Life Interrupted Read online

When I left Texas, I hoped to find some sort of semblance of myself. What I have found so far is so much more. I’m a survivor.

  My nightmares might terrorize me in my sleep, but they no longer have a hold on me while I’m awake. They can’t touch me. I’m still able to function in spite of them. With Travis by my side, I’ve found that I can tolerate the darkness. I might never be fully comfortable in it, but I can survive it. Within the vulnerability lies a strength I might never have found if it weren’t for Travis and his love for the stars.

  My past, my nonexistent memories, and the nightmares I can’t hold on to killed me. In a sense, they still kill me every day. But it’s in this death that I have found and made myself. I’ll probably never know whom Holly used to be, but I’m pretty happy with who she’s becoming.

  Where once I was terrified of human contact, I have transformed into a woman who has sex. I touch my lips with my fingertips where they linger while I remember the impression of Travis’s lips against mine. My stomach tightens at the memory of his hands—those beautiful hands—grazing over my body, taking, demanding, and appealing to every part of me. I squirm and shift my body as the pulsing between my legs intensifies.

  My first time having sex – at least to my recollection – and we’ve done it three times in one day. Twice this morning in Travis’s boat and the third time on his living room floor a few hours ago. I radiate with superior femininity at knowing he wanted me so badly that he couldn’t wait to reach the couch. That resulted in our bodies slamming against each other, landing on the floor where we tugged, pulled, and conquered one another. The bruise on my back that I received from our encounter is a medallion of sorts, and I wear it with pride.

  Needing to celebrate this little victory, I pick up my phone and dial Amber.

  “I just had sex,” I blurt out as soon as Amber greets me on the other line. “For the first time,” I emphasize.

  I do a little dance and twirl, but I stop when I Amber’s laughter rings on the other end of the line.

  “Don’t laugh.” My voice is stern although I’m smiling. “This is huge. Virginity, gone. Poof.”

  “Oh, Holl.” She laughs harder, making my smile grow wider. “You lost your virginity years ago.”

  “What? No,” I retort, my smile still big enough to take over my face.

  “You were fifteen and madly in love.”

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes.

  “His name was…Jose?”

  “Stop.”

  “Or Juan?”

  “I don’t remember, so it never happened,” I warn.

  “He had dandruff and eye boogers.”

  “Amber!” I laugh, waving my hand in front of my face.

  “Tell me this guy has better hygiene.”

  “Travis? Travis is…well, yeah, he definitely has better hygiene.” I put my hand over my blushing face…because, well, he’s perfect.

  Speaking of perfect, I abruptly hang up with Amber when I hear his footsteps at my door. With my breath lodged in my throat, I turn around with a confident small smile, and I anchor myself to the sink with my hands grasping the counter when the need to be with him hums inside my chest.

  Embarrassed by my reaction, my smile diminishes while I look away from him and back out the kitchen window. His footsteps resonate in my small kitchen, loud and imposing, as he walks toward me, closing the gap between us, with his long strides. He puts his dish of meatballs on the counter before cupping my face in his hands. His lips, soft and sweet, brush against mine where they linger until I open my mouth to him in invitation. Our tongues and breaths mingle, hot and erratic. Spellbound, my eyelids close while my fingers caress the base of his neck.

  Travis suddenly steps back, leaving me unsteady on my feet when his body is no longer pressed against mine. With my lips pursed, I look back at him through curious eyes, and he shakes his head at me with an amused grin on his face.

  “If we keep this up, our food will get cold.”

  The aching between us grows and lingers in the air, a taut thread pulling us closer together.

  On a laugh, I move closer to him until our lips are almost touching. “We wouldn’t want our food to get cold,” I whisper. I saunter away from him to the stove where I stir the noodles and get ready to mix the meatballs with them.

  Yes, saunter. As in I have my confidence back—at least for now—and I’m apparently in the mood to flirt. Cocking my head in his direction, I look at him through hooded eyes, only to find that he’s still staring at me with his mouth slightly open.

