A Protector's Second Chance (Unit Matched #2) by Mary Smith, Rebecca Cartee Page A

inside for so long.
    “I’m going to shower.” Before I moved, I made the boldest move ever between us; I kissed his cheek. I left the comfort of his arms before he could respond.
    I showered, changed into a pair of jeans, and a sweater, and went to the kitchen. I had planned to make us something to eat, but Oliver had beat me to it.
    “Chicken salad and chips, okay? I figured it’s almost lunchtime,” Oliver smiled.
    “Sounds yummy. I’ll set the table.” We moved seamlessly around each other. Almost like we knew each other’s movements. I set the table up, as Oliver put sandwiches on a platter and chips in a bowl.
    “Sorry, I didn’t have time to make something else, but I was hungry, too.” Oliver inhaled his first sandwich.
    “Actually, this is perfect.” I took a bite and moaned. “Correction, it’s absolutely perfect.”
    “I’m glad.”
    “Oliver,” I looked at him. “I really meant what I said, thank you.”
    “Amaya,” he took a sip of his water. “You’re my Matched. I would move mountains for you. I wish you could understand that.”
    I’ve never been shy or quiet, but Oliver seemed to have brought that side of me to the surface. A side that I hadn’t even known existed.
    I studied his very gorgeous face as he began eating again. Sometimes I thought I was the smartest person in the room and at other times, I was the idiot.
    Right now, I was the idiot.
    Here Oliver sat, next to me. He had done nothing but be there for me, and here I was still being a bitch to him.
    “You said I could trust you.” I stared at my journals, still at the end of the table.
    “You can.” He leaned back in his chair. “I promise.”
    I took a deep breath. “My parents aren’t nice.” I stood up and picked up the journal I’d opened earlier.
    I sat closer to Oliver to show him the picture. I felt like I was naked on a large stage and thousands of people were staring at me. I’d never spoken about this to anyone.
    “I wrote in the books because I couldn’t tell anyone the truth. I’ve never said anything.” The tears sat behind my eyes, ready to fall.
    I pushed the composition book over to him. I was going to tell. I trusted him.
    “I didn’t always write. When I was young, I drew pictures. This is one of them.”
    Oliver studied it. “May I hear the story behind it?” His voice was low.
    “Mom thought I needed to learn to move faster,” I whispered. “She did it by throwing empty vodka bottles at me.”
    I turned my head, pointing to my scar. “I learned quickly.”
    Oliver’s eyes were wide, and I wondered what he was thinking. I couldn’t tell by the unreadable expression on his face.
    “What else happened?”
    I pointed to my journals. “All of that. Every stitch, broken bone, and training session is on those pages. Of course, every late night drunken binge, which was every night, is there, too. All my pain, my dreams of leaving Unit, and my hope that someday I’ll make everyone proud is in there too.”
    When I turned back to Oliver, he still had the same expression on his face.
    “When did it start?”
    I shrugged. “As far back as I can remember.”
    “I don’t remember anyone else complaining about your parents. I mean, Graham praised them both during his training.”
    I laughed. “My parents are saints when they aren’t drinking.” I paused. “But, the moment the bottle of vodka or gin touches their lips,” I closed my eyes, as all the memories pushed to the forefront.
    Oliver continued to stare at me and I could finally see the shock on his face. “I can’t believe it.”
    “You don’t believe me?” I could hear my voice squeak. How could he think that?
    “I know you’re telling the truth. I’m usually very good at reading people. What I meant was, Mom has been to your house a hundred times, and she never said anything.”
    “Mrs. Thomas never saw it. My parents are able to hide their drinking very well. We always knew ahead of time when people were coming