Riding The Edge - Elise Faber Page 0,43

the last of the lace around her ankle and sitting back.

“No,” she said. “Well, yes, that. But also, it was easier to not feel, especially when the only thing I could feel was how broken I was inside. It was safer to not ever look deep into what I really wanted.” She sat up with a wince. “I’m just not convinced that—”

She screwed up her face and cut off her words.

“Look, this isn’t a conversation I’d ever have normally,” she said. “Not even during that week with you. Yes, when we were together. Yes, a part of me reveled in feeling free and shared more with you than anyone ever. But in my head, there was always a natural conclusion to our interlude—us going back to being teammates, you finding someone worthy of you, me carrying on with what I did best. Working.” She bit her lip. “Because I couldn’t let anyone in. But . . . I guess a big part of me—has always wanted someone to be close to. I just don’t know if I’ll ever be the kind of person who can actually do that.”

“You’re telling me that the strongest woman I know is just going to give up?” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Because that’s bullshit. You never give up on anything, least of all simply because you’re scared.”

“Ugh.” A frown pulled her brows together. “You know you’re annoying, right?”

“It’s a gift.” I slid close to her, took her hand. “But you know you’re a woman I respect, one I care about, one I like a whole hell of a lot.” I bit back anything more than that, knowing I was already in dangerous territory, that we’d already taken about five steps forward. “And even though you’ve done your best to keep me firmly away, completely locked out, you’ve made yourself at home in my heart anyway.”

She inhaled sharply. “Dan.”

“Too much?”

A shake of her head.

“Good.” I lay down next to her, careful to not jostle her. “Now, tell me again why you think, for some insane reason, that vanilla ice cream is better than chocolate.”

A blip of quiet before her mouth curved up. “Next, you’ll be asking me to explain why the movie versions of books are better than the actual books.”

“Blasphemy!”

“Okay,” she said. “Then try to convince me otherwise.”

So, as the sun began to descend in the sky, we stayed locked in that cell, talking about movies.

Twenty

Southern Italy

Unknown hrs local time

Ava

They came for us when the sun’s light had dimmed in that sliver, leaving us in the muted glow of approaching dusk.

We’d talked for a long time, moving on from the heavy stuff and back to the lighter topics that had filled our days in Georgia. But it wasn’t all just old mission talk or pop culture. It was . . . more.

I’d told him more about Isa, how she used to always sneak me dessert—after my father had declared I was getting too fat and would be going without. I’d told him about how I’d loved putting just my toes in the ocean and hated getting my hair wet. Oh, we’d definitely argued about our opposing opinions of books versus movies, but it hadn’t been the sole thing connecting us.

I’d shared.

And so had he.

He’d told me about Brit and how she was starting to think about what her career might look like after her playing days were over. I’d told him how I’d hidden during those years after leaving this home, pawning jewelry I’d stolen, stretching cash until I’d made it over the border to Germany and had been able to find work. He’d told me about a recent visit to his parents.

It was give and take, allowing those walls down enough that he could creep in.

And . . . not being terrified.

Okay, only halfway terrified.

But a girl couldn’t have everything, could I?

Case in point, I’d just rested my head on his shoulder—go baby steps!—when we heard them coming down the hall again.

This time, however, they took both of us.

“Come.”

How? Frankly, it was a miracle I was standing. Already, the narrow space was spinning around me, my makeshift splinted ankle throbbing, making me waver as I attempted to balance on one foot.

Dan shifted behind me, taking a position at my back, covering my blind spot.

My heart. The organ I’d thought long frozen over, or maybe shattered into pieces that could never be reformed, swelled, filled with hope, with . . . feelings, okay? I was feeling all the feelings, after talking about