Darcy stirred, burying her nose in the pillow before turning to look at him with blurry eyes.
I'm the guy who loves you, damn it.
His words from earlier hovered between them.
Yeah, he'd meant it. He just hadn't meant to say it. Not yet when he wasn't even comfortable with the idea himself. How could he expect her to be? But the words were out there waiting to be dealt with.
He picked a strand of hair from her lips and tucked it behind her ear. "I meant what I said."
A tight smile flickered across her face and he recognized Darcy-the-buddy trying to slide between them and a real discussion.
She slugged his shoulder lightly. "Your delivery could use a little work, then. That was a helluva romantic way to say it."
He gripped her chin in a grasp not as gentle as he'd planned and tipped her face up to his. "That's because love isn't always pretty. It can tear you up inside. I've been there. Done that. Got a few scars to show for the effort. Love is a damned scary proposition, Darcy."
She flipped to her back, her sad eyes staring up at him. "You want me to say it, too."
Did he? Hell, yes. And no. Part of him wanted a safer, easier life for her than whatever he could offer. "I don't think you're ready."
She grazed her fist over his shoulder again, her fingers unfurling to caress him. "I should slug you again for telling me how I feel. Except I'm too tired tonight... and you're right."
Her hand fell away. She sat up, elbows on her knees and shoved her hands through her tousled hair. "I'm such a mess, Max. I do want you. I want more of everything, not just—" she waved a hand over the tangled sheets "—this, but everything. Talking. Not talking. Being together. I want it all with you. But you're right. This is damned scary, and more than anything, I hate being out of control and afraid."
Max resisted the urge to drag her into his arms and insulate her. Letting anyone—him—get close seemed to top her list of fears. He couldn't fight that one for her.
She picked at the lightweight blue cover. "After they found me, I really thought I was handling it all. I mean, damn. It wasn't like anyone had assaulted me. I should be fine, right?"
He stayed diplomatically silent, trailing one finger down her delicate spine. So rigid even now.
"Three months later Alicia chewed out our dad, told him I needed help processing what had happened. She made him drag me to a counselor on base to talk through everything." She smiled over her shoulder. "Nobody says no to Alicia. Not even the General."
"She sounds like her sister." Max tapped her stubborn chin.
"I went for about six months, and it helped. I really thought everything was okay for years. I even stocked up on sunflower seeds in defiance of the terrorist who chowed down on the things while guarding me."
Max worked to hide the protective urge she wouldn't want or welcome. "Sounds to me like you did a damn fine job at coping."
Darcy's smile faded. "Then the world situation started heating up with Afghanistan and Sentavo, now Cantou. The memories all began crowding back in my brain again. The more my father put the stops on a combat assignment, the worse the helplessness became."
She shifted over onto Max's lap and straddled his legs. Her palms landed flat against his chest. Intensity hummed from her. "I want to fly, Max, and I'm not afraid of combat...well, not any more than a normal person should be. I hate it that all this is coming back up to screw with my mind."
Damn being distant. He hauled her against his chest. "Have you talked to anyone else about this?"
She tucked her head under his chin, the scent of her shampoo drifting up. "Not since the counselor. I didn't even tell the civilian investigators most of it. The people responsible died in the raid when I was found. I wasn't ready to think about the snakes, much less talk about them."
He tried to follow her convoluted retelling without slowing her momentum. "Snakes?"
"While I was in the bunker, I developed a level of tolerance for the bugs and even the rats after a couple of days, or just hid my fear better. So they pulled out the big guns in the pest department. That's how they punished me for trying to slip secrets to my father during the phone calls."
He could just see Darcy in battle mode, even at thirteen, staying calm, strategizing when she must have been scared as hell. He stroked his hands up and down her back.
She shuddered. "They held snakes to my face. Let spiders crawl on me. Honest to God, it was easier to fight off the attackers underwater than to deal with all those bugs these past weeks, and then there was that damned snake in my room."
His hands slowed along her back. Information shifted in his head like pieces of a puzzle looking for a clean fit. "Darcy, tell me again who knows about the snakes. The cops?"
"No. I didn't even want to say the word snake, much less chitchat about them. My dad cleared away any public records and most of the military ones, as well. I worked through it with the counselor and then put it to rest. Or so I thought."
He took her shoulders and eased back. "Your counselor would have made notes. Right?''