Page 51 of Rescuing Mia
“Rigel, I-I want that too. More than anything, I want that, but there are things about me, about my past, that you don’t know. Things that could put you in danger. Things that will tear us apart before we’ve even begun.”
“I don’t care about your past.” I shake my head, and my hand rises to cup her cheek.
“I just…” She searches for the right word, then looks up at me through a veil of tears. “I just don’t want to lead you on. This…” She makes a vague gesture with her hand, indicating me and her. “This can be nothing more than a shipboard romance. I don’t want to lead you on, and I just want to be honest about it upfront.”
Too much pain haunts her gaze.
“Then let’s enjoy the time we have.”
The ship beneath us sways gently, the motion a subtle reminder of the journey we’re on, both literally and figuratively. The soft lapping of the waves against the hull is like a soothing lullaby, a whispered promise of the future that awaits us.
Mia’s vulnerability pierces me, a stark reminder that beneath her composed exterior lies a tempest of fears and secrets.
She leans into my touch, a gesture so laden with trust and surrender that it tightens my chest. Her eyes, those deep pools, reflect a turmoil she’s not yet ready to voice.
The sight of a single tear making its solitary journey down her cheek ignites something primal within me—a protector’s instinct honed and tempered by years of service. I trace the delicate curve of her cheekbone with my thumb and swipe away the lonely tear.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me.” The statement is gentle, an offering of refuge rather than a demand. “You can trust me.”
“I can’t.” Her words cut through the air, leaving an uncomfortable dissonance in the air between us. “Or rather, I trust you. I trust you implicitly, even though we’ve just met. It’s not about whether or not I trust you. It’s about what sharing that part of me will do to you. The danger it would put you in. I won’t do that. I can’t.”
I thought I was breaking through to her, that her walls were crumbling, but now she’s rebuilding those walls faster than I can stop her, laying them back down brick by maddening brick.
“Mia.” My voice is a plea, a hand extended in the darkness.
“I’m scared of what might happen if…”
“If what?” My thumb brushes away another tear, an act as instinctive as drawing breath yet laden with the weight of unspoken promises.
“Nothing.” The distance she puts between us then is more than physical; it’s a retreat into herself and away from me. “I think you’re right. I want to enjoy the time we have together, and I don’t want to think about the end of this cruise.”
“I respect your wishes, but I also want you to know that whatever it is, we can face it together. You and me, against the world.”
My words stem from a deeply ingrained belief in standing firm and facing down the enemy rather than running from it.
“You and me?” Her repetition isn’t mockery but a contemplation, the concept so alien yet enticing. “Against the world?”
“Yes.” The affirmation is as solid as the deck beneath our feet, unyielding and resolute.
“If only it were that easy.” The smile she offers me is tinged with sadness, a glimmer of hope fighting against the resignation in her eyes.
She has no idea.
In her, I’ve found a cause worth fighting for, a battle I didn’t know I was prepared to wage until now.
The SEAL in me doesn’t understand the concept of retreat, of leaving a comrade behind. Mia may think her battles are hers alone to bear, but she’s mistaken.
The moment she crossed my path, the moment our lives became intertwined under the canopy of stars, she ceased to stand alone.
With her in my arms and our future unspooling before us, I’m steadfast. I’ll stand between her and the shadows that chase her.
She may believe her past is something she can’t outrun, but she’s in for a surprise. Retreat isn’t in my vocabulary.
I don’t back down.
I don’t turn away.
No force on earth will prevent me from keeping her safe. I’m ready to face whatever comes our way, to fight for the love that has so unexpectedly and irrevocably claimed my heart.