“Did you ever want to help in the fields?”
I shake my head vehemently. “Not after that day.”
“Okay. Where did you go from here?”
I point. “See that post in the distance?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s where the scarecrow used to be. It’s where I hit my head and knocked myself out.”
“That’s pretty far for a little kid.”
“Believe me, it seemed like miles, especially when you can’t see over the corn stalks.”
He looks around. “Praying mantises are green, right?”
“Yeah.”
He wrinkles his forehead. “How the hell could you chase it in here? Didn’t it blend in with the stalks?”
“Not really. It’s a different shade of green.”
“Ah,” he says. “Your photographer’s eye.”
“I suppose so. My mom actually asked me the same thing once I came to and told her what I was doing. To me, the greens are totally different.” I let out a breath. I’m feeling better. Talking helps.
“Totally different?” Braden says, one eyebrow quirking.
“Okay. Subtly different. But I can see the difference.”
Braden grabs my hand. “You’re cold as ice.”
“Am I? I thought I was feeling better.”
“It’s okay. Nothing is going to hurt you.”
“Because you’ll protect me, right?”
“Always,” he says, “but you don’t need me to protect you here.”
“I know.” I choke out a laugh. “I was kidding.”
“I know you were. Do you realize that you use humor when you’re nervous?”
“Do I?”
“You do.”
We walk through the plowed pathway, moving farther and farther out, toward the old scarecrow pole. We don’t seem to be getting any closer, though, until it juts out from the ground and stops me in my tracks. I resist the urge to cry out in surprise.
“Here we are,” Braden says.
“Yes.”
“Take this place back, Skye.”
“What do you mean?”
“Here it is. It’s an old pole. Nothing can harm you here. So take it back. Take back the power it stole from you all those years ago.”
“Have you ever done anything like that?” I can’t help asking.
“This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”
“But have you—”
“You have no idea what I’ve had to take back in my life.”
“Will you tell—”
“Damn it, Skye. Must you always be so obstinate?”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Isn’t that why you love me?”
He shakes his head. “God help me. You’re partially right.”
I smile. Sort of. “I understand what you’re trying to do, but I don’t need to take this back, Braden. It doesn’t scare me.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No. I admit to being reluctant to come here, but I’m fine now. Really.”
I’m not lying. My heart is beating normally, and my skin is no longer chilled. I’m okay.
“Then perhaps you’re wrong.”
“About what?” I ask.
“Maybe this isn’t what gave birth to your need for control.”
“No, this is it,” I say. “I didn’t realize until I got here, though, that this place isn’t anything to hamper my life. Besides, I gave up control. To you. Remember?”
“You did. Or rather you may think you did.”
“What do you mean?”
“Feeling out of control is related to anxiety. That’s how you feel when you lose control in a situation. That’s probably how you felt when you got lost here all those years ago.”
I nod.
I remember so vividly when he puts the situation in those words. My heart thumping, fear flowing through me. My little legs trying to run but tripping, and then the pole springing up just as it did today, breaking my path.
Hitting my head.
Then waking up in bed.
“But,” Braden continues, “is that how you feel when you’re not in control now?”
Is it? “No,” I reply. “Not really.”
“So you see, Skye, your need for control isn’t really who you are at all, is it?”
Is he right? Is that how I was able to succumb to his mastery so easily?
“I… I don’t know.”
“What you define as being a control freak is really just a preference. You prefer to be able to think clearly. That’s why you don’t get drunk.”
“You think?”
“It’s possible. In fact, your willingness to give up control to me in the bedroom may be because it’s nice not to have to think sometimes. It’s nice to let someone else be in charge.”
My mouth drops open.
He’s right.
He’s exactly right.
“Tessa says I don’t let my hair down enough.”
“You seem to let it down with me.”
“Yeah, I do… In fact…”
“What?”
Say it. Just say it. “I want to let it down farther than you’re willing to let me.”
“That’s true.”
“So…what do we do now?”
“You have to figure that out for yourself, Skye. I can’t help you.”
“But you just—”
“I just got lucky on a hunch. Most self-professed control freaks aren’t actually control freaks. For example, you don’t micromanage.”
“How do you know?”
“Addison wouldn’t have let you.”
He’s not wrong. “Since you brought her up—”
“Nice try.” His lips tremble, as if he’s trying not to laugh. “We’re not talking about me yet.”
I huff. “Fine.”
“You also didn’t change yourself or your situation for me.”
“I would never do that.”
“That’s exactly my point. You are who you are. You don’t change yourself to control the situation.” He pauses. Then, “Let me ask you something.”