Questions eat away at me, and I want nothing more than to lose myself in Holt once again. I’m sore between my legs, and even though Holt washed me and gave me a bath, I want him again already. I need to know this isn’t just a terrible dream I’m bound to wake up from.
“Holt?” I whisper in the dark of night that’s draped all around us.
I almost regret interrupting his deep sleep, but it’s too late when he says, “Wallflower?”
I simply breathe, remembering the techniques my therapist gave me to handle any situation that made me feel this way.
“What’s going on?” he asks, cracking his eyes open. He shifts to his side, lying so he’s facing me. He grabs the back of my knee, lifting my leg so it’s draped over his side. I feel his cock swelling to life, poking me.
I want him inside me again. It’s an insane thought and, again, something I’m not ready to face.
“Can’t sleep,” I confess.
He presses a kiss to my forehead.
I close my eyes and concentrate on every muscle and organ in my body.
It’s amazing how one minute I’m reliving the splatter of blood, staring into my mother’s life-drained eyes for the millionth, trillionth time, and the next, I’m looking at Holt lying beside me, grounded back in reality.
“Bad dream?” he asks.
I pause, tossing out the images that have forever been a stain on my memory. “Yeah.”
“I have those sometimes, too.” He sighs, resting his head on his pillow and shifting his attention to the ceiling.
“Do they have to do with the lawsuit?”
“I’m no stranger to lawsuits, Wallflower. Part of running your own major corporation.”
“I don’t doubt that. But it isn’t every day the lawsuit comes from a family rivalry as intense as yours.”
His chest inflates for a few seconds before he’s releasing his breath. I sink along with him, my heart hurting for both him and my best friend.
“You’re right. The fact the lawsuit is coming from Rome is a far deeper wound.” He tips his chin to meet his chest as he looks down at me. “But that isn’t why I have nightmares.”
“What are they about?” I gently ask.
“My mom.”
My brows pull together. I’m surprised by his answer. “You have bad dreams about your mom?”
“Only of her death,” he answers solemnly. “I was twelve, and Julianna was ten.”
His admission feels like a ten-pound lead weight dropping into the pit of my stomach. I flatten my hand, feeling his heartbeat beneath skin and bone. It beats at a steady pace, grounding me to this moment.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“No.” His voice is light yet full of emotion. “I do. It’s just… I haven’t talked about it in a long time. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever talked about it. To anyone.”
I nod once in understanding as my cheek brushes against his warm skin.
“We were at the subway station on our way home from Julianna’s fifth grade play when it happened.”
“Julianna was there?” I gasp, shifting to look up at his face covered in dark memories and shadows. He looks different than he did moments ago. As if he’s caught up in it, the memory playing in his darkened blue eyes.
“We both were. Jules says she doesn’t remember much, but I remember it all. I think she’s mentally blocked it out. I don’t hold it against her, though. We were young, and when you witness your mother’s murder, it changes you.”
“What happened?” I swallow thickly.
