His gaze narrowed and his head turned the slightest bit as if to hear her better. “Someone found you? Before you made it to the house? Did they give you a ride in a car?”

“I don’t know.” She took a deep breath and looked away. “This is where I don’t know which part is true. I’ve had so many dreams about that night, I can’t determine what is fantasy and what actually happened.”

“Tell me what frequents your dreams the most.”

She let her mind wander, allowing the most prominent recollection to pop up. “A voice telling me not to give up. A hand pulling me up the embankment. Someone carrying me at times.”

Chris was silent a long moment. “Male or female?”

“Usually male. Sometimes female. When I try to see their face, it’s one of my parents. Or my uncle Saul.”

He nodded.

Of course a child would imagine her dead parents helping in a time of need. Some people believed the souls of loved ones were always near, and who would love a child more than a parent? Her face heated. She sounded like one of the crackpots on TV reality shows who talked to spirits.

But part of her always wondered. Had the soul of a parent helped her survive?

“You’re not crazy,” he said firmly. “You don’t need to shape your memories to please other people or mold them into satisfactory explanations. Weird shit happens every day. Accept what you remember. There’s nothing unusual about conflicting memories. You had a head injury, you were in a traumatic situation, and you were a child. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, but I don’t think you need to hide your memories behind ‘I don’t recall.’ Violet would probably love to hear your mixed-up images. I think you need to embrace them, not fight to straighten them out.”

Her eyes burned as she heard the truth in his words. She did love that feeling of hope and safety that floated through some of her darker memories of the crash and walk. At times she’d felt protected and guided during her long ordeal. Real or not, those were the recollections to treasure. She shouldn’t dwell on the terror and darkness and fear. She’d made it; she’d survived.

She looked directly into Chris’s hazel eyes. “Thank you,” she said simply.

“I’ve been there.”

“I know. At least you were a bit older, so you must be able to separate reality from a child’s dreams.”

His jaw tightened and the muscles in his neck tensed. “I remember everything.” Pain flashed across his eyes, and she regretted her words. Her child’s brain had protected her in the best way it knew how. Chris’s hadn’t.

“I can’t imagine what you went through.” She looked down at his hands, stiff at his sides, and took one. It was rough and calloused. Not the hand she’d expected to feel on a man who claimed he sat at his computer all day. Images of him digging out the snow in front of the shed and tying the knots to secure the sleds flashed through her mind. There was a lot below the surface of Chris Jacobs. He was skilled at allowing people to see solely what he wanted them to see, but he’d allowed her glimpses that made her want to know more.

He didn’t pull his hand away. Instead he looked down at the two clasped hands and she felt him struggle with a decision. He raised his gaze, and she caught her breath.

Old pain, grief, and torment. But also need.

She understood. Tension had simmered between them for days but had been held in check by their environment and their own insecurities. With one look, Chris Jacobs had laid it bare before her. He’d lowered his scarred and battle-hardened defenses and offered her a chance to touch, feel, and learn.

She knew the moment was fleeting. One wrong word and his defenses would be back in place and stronger than before. Possibly never to lower again.

What do I want?

She shut down her rational brain and stepped closer. Brief terror flashed in his gaze but it was immediately replaced with determination, and she knew it was difficult for him to allow her to see him exposed. All of her senses focused on him, she saw the dilation of his pupils and felt the small tremor in his hand. He stood deathly still, suddenly a hardened statue, and she knew one mistaken touch would make him shatter.

“I’ve seen things no person should ever see,” he whispered. “I’ve seen the sickness that drives a human to hurt innocent people. And I’ve been on the receiving end of that pain.”

Grief radiated from him, igniting a primitive need in her to heal him. But she knew he would never be whole.

Perhaps she could help a tiny bit.

She stepped closer, pressed her chest to his, and stretched up on tiptoe, sliding her other hand behind his neck. He froze under her touch, then seemed to explode with movement as he moved their clasped hands behind her back, pressing her closer, wrapped his other arm around her waist, and lifted her to his mouth. Her eyelids closed and heat shot through her from where his lips met hers.

They’d both been balancing on the edge of violent memories, and she’d saved them from a plunge to the bottom.

Chris’s brain shot into fifth gear.

It had been at a full stop as he told Gianna that he remembered everything about his captivity with the Ghostman. He hadn’t shared his memories with anyone since Brian’s mother, Elena. His secrets had died with her. Early on, Michael and Jamie had asked a few leading questions, but he’d shut them down. He didn’t want their minds polluted with images from his past. They had imaginations; they could use them.