My brow furrows.Elliot.What’s she doing awake in the middle of the night? More to the point, what’s she doing outside my door?
My eyes drop to where her teeth are clamped down on her lip, like she’s nervous about something. “Um. I don’t want to wake everyone. Can I—” She stops mid question, frowning, almost like she’s second-guessing herself.
Something’s going on with her.Without hesitation, I push the door open wider, then wave her in with my hand.
She walks under my arm while I hold the door, then spins to face me as I shut it behind me.
My eyes rove over her, taking in the nervous way she’s standing there. She was obviously in bed right before she knocked on my door, as is evidenced by the pair of sleep shorts and tank top she’s wearing—sleep shorts just like the ones I hid from every other motherfucker’s view earlier this week. While I didn’t want anyone else seeing her ass in those sinful, body-hugging shorts, I have no problem ogling her myself. Tiny waist, full hips and ass, and soft, womanly thighs. Jesus. She’s fuckin’ hot. But whether or not she’s a babe in her sleepwear has nothing to do with why she’s here.Shut it down.
Another memory flips to the forefront of my mind—I hadn’t given much thought to it when it happened, but I do remember what she’d tried to say to me the last time I had her laid out in my bed right before Archer interrupted us. Shehadn’t ever.
If I understood correctly, it gives me a heady rush to know that even if Kingston was the first of us to fuck her… I was the first person—ever—to taste her. And I absolutely want more.Needmore, honestly. I can’t get enough.
Moving away from the door, I frown at the way her hand shakes as she puts her fingers to her temple.
I tap my pointer finger to my head, then tilt it to the side in question. I was hoping she’d feel better by now.
She shakes her head, holding up her hand palm out before she murmurs, “It’s not the concussion. Not really. I mean, my head still isn’t great. I still can’t handle screens. I made myself sick earlier trying to look at my laptop, but I—” She clasps her hands together in front of her and tucks them under her chin, forearms tight to her chest. Her dark eyes dart to mine. “I, um… I had a nightmare. And then I couldn’t sleep.” She sucks in a breath, watching me. Waiting for me to respond.
I rub my hand over my already messy bedhead and force myself not to hold my breath. If she stays in here, I’ll get no fucking sleep.
But then I look at her again. And I can easily pick up on the fact that she’s distraught. Not much rattles Elliot, that’s for fuckin’ sure, but whatever she dreamed about has her on edge. I walk toward her and hold out my hand. To my relief, she takes it and lets me pull her along with me so we can sit on the side of my bed. I reach over to my nightstand and grab my phone.
“I don’t have my phone with me.”
I huff out a breath and shrug, pulling up the text messages between us, and add one, just to make sure she’s feeling well enough to be looking at the phone in the first place. Who knows what she was doing on her laptop, but I need her to look for a few seconds at a time to effectively communicate. And if she can’t… My chest muscles squeeze my rib cage, making it difficult to breathe. If she can’t, I’ll have to fucking talk to her, I guess.
Are you okay to read a couple texts?
A low-level hum stirs within me, because now that I’ve considered it, the desire to communicate openly with her is so strong, it’s threatening to tear me apart. But I’m terrified of what she’ll think if I finally explain myself. Am I ready for that? The way I am is so ingrained in me it doesn’t seem possible.
She turns her head slightly, stealing a look at me, then gives a short nod.
Did something happen?
Today, I mean?
Something that prompted the nightmare?
I tilt the phone in her direction so she can read, wondering if she’ll tell me even if she does know what caused it.
She exhales sharply, then spends a few seconds chewing on her bottom lip, as if she’s having a tough time deciding what to say. Finally, she shrugs her shoulders a fraction. “It was kinda a shitty day. And then on top of everything else, this nightmare…” Her chin juts out in time to prevent the wobble that was threatening.
My jaw sets firmly, and I raise a brow in her direction. First, why would her day have been shitty? Archer came home at noon and checked on her. Said she rested in her room all afternoon. I’d wager it was more like she was hiding, but I don’t want to force Elliot to tell me. That won’t get us fuckin’ anywhere. It’ll only drive her away. I tap out another text and show it to her.
Help me out, here, Elliot.
I’m no mind reader.
And then when she doesn’t speak, I send another.
Please let me help you. Talk to me.
She gives an achingly sad laugh, but there’s no smile that reaches her lips, no matter how much it amuses her that I’m pleading withherto talk to me, because I do think that’s why her first instinct was to laugh. Sliding her tongue over her chewed-upon lip, she peers at me from the corner of her eye as she wipes her hands over her thighs. “Um. I-I was in the closet. In the dream, I mean.”
Inhaling audibly through my nostrils, my brow furrows hard. I don’t hide it well.Thecloset. Inthehouse. Where she washurt.
In response, she drops her head into her hands, propping her elbows on her thighs. “Yes, in that awful house. I was trapped and forced to relive those moments over and over again—like I was locked inside my own head, screaming to be set free, pounding on the door, crying because I was so fucking scared.” Her hands might shake, but her voice never falters.
