I wasn’t born yesterday. A deal, by its very nature, implies that both parties stand to gain or lose something valuable.”
“Seriously, there’s no catch. These are the reasons I set up this escape plan in the first place. You need time to relax and unwind. Get your head settled. Too much has been going on around you, and I don’t think you’ve stopped long enough to process any of it properly.”
She continued to eye me skeptically. “Who gets to determine what properly looks like in my life, other than me?”
“You’re right. No one does but you.” I grew very still because I knew uttering the next sentence had the potential to be like pulling the pin in a live grenade in this small cabin, all while the door was barricaded closed from the outside. “So when are you going to stop making excuses and do it? You need to work through what happened without all the normal distractions of life to take you off the objective.” I turned to face her directly and continued. “Let me be an ear to listen. A shoulder to lean on, or even arms to hold you, while you heal. Let me be here for you, baby.”
“I don’t need a shoulder to lean on. Thank you though. Or to be held, or to cry it out, or any other happy therapy bullshit you found on Google. I’m fine, Grant. Honestly.” She yanked her hand from mine and stood up.
“Can we talk about the day I found you on the floor of your room at Clear Horizons?”
She whirled on me and said flatly, “Pass.”
“This is exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Wh—”
With a level tone, I cut her off. “You’re in denial. How are you going to get better if you don’t deal with your problems, Rio?”
“Better? You think I need to get better?” Her voice rose in volume with every word she spoke. “Getting better”—she paused, long enough to shift her weight from one hip to the other—“implies something is wrong in the first place.” The same brandy-colored eyes that could entice me now widened with the heat of her temper. “Is that what you think of me, Grant? That I’m some lost, sick, sad soul that needs your healing touch? Christ, you sound so elitist right now. Do you hear yourself?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said calmly, hoping like hell my demeanor would affect hers as well. “And that certainly is not the position I’m taking—that I’m better than you.”
“The hell it’s not! You know what? Mr. Big Shot COO? You can shove your healing vibes up your ass and let them shine like the noontime sun! I would’ve thought that out of all the people in my life”—she stabbed her index finger right in my face—“you’d be the last motherfucker to judge me!”
With Rio on the verge of hysterics, I stood to—shit—to what? I didn’t even know what to do. I cautiously approached as she wore a path in the carpet with her pacing.
Back and forth and then she shouted, “You saw what I went through!”
Back and forth and then another shout, “You’ve seen the pain I’ve been in!”
On the next lap, I intercepted her with open arms to hold her close and calm her down. But in perfect Rio fashion, she batted at my outstretched arms when I got near.
“No. No, forget it, Grant. I don’t need a savior. I don’t need anything—from anyone. My husband dying didn’t make you the king of my world! You’re neither my conservator nor my fucking liege!” She surveyed me from head to toe and finally, with a calming sigh, said, “I don’t understand where you get off exactly, but you can rest assured, it won’t be inside of me again.” With that conclusive dictate, she left the cabin and soundly slammed the door behind her. A clear signal not to follow her.
I dropped wearily to the bed and started rubbing my throbbing forehead.
This woman would drag me to the edge of sanity right along with her.
It wasn’t a matter of if anymore.
“Damn it,” I muttered.
How the hell had that exchange taken such a wrong turn?
I repeated the scene in my head, picking it apart for where I’d steered wrong. But my replay discovered nothing.
“Damn it,” I echoed, growling now.
I’d done nothing wrong. And I sure as hell refused to keep playing along with her I-am-invincible mask, perpetuating the ruse of her mental stability. It wasn’t a fleeting concern. I’d stopped her from torching an entire building—twice—for