to never give him another opportunity to hurt her. However, when his warm hands were on her shoulders, his strong body was before her, and he said sweet things it took all her self control not to throw herself into his arms, cling to him, and beg him not to go.
Instead, she kept her smile steady. “Thank you, I know that even though our history is rocky that you would never see me as a burden. I just have a lot to do, it’s been a long time since I was here, and I just need some time to myself.”
“Okay,” he nodded, “but you’ll call if you need anything.”
“Sure,” she said, knowing it would be a cold day in hell before she picked up a phone and called anyone for anything, especially Ryder, but if she didn’t agree he wouldn’t leave.
“Well, enjoy being back home.” He kissed her forehead, then released her and walked to the door.
When it closed behind him her control snapped and she ran to it. Abigail was all set to throw it open and ask him to stay, but she stopped herself. She couldn’t do that. If she begged him to stay then she’d be proving right everything her parents had ever thought about her.
She wasn’t strong.
She wasn’t tough.
She wasn’t a survivor.
They were wrong.
She was all those things just not in the same way that they were.
Instead of opening the door, she moved to the window and watched as Ryder got in his car and drove away leaving her alone.
Again.
Pressing her fingers to her eyes she ruthlessly denied herself crying.
Crying wouldn’t change anything.
She could cry all the tears in the world and she would still be standing alone in her apartment with no idea what to do next.
10:41 P.M.
Screams.
The sound snapped Spider out of his light sleep, and he was instantly awake and alert.
After dropping Abigail off at her place earlier in the afternoon he’d headed home, showered, changed, packed a bag, and then come back to her place. In an attempt to respect her privacy and support her attempts to rebuild her life he hadn’t told her he was there, or that he intended to stay here until he was sure she was safe.
His plan had been to sleep on the sun lounge in her small yard at night, and spend as much time during the day with her as he could.
That changed when Abigail screamed.
He could hammer on her door, hope that the sound penetrated her dreams and woke her up, but that would draw more attention to them than her screams already had—which left either breaking down the door or picking the lock. Picking the lock would only work if she hadn’t put a chain on.
Breaking down the door it was.
With one well-placed kick, the door splintered and he shoved it out of his way as he ran inside. He’d been to Abigail’s place plenty of times and ran straight to her bedroom, bursting through the door just as she let out another ear-piercing scream.
PTSD.
She was already developing all the symptoms, while he wasn’t surprised given the trauma she had just lived through, he hated watching her suffer. Post-traumatic stress disorder had the power to bring battle-hardened soldiers to their knees. What would it do to his sweet Abigail, who was a lot more vulnerable than she let people see?
He’d given her the name of a psychiatrist who he knew could help if Abigail would let her, but he was pretty sure that she never intended to make the call and reach out for help.
Which meant for now he was all she had.