  “Shall we?” I remind him. I lift my eyebrows, hoping the gesture is sexy rather than comical.

  “Maybe later.” His tone is serious and sends shivers down my spine, all the way to my toes.

  A whoosh of air escapes my lungs when he picks me up, cradling my body close to his chest, and carries me to my bedroom. His eyes stay on me as he lowers me to the bed and crawls on top of me. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him to me as I push my pelvis upward, so it meets and rubs against him. His lips touch my neck, kissing and licking, while I moan his name into the vibrant air surrounding us.

  Passion steals my breath as tremors of desire whip through me. Clothes are removed haphazardly and thrown to the side. His mouth covers my nipples, his expression darkening while I run my hands over his back through his hair. Pulling him to me, I press my lips to his neck, kissing while my fingers rake through his hair.

  “Holly.” His voice is hoarse, my name slipping from his tongue.

  Bringing his mouth to mine, he draws himself to my opening and I brace myself, digging my fingers into his shoulders.

  My first time, and I’m about to have sex three times in one day.

  From my back patio, I watch a local run his horse alongside the shore. Both horse and man seem to glide as their hair whips behind them. Their muscles tighten with the exertion while their sweat glistens against the waning sun. Their retreating backs disappear in the distance.

  Dark clouds begin to roll in from over the ocean, and already, I can feel the moisture. Normally, an oncoming storm would tense my rigid body but not today. Today, my muscles are languid, as if I were made of liquid, but my limbs are heavy, reminding me of my own exertion.

  I wrap my arms around my chest and smile, tilting my chin at the clouds, as if daring them to frighten me, to make this day less perfect than it is.

  My eyes soften when Travis takes a seat next to me.

  “You look lost in thought,” he says after handing me a glass of wine.

  I shrug my shoulders and look at him from the corner of my eye. “Just watching the clouds roll in.”

  “It’s gonna be a big storm.” His eyes, intense and dark, stare at the clouds with weariness behind them. His lips form a thin line when a streak of lightning flashes in the distance. Angry energy cracks, as the storm takes dominion over the sky.

  “I can’t believe the God of Thunder is afraid of storms,” I joke, not able to see him actually being scared of anything.

  He wrinkles his nose at me, his earlier demeanor softening. “God of Thunder?”

  “Thor,” I respond. “That’s who you remind me of.”

  “I look more like Loki than Thor,” he counters although his lips curve into his habitual half smile.

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes at him.

  He tugs on a strand of my hair.

  “Your body, Travis. Forget about everything else, but you’ve got Thor’s body.”

  He makes a show of sweeping his left hand over his left shoulder and shakes his head to both sides, as if he were making Thor’s long blond hair dance in the wind. I laugh at him but narrow my eyes until I see him through slit eyes.

  “So you don’t have Thor’s sexy mane.” I shrug my shoulders. “But I’ve seen your body.” I lick my lips. “I’ve tasted your body.” I bite my bottom lip, my heart pulsing. “The nickname stays.”

  “You’ve seen Thor’s, too, huh?”

  “Well, yeah.” Duh. “In movies.”
<
br />   “How is it that you can remember movies, but you can’t remember other things?”

  This is the first time he’s mentioned my memory loss or anything that has to do with my abduction. Shifting in my seat, I face him directly, and I put my feet under my body so I can sit on them. I want to counter his question with questions of my own. He hasn’t told me how he wound up here. In fact, he rarely speaks about himself at all.

  “I have a theory,” I say instead of asking my questions. “I think I can only remember impersonal things, like movies, music, things like that. But my brain switches off for personal things, like my family and friends.”

  “And your abduction.” His eyes roam my face, searching for something that probably isn’t there.

  “That, too,” I keep my voice light, trying to brighten up his suddenly serious demeanor.

  “Your body is protecting itself.”

  My shoulders slump forward while my eyes shift away from him.

