Archer's Voice(31)

I sat up, and despite my sore eyes and the spot on my forehead that was slightly tender to the touch, the rest of me felt pretty good, rested. Surprising since I had turned into a wild animal when that net came down on me. I had realized very distantly what was happening as Archer was removing it from my body. Why there was a trap set on his property, I wasn't sure, but figured it had something to do with his uncle.

God, I had freaked. I was embarrassed now. But somehow I felt relieved too. Somehow I felt… lighter? When I had realized I was being carried and looked up into Archer's concerned eyes, I had felt safe, and so the tears had finally fallen.

I was interrupted in my thoughts as I heard Archer's footsteps behind me, returning to the room.

I turned around to thank him, an embarrassed smile on my lips, but when he came into sight, I froze. Sweet mother of all that was holy. He had his hair pulled back, and he had shaved his face.

And he was… beautiful.

I gaped.

No, not beautiful. He was just masculine enough to take the edge off what otherwise would be full-on male prettiness. His jaw was not hard, slightly square, but not in an exaggerated way. His lips were wider than they were full, a beautiful light, rosey color.

With his hair pulled back and his facial hair gone, I could see how his eyes and nose fit perfectly in the portrait of his face. Why had he ever hidden it? I had known he had a nice face somewhere under all that shag, but not this. I had never imagined this.

Just as I was about to speak, he moved closer to me, into the light and it was then that I saw the scar at the base of his throat–pink and shiny, the skin raised in locations and flat in others. It stood out harshly against the beauty of the features above it.

"Archer," I breathed out, staring.

He paused in his movement, but didn't say anything. He stood there, uncertainty in the expression on his face and in the way he held himself, rigid and unmoving. And I could do nothing but stare, spellbound at his beauty. Something pulled tightly inside of me. He had no idea. None.

Come here? I said, indicating the couch next to me. I turned around as he walked around it and sat down at my side.

My eyes moved over his face. Why did you do it?

He was silent for a couple beats, looking down, taking his bottom lip between his teeth before he brought his hands up and said, I don't know. His expression turned thoughtful, his eyes meeting mine, and then he continued. When you were in the trap, I couldn't speak to you to reassure you. You can't hear me… I can't help that. He looked down for a second and then back up at me. But I want you to see me. An expression of vulnerability washed over his face. Now you can see me.

My heart squeezed. I got it. I understood. This was his way of making me feel more comfortable about exposing a part of myself to him–by doing the same for me. I brought my hands up and said, Yes, now I can see you. Thank you, Archer. I felt like I could stare at him forever.

After a minute, I breathed out and spoke again. And thank you for… what you did earlier. I shook my head slightly. I'm embarrassed. You rescued me. I was a mess. I looked up at him. I'm sor– He grabbed my hands in his to stop my words and then pulled his back. No, I'm sorry, he said, his eyes intense. My uncle set traps all over this land. I've tried to find all of them and take them down, but I missed that one. He looked away. That was my fault.

I shook my head. No, Archer. It wasn't your fault. I shook my head again. No. And anyway, as much as I'm sorry that I flipped my lid, I laughed, embarrassed and Archer smiled a small smile at me, maybe I… needed that. I don't know.

His brow furrowed. Do you want to tell me about it?

I fell back on the sofa and breathed out. I hadn't talked about that night with anyone, except the police detectives on the case. Not a single person. Not even my best friends. They only knew that my dad had been shot by a robber and that I had witnessed it, but not the rest, not everything. But for some reason, I felt safe talking about it now. I felt safe with Archer. And there was something about telling the story with my hands that was comforting to me.

We were just about to close that night, I started. The guy who usually worked the front counter at our deli had already left and my dad was there doing some bookkeeping. I was in the back baking bread for the next day. I heard the door chime and it took me a minute to wash my hands and dry them off. Once I did, and I went to the kitchen door, I could see through the small window that there was a man holding a gun on my dad. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I continued.

My dad saw me in his peripheral vision and he kept signing, 'hide.' The man was screaming at him to give him money. My dad couldn't hear him, though, and so he didn't respond. I took a deep breath as Archer watched me with those eyes that never missed a thing, taking in my words, his silent support giving me the strength to continue.

Before I even had time to process what was happening, the gun went off. I paused again, picturing that moment in my mind and then shaking my head slightly, bringing myself back to the present–back to Archer's compassionate eyes.

I found out later that it hit my dad in his heart. He died instantly. Fat tears fell out of my eyes. How could I have more tears? I took another calming breath.

I tried to hide in the kitchen, but I was in shock and I stumbled and fell and he must have heard me. He came in after me and, I shivered at the memory before continuing, his eyes were bloodshot, dilated, he was shaky… He was obviously on something. I paused, biting my lip. But he looked at me in this way and I knew what he was going to do. I knew. I looked up at Archer and he was sitting so still, his eyes boring into mine. I took another deep breath.