Page 9 of Oliver (The Golden Team #7)

Emery

I didn’t sleep.

The bed was warm, the cottage quiet. But my mind wouldn’t shut off.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the cell where I was kept. The men who spoke in another language and treated me like a pawn in a game I didn’t understand.

I’d trained my whole life to be the fastest woman in the water. I wasn’t trained for this.

But I’d survived.

Barely.

But I did survive because these SEALs saved me.

I sat up, dragging the blanket tighter around me. The faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffs filtered through the cracked window. If I listened hard enough, I could pretend I was back in La Jolla, waking up before dawn to train.

But I wasn’t that girl anymore.

I padded out of the room, the wooden floor warm under my feet. Oliver was on the couch, half-asleep with his arms folded across his chest, boots still on.

He looked… tired. But alert, even now. Like his body refused to rest until he was sure I was safe.

He stirred as I stepped closer. His hand instinctively reached toward his waistband—then relaxed when he saw me.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he murmured.

I shook my head.

He shifted, sitting upright. “Nightmares?”

“No,” I whispered. “Just memories.”

His jaw tightened, and he moved aside, patting the couch.

I sat, knees pulled to my chest, arms wrapped around them. “I keep trying to make sense of it. Why me? Why now?”

Oliver didn’t answer right away. “Sometimes bad people don’t need a good reason. Sometimes they just think they can get away with it.”

Silence.

Then I asked the question I’d been avoiding.

“What if this isn’t over?”

Oliver looked at me, eyes steady and unwavering. “Then we’ll finish it.”

We.

Not you. Not me. We.

I didn’t know what to do with that.

“I’m not used to someone taking care of me,” I admitted. “Even as a kid, I did everything on my own. Swim. School. Press. My dad was always deployed. My mom…loved me, but she didn’t understand the pressure.”

Oliver nodded. “I know what that’s like.”

I glanced over, studying him. “You do?”

“Yeah. Being needed by the world but forgotten by the people you love… It messes with you.”

That struck deeper than I expected.

We sat there for a long time, the silence less awkward now. He didn’t push. Didn’t pry.

Just stayed.

Eventually, I leaned my head against his shoulder.

And for the first time in days, my heartbeat slowed.

Oliver didn’t move when I leaned on him. He just let me rest there, warm and steady, like a wall I hadn’t realized I needed.

It was oddly comforting for a girl who spent her life breaking records and pretending she didn’t need anyone.

I don’t know how long we sat there, but at some point, his hand shifted. Not possessive. Not pushy.

Just… there.

Solid.

I closed my eyes for a second. “You think they’ll come after me again?”

His voice was low, calm. “If they know who your father is—maybe. First we need to find out why they took you.”

I sat up straighter. “But that doesn’t make sense. Why would they care who my father is? If they know who he is, they’d know he’s not the kind of guy to let this go.”

Oliver’s jaw flexed. “Like I said we’ll have to wait and see what this is about.”

My stomach turned.

“They weren’t just after money,” I whispered.

“No,” he said. “I don’t think they were.”

I stood and started pacing. My thoughts felt jumbled, half-formed, like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit.

“Maybe it was political?” I offered. “Or revenge? Or maybe someone needed leverage against the Band of SEALS? I just don’t know why this happened.”

Oliver stood too. “We’re not ruling anything out. That’s why you’re not going home yet.”

I turned to face him. “But I can’t just vanish. I have sponsors, a training schedule—”

“And if you walk back into that life without knowing who’s behind this, you could be walking into round two.” His tone wasn’t angry. It was matter-of-fact. “I get it. You want your life back. But you’re not ready.”

I bristled. “I’m not some fragile girl you have to babysit.”

“I know that,” he said, stepping closer. “I saw you fight. I saw the way you held it together when most people would’ve broken. But being strong doesn’t mean going it alone.”

I looked up at him.

Too close.

Too steady.

Too… everything.

“Why are you really still here?” I asked. Why are you still protecting me?”

His expression didn’t change. “Because I want to be.”

The air between us thickened.

And I didn’t know what to say to that. Because I want to be. What the hell does that mean?

He didn’t push it. Just stepped back, giving me space.

“We’re wheels up at dawn,” he said. “You’ll be safe where we take you. You’ll have time to think. Figure out your next move.”

I hesitated. “And you’ll be there?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The flight was quiet.

Oliver sat beside me, arms crossed, gaze trained out the window like he was watching for trouble in the clouds. Cyclone was up front, speaking with the pilot. I curled into my seat, a hoodie pulled over my head, trying to disappear.

But the thoughts kept coming.

The moment they attacked me. It seemed they were so calm for kidnappers. They didn’t realize I would fight back.

The way one of the men said, “Not her. The girl with the gold medal.”

“This is her.”

They knew who I was.

This wasn’t random.

The plane landed just before sunrise. Fog clung to the ground as we pulled through the private hangar’s gate and into a black SUV waiting on the tarmac. I didn’t ask where we were going. I didn’t have to.

We were in Carlsbad—home turf for the Golden Team, former Army Special Forces.

The safe house sat behind a wrought-iron gate tucked between two quiet estates. It had a Spanish tile roof and lush palms swaying in the early morning breeze. To anyone else, it looked like a vacation home.

But I saw the cameras tucked in the eaves, all along the gate.

The reinforced windows.

The ex-military man who opened the door smiling.

“This is Tag Harris, Oliver said. “Former Force Recon. He’s got eyes on everything, and hands that can kill a man in three seconds.”

“Two,” tag corrected, stepping aside. “Welcome to your new home for the next few weeks.”

I followed Oliver inside, hugging my duffel bag like a shield. Everything smelled like citrus and gun oil.

Clean.

Safe.

Temporary.

Oliver led me down a hallway to a sunlit bedroom with big windows, a view of the ocean, and a lock on the inside of the door.

He paused as I stepped inside. “It’s not a prison.”

“Feels like one.”

“It’s a buffer,” he said softly. “Until we know who’s after you.”

I dropped my bag by the bed. “And what if we never find out?”

His answer was immediate. “We will.”

He meant it—every word. I could hear it in his voice.

I sank onto the edge of the bed. “What if they come for someone else next? Someone I care about.”

Oliver crouched in front of me. “Then they’ll answer to us.”

Us.

Again with the us.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

He stood. “Get some sleep. There’s food in the kitchen. Tag’s here if you need anything.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be just down the hall, getting some shut-eye.”

I watched him go, and for the first time in days, I realized I wasn’t just scared.

I was angry. Why did people think they could do this to me? I’ve never done anything to anyone.

Someone had stolen pieces of my life—my control, my safety, my sense of direction.

But they hadn’t taken all of it.

Not yet.

Not ever.