Against The Odds

“Take a breath, Bryan.” Bina’s calm voice was in stark contrast to the tension-filled air. “It’s in the past. You’re safe now.”

His shoulders lowered maybe a quarter of an inch.

“If you didn’t what, Bryan?”

“The last guy, the leader, he made me...you know. Go down on him.” He threw his head back and said to the ceiling, “I had to! He said he’d kill Curtis!”

Lowering his head, he pulled a halting breath through his nose. “They made Curtis watch, the whole time.” He put a hand across his mouth. “I can’t tell you—” He choked a sob.

Someone hissed in a breath. Beside her, Bear whispered, “Jesus.”

Hope sat stunned, suddenly and thoroughly grateful to have only taken a bullet.

“Afterward, they beat us. We tried to fight, but there were three of them.” He looked up, his horrified eyes liquid. “Do you know what steel-toed boots sound like, hitting bone?” He shuddered and tried to gather himself. “I was in the hospital for a week. Curtis...” He pulled in another shuddering breath and his shoulders collapsed. His elbows hit his knees. He buried his face in his hands. “Curtis is upstairs, still in a coma.”

The room’s air felt heavy, saturated with shock, shame and silence.

Bina’s soft voice cut through it. “I’m so sorry, Bryan.”

“That’s horrible. Did they catch those bastards?” Anger tinged Mark’s face red, leaving his horrific scar a bloodless white.

“Not yet.” Bryan sniffed. “It’s been a nightmare. I think I see them everywhere. At the hospital, at work, in the grocery store.”

“Do you think they’re still following you?” Hope asked.

“I think I’m just paranoid. From worry and not sleeping.” He looked at Bina. “But they’re still out there, so...how do you ever get over something like this?”

“You know this isn’t in any way your fault, don’t you, Bryan?”

He nodded.

“Good.” Bina’s shoulder-length helmet of black glossy hair swung when she tipped her head to the side. “How do you feel now, after having talked about it?”

He thought a moment.

Hope knew from experience that he was feeling around the edges of the hole in himself.

“A little calmer, I think.”

Bina’s smile was soft as suede. “Then I think you may have the beginning of your answer.”

She stood. “Why don’t we stand and shake off the tension? This work can be intense, and it helps to loosen our muscles.” She demonstrated, shaking out her hands and rolling her shoulders.

Hope stood and took a deep breath and did neck extensions to break the grip of muscle tension.

Popping came from her left, where Bear cracked his knuckles, then, with a hand under his chin, twisted his neck until several vertebrae popped. She winced.

Bina lowered herself into her chair. “We have more time. Does anyone else have anything they’d like to share?”

The rest of the group settled.

Hope threw back her shoulders, excitement and worry sparring in her stomach. Write it, talk about it, do it. She took a breath and pushed the words out. “I have some good news to report.”

“I think we all could use some of that,” Bina said. “Will you begin by telling us about your trauma?”

Hope walked them through the events of that day, feeling an odd detachment, as if she stood outside herself and watched. She couldn’t help the comparison to Bryan’s story. Not the story itself, but the emotion. She felt his experience in her gut—as if it had happened to her. Her own story felt as though it had happened to someone else.

She trailed off at the end, leaving the last words dangling in the air.

Bina’s brows pulled together. “You sound very detached from the trauma, Hope.”

Feeling the regard of the others, especially the solid presence on her left, she shifted in her seat. “I am. That’s because it happened to the old me.”

“The old you?”

“I can’t go back to that life. I have no interest in it any longer. So I’m starting a new one. I’ve rented a wonderful little Victorian cottage. I moved in just yesterday.” She tightened her muscles, her resolve and her courage. Once said out loud, this would be real. “And, after this meeting, I’m hoping to begin my new career.”

“Congratulations,” Mark said.

Hope didn’t know Bina well, but her face seemed to be held carefully neutral. “What is your new career?”

“I’m applying for a job as an adventure specialist.” She loved the way it rolled off her tongue, the words round and fat with promise.

“Oh, that sounds fascinating. What exactly does that entail?”

“I’m not really sure.” She smiled, projecting a confidence that would be real soon. Hopefully. “But I’m excited to find out.”

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_522363d0-6688-57f1-b197-055d43d7f034)

“YOUR PRIOR EMPLOYMENT is a bit...light in adventure. Retail experience is completely missing.” The man across the counter looked up from her application, one brow raised. Travis Kurt, the manager of The Adventure Outfitter certainly looked the part. He had brush-cut brown hair and bronzed skin with starburst laugh lines at the corners, and he had the long muscles of a gymnast. His big hands resting on the glass looked capable and trustworthy. Hope could easily picture him putting up a tent with one hand, while squeezing the life out of a venomous snake with the other.

She checked to be sure her shoulders were directly over her hips, then tilted her chin up, just a fraction. “I learn fast. You won’t find a more committed and dedicated employee.” She brought his attention to her résumé with a tapping fingernail. “My references will tell you—”

“That you were a good bank manager, I’m sure.” He nodded. “But the skills required of an adventure specialist are very different.”

“I’m sure they are. That’s why I’m applying for a retail position.” She clasped her hands in front of her, in an attempt to hide their fine tremor. Widow’s Grove was a small town. Santa Maria, its closest neighbor, wasn’t a big city, either. The employment pool was kiddie-sized. Which probably wasn’t a bad thing, since she wasn’t a strong swimmer. Okay, dog-paddler. “I plan to begin as a clerk, then work my way up.”

She hadn’t known laugh lines could look skeptical.

“Ookay.” He breathed the word out like a sigh, and pushed the papers aside with the edge of his hand. “Can you tell me what the tools in this display are used for?”

She glanced into the lighted case. The top shelf held compasses of many types, the bottom held clear plastic arm boards with Velcro straps. In the middle, plastic maps and small white marker boards. Thank God she’d reconnoitered yesterday, and done her research. “Orienteering. It’s a family of sports that require good navigational skills to go from point to point in a diverse and unfamiliar terrain, at speed. Participants are given a topographical map, and—”

“You know the definition. But have you ever done it?”

“Well, no. But—”

“How about skiing?” He pointed to ski tips, just visible over the tent display to his right.