Page 13 of Hunted in Hope Town

“I want to see your right shoulder.”

He opened his mouth. Shut it. Then shook his head. Refusal.

Unacceptable. “If you expect me to stay here, to trust you, to listen to you, show me that I’m not going crazy.”

His expression softened, in that way she recognized. That softening where she always expected him to reach out, to touch her.

But he never did.

The implications of all that could mean felt like a brick on her chest. She could barely catch a breath.

“You’re not crazy,” he said with all that gentleness in his voice, if not in any kind of touch. No, he was keeping himself very much out of reach.

“Then take off your damn shirt, Ellis.”

“Jess—”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me anything. Unbutton your shirt and show me your right shoulder. Or I’ll do it myself.” She took a step toward him. She didn’t know why that felt like a threat, why he clearly took it as one, but he did.

He lifted his hand to the top button. He hesitated, but when she took another step toward him, he carefully undid the top four buttons, exposing a swath of skin. A hint of golden chest hair. An impressive ridge of muscle.

She wasn’t looking at his shoulder. She should be. She really should be, but…wow. She knew he was in good shape. It was impossible to miss him running in the mornings in the summer. Impossible to not notice how…fit he was no matter what kind of clothes he was wearing. But she’d never seen this much skin and maybe she’d had a reaction before. She’d just always been able to look away.

Not now. Not when they were alone here. Stuck here. In the middle of nowhere, just each other and—

Thankfully, any inappropriate reaction was suddenly and rudely doused in ice because when he pulled the fabric off his shoulder, she saw what she’d hoped she wouldn’t.

Exactly where she’d dreamed him bleeding was a web of scars. Like he’d been shot there. Like he’d bled there. Like her dream was real and she’d witnessed it.

She felt like she was hyperventilating. Spots. There were spots in her vision and a pain in her chest.

“Breathe,” Ellis was telling her firmly. “Just breathe.”

Okay, maybe she was hyperventilating.

Because if she knew he had a scar there, if she could picture him bleeding there, nothing she thought was true could be. He was no stranger. No…whatever.

He’d been part of this past that was mostly a blank. She looked up at him. The pain in his hazel eyes was so naked, so haunting, but it only mirrored her own.

“Who am I?”

ELLIS HAD BEEN shot before, so he knew the searing, tearing pain of it. This was exactly like that, except there was nothing to do about this pain. No way to staunch the bleeding, pressure away everything leaking out of him.

There was only the pain. And the terror he was messing everything up, all in his quest to keep her safe.

Her eyes were full of tears. Her breathing too quick, too shallow. He’d become an expert in not touching her when he wanted to over the past two years, but he couldn’t stop himself now. He brushed a hand over her hair, kept his gaze on her wide eyes.

“You’re safe,” he told her.

She jerked away from him. “That is not what I asked.” A few tears fell over, but her voice was direct and strong and angry.

Better than terrified.

“I’m not Jessica Smith. I know I’m not. I’ve always known…” She trailed off, clearly questioning everything she knew or didn’t. It just about killed him. “I knew I didn’t remember. I knew things were a blank. I always thought I’d remember someday, if I should. But…” She looked at him again, a safe distance away, holding herself when he’d rather be the one holding her.

“I’m… I’m Kirsten somebody and you know me,” she said, her voice not wavering but the tears in her eyes making everything horrible.

He thought of every time he’d wished she’d say my name is Kirsten since coming to Hope Town. But this wasn’t remembering. It was just putting unfortunate dots together. “Your doctor—”