  “We all have our defense mechanisms,” he clarifies his point. “This is your way of protecting yourself from all the pain you’ve experienced in the past.”

  Angry and uncomfortable, I cross my arms in front of my chest and suck in my bottom lip. It’s as if he were saying that I don’t want to remember, but I do. I want to remember what it means to have family and friends. I want to remember what it’s like to have a life outside of fear.

  “So, what’s your defense mechanism?” My eyes lock on his. “Stories about abandoned babies left to fend for themselves on the beach?” I laugh a humorless laugh.

  Travis’s eyes darken further before they dart to my face while his body goes rigid. His muscles, taut and strained, peek out from below the sleeves of his shirt, and I know just how it would feel to run my fingers over them. His lips press together into a thin line, but I don’t retract what I said.

  A loud breath of air rushes out of his mouth and he shakes his head before he shifts in his chair. “I’m gonna head back to my place.”

  He stands up, but I don’t follow suit. Instead, I stare past him, angry with him and with myself.

  He swears loudly and then takes a few steps away from me before he turns back, his eyes furious. “I was abandoned and left to fend for myself.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but I heard his words, so I look back at him, waiting for him to continue.

  But he never does. He just walks away, leaving me sitting there, waiting for more.

  There are times when it feels like I’m in a constant state of waiting. Waiting for my memory to return. Waiting for fear to rear itself and send me into an eternal whirlwind of despair. Waiting for my abductor to show up again. Waiting to see if I’ll ever be a victim again.

  Waiting. I hate waiting. So, I stand up and head to the kitchen where I empty my wine glass into the sink, watching the red liquid slowly disappear down the drain. I take my time with rinsing out the glass, and only when I’m happy with its cleanliness do I walk to my bedroom, leaving all the lights on in the process. After changing into a nightshirt, I crawl into bed and turn on the lamp on the nightstand where another book awaits me.

  Rather than getting lost in the story, my thoughts circle around Travis and his last words to me before he left. He was abandoned. By who? And when?

  I’ve told him everything I know about myself. I’ve opened up to him. Like him, I have a past that hurts me. I have a questionable future and a present that is just as blurry. As uncertain as they might be, at least I’ve shared those aspects of myself with him.

  My eyes blur with threatening tears, so I close them tightly and shove my face into my pillow where I hope to suffocate them. I don’t even know why I’m crying. Whether it’s because of Travis’s rejection or because he actually has a past but refuses to talk about it, the pressure in my chest is unbearable.

  When one side of my mattress sinks, I turn my head to see Travis sitting on the corner of my bed. I wipe my eyes, trying to hide the tears I so shamelessly shed moments before. He whispers my name as he shifts his body closer to me, and I ignore the shivers racking my body as desire pulses throughout every inch of my body.

  “I was born in Hialeah, which is just outside of Miami but should be its own country,” he says on a laugh.

  Understanding that he is going to speak and give me a piece of himself, I sit up and cock my head so he knows he has my full attention.

  “There’s been so much bad in my life, Holly. You don’t want any part in it.” He pauses, searching my face. Heavy emotions crawl along the bed, his storm passing over us. “I wasn’t born in a hospital, but whoever gave birth to me had enough sense to drop me off outside of a hospital before she left me.” His voice is defiant, but with his eyes downcast and his body positioned away from me, he shields himself from his vulnerability.

  I press a shaky finger to my lips and move to comfort him, but he shifts further away from me. The movement is slight, but I understand the meaning, so I sit still and wait for him to continue.

  “I had a heart problem and had to have several rounds of surgery, which made me unadoptable. You hear tons of stories like this, only it usually ends with a nurse falling in love with the baby and adopting him.” He shrugs his shoulders, but his eyes reveal the anguish of an unwanted little boy. “Maybe I cried too much to be loveable.”

  He laughs, and I shake my head, my heart crushing in the midst of his pain.

  “Of course you were loveable, Travis.” I move closer to him despite him shifting his body away from mine again, and I sit down next to him with my hand on his knee. He brings his eyes up to mine, vulnerable, seeking, hopeful.

