Savior Complex: A Small Town Love Triangle Romance

“Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself.” He guides me to a nearby bench, and we sit. His arm remains over my back, holding me close to him as I try to contain myself. The feel of his warmth against my body is like an anchor in my despair. “You were terrified, Nina. I could see it all over your body, even from across the street.”

But I’m not convinced. I know better. I know! “I could have at least run.”

“You could have done a lot of things,” he says. “But when your survival instincts kick in, it’s really hard to go against them.”

I lift my head, wiping away my tears as I look at him. I’m probably a snotty, red mess, and I hate that he’s seeing me this way—this guy I don’t even know. I hate that I even care, especially when I just cried into his shirt because I can’t get over a goddamn assault that happened ten years ago. How can I be so triggered, and also unable to get over how good he smells, especially now that I’ve had my face buried in his sweat?

“I bet you’d never freeze in the face of danger,” I say, laughing to cover up my embarrassment.

He looks down at his lap, his jaw ticking as he stares at his hands. “You’d lose that bet.” He looks at me, lifts his hand and brushes a tendril of blue hair from my face before tucking it behind my ear. I hold my breath as he does, my eyes staying with his as he looks at me. “I don’t think I’ve ever known someone with this color of hair,” he murmurs, his hand still fingering the lock.

“It’s completely natural,” I joke, but only to hide how much his touch is affecting me—more than I would have expected.

I can’t explain what happens next. All I know is that I feel the electricity. His eyes remain on mine, and it’s like our thoughts are connected. Like his body is one I know. Like everything about him is so familiar to me. Had I met him in a past life? Had we been friends in another time? Lovers? Because as I look at him, I can see all the way to his soul, and something inside me is clawing its way out, trying to reach its other half.

He lifts his hand again, his fingers trembling as he touches my skin, his eyes not leaving mine. Even in this dim light, I get lost in the interesting shade of blue and the flecks of gold near the center. I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I just look into his eyes, then to his lips as they part slightly when he leans forward. But then he jerks back, lowering his hand and breaking the spell.

“Sorry,” he says, and I’m left to wonder why he’s apologizing. Was it because he touched my face? Because I lowered my guard? Made me question everything I’ve ever known about men?

Did he just feel what I felt?

I smile, looking down as I hide the way my heart is pounding. What the hell just happened? I want to ask him why he’s sorry. “Why would I lose that bet?” I ask instead.

“What?”

“Earlier, when I said you wouldn’t freeze in danger. What made you freeze?”

He hesitates for a moment, a flash of pain crossing his face. It’s quick enough that I see it, making me regret even asking. I thought I was being cute, making conversation. Instead, I’ve obviously thrown salt on an old wound.

“You know what, never mind,” I say quickly, standing up. “It’s getting late, and I’m keeping you from your run, or whatever you’re supposed to be doing right now. In fact, you should probably get going. I’m not that far from here.”

Lies. I have about two more miles to walk. But I’m out of my comfort zone, and I don’t know why. It’s not like I’ve never been attracted to a man before. I’m the one who calls the shots, the one who is ballsy and forward, pursuing the guy who catches my eye. But this feels so different. All the lines I would have used, the quips, the blatant come ons that work best after a few drinks… Right now, I have nothing. I’m completely rocked by this guy, almost nervous, but in a way that makes me feel exhilarated and tongue tied. And if I don’t get home now, I’m going to make a complete ass of myself.

“There’s nowhere else I want to be,” he says.

I am going to have this man’s babies. That’s it. I will probably be pregnant by the end of our walk. Fuck, Nina, get a grip. You don’t have to fall in love with the first guy who rescues you.

“Well, then, I guess we better get going.”

“Where do you live?” he asks, swiping at this hair. It’s dry now, unlike the sweaty mess it was before. The dark waves graze his forehead, and I wonder what it would be like to run my hands through his locks, how it would feel to tug the curls between my fingers.

“Holland Heights. Just a bit up the road.”

He gives me a sideways glance, and I see the disbelief in his eyes. “Just a bit. Right, nice try.” He looks at my shoes, then back at me. “Good thing you wore your walking shoes, right?”

I look down at my funky platform boots, the streetlights reflecting off the silver, making them seem like moons. I grin, lifting a foot behind me with my arms up, and he laughs.

“Can you really walk in those?”

“Walk, dance, run,” I say. “Well, maybe not run, because running is for masochists like you. But I’ve been on my feet in these things all day, and I can walk all the way home in them. Besides, they make me happy.”

He looks me up and down, then nods. “You’re like the whole entire rainbow,” he says without an ounce of judgment. People either love or hate my style, feeling intensely about the loudness of my colors and style choices one way or the other. But the way he’s looking at me, it’s like he’s just figuring out all my layers. Like he’s looking past the colors to see the person wearing them.

And I like the way that feels.

For the rest of the way home, we play a game of twenty questions. It not only helps me learn more about Brayden, but it’s also just distracting enough that I can overlook the blister forming on my heel. Damn platform boots. I realize that while they’re great for all day at the café, I’ve never actually tested them for a multi-mile walk.

As we trade questions, I learn that Brayden’s middle name is Walter, he loves country music, and will throw up if he eats peas. He learns that the only country I’ve listened to is by Taylor Swift, I don’t really like most vegetables unless there’s dip involved, and I love the color blue.