  Swallowing hard, I realize the truth. I’ve fallen.

  Crap.

  Fallen in love with his quiet strength and beautiful nature. With the way his mouth lifts to one side when he smiles, with the way he makes me laugh and live. With the way he’s stuck by my side.

  Crap.

  My lips find his, spilling out the words I can’t say. Tender fingers caress my face when we pull apart.

  “Yeah, but you’re crazy, so what do you know?” His smile is genuine and no longer holds any trace of sadness.

  I shrug but lean my head on his shoulder. “There’s that.”

  I laugh, and his shoulders shake as he laughs along with me.

  “Tell me more,” I urge.

  He inhales a deep breath before he continues, “There’s not much else to tell. I bounced around between foster homes, rarely staying in one place for longer than a couple of years. Regardless of where I went, my social worker tried to keep me in the same school, so I wouldn’t fall behind. Only, after a while, I stopped caring and started skipping classes almost daily. I quit school on my eighteenth birthday and left my foster family’s home. I couch-surfed for a few months until my last foster mom called me to let me know she had gotten me a job working on a luxury yacht.”

  He takes another breath and kisses my forehead, his words rushing out, finding freedom “I had lived with her and her family for four years, longer than I’d lived with anyone else. She’d talked about adopting me, but I didn’t want to be adopted. I was too old for that. Or”—he laughs—“it was my body’s defense mechanism to prevent me from getting hurt.”

  “Hurt?” I scrunch my eyebrows together in question.

  “Yeah.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “No one else had ever wanted me, so I figured it’d only be a matter of time until she didn’t want me anymore either. Only, she never gave me up. Even when I left her house, she stayed with me. She gave me a cell phone and put me on her plan, so we could talk. She made sure I ate, helped me get odd jobs, and encouraged me to get my GED.”

  “She loved you.”

  “Yeah. She took care of me like I was one of her kids. She still calls me weekly, and for a week every summer, she comes to visit me with her kids, who are all grown. One even has kids of his own. For that week every year, I have a family with kids who call me their uncle.”

  My lips lift at the tenderne
ss in his voice and I lean my head upward to kiss his cheek.

  “You have a family for much longer than a week,” I counter and his eyes meet mine for a beat. “They’re your family, period.”

  “Yeah.” Strong arms wrap around me, pulling me deeper into him.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Barbara.”

  “So, she got you a job on a yacht?” I ask, wanting to know the rest of the story. “What did you do on the boat?”

  “Yacht,” he corrects.

  I roll my eyes. Whatever.

  “While I was living with Barbara, she nurtured my love for the ocean and had me take boating lessons. One summer, she called in a favor from a friend of hers and got me a job on his fishing boat. After I got my GED, Barbara called her friend again, and with his help, I met with the owner of this huge yacht and the captain. They were getting ready to go on a yearlong trip, island-hopping throughout the Bahamas. He was a man short for his crew, and long story short, he hired me. It was the best year of my life. We went to all these islands, and we visited a few of them several times. Harbour Island was one of those islands. And I don’t know.” He shrugs his shoulders again and gives me one of his half grins. “I fell in love with this place.”

  “You found your home.”

  He kisses my forehead before pulling back to look at me. “You get it.”

  He moves his lips to mine, and I smile against the pressure of his lips.

  “So you grew up in Miami?” I ask and he nods. “Do you ever go back there to see Barbara and the rest of your family?” I make sure to call them his family because that’s what they are—his family, year-round, not only over the summer—even if he doesn’t completely believe it.

  “I haven’t left Harbour Island since I got here. Why leave, you know?”

  Why leave indeed. I move my body closer to his, knowing that, one day, I’ll leave and he’ll stay.

  “What’s the story behind storms?” I question, needing to get my mind off our pending separation. Without realizing it, my hand rubs circles over my chest, trying to soothe my already breaking heart.

  “The story behind storms?” he asks.