“You’re awake?”
He huffed, “I’m always awake.” He turned his neck to look at me. “I wish you hadn’t woken up. You were sleeping so soundly. Except at one point, you laughed—whatever you were dreaming about, your reaction was cute as hell.”
“If I remembered my dreams, I’d share the goods with you. Unfortunately, I only remember the nightmares.”
“Do you have a lot of those?”
I let out a soft breath. “Almost every night. But I didn’t last night—or tonight.” An extremely interesting tidbit and something I hadn’t thought of until just now. Was it because I hadn’tslept at home? Or because I was in a bed with Whiskey? “Do you know what time it is?”
We’d climbed in here around midnight. I wondered how many hours or minutes were left until my alarm went off. It was set for five so I’d have enough time to shower and get to work.
“It’s a little past two.”
Three-ish hours. Something told me I wouldn’t be going back to sleep, so I leaned up on my elbow. “What were you thinking about before I woke up?”
He turned his whole body toward me and held my cheek, my face instantly warm from his skin. “The things that fuel the stress in my life. That’s what I constantly think about.” He went quiet. “Well, that is, until you showed up at my door.”
“I thought I silenced the noise?”
“You did. Except you fell asleep. Which I don’t blame you for—you’re allowed to sleep.”
My fingers stretched across his chest. I wasn’t sure why, but the roughness of his hair and the feel and temperature of his skin were so comforting. “Anything you want to talk about? I know I’m basically nothing more than a stranger, but maybe that’s a good thing. Someone who knows nothing, just your side of things.”
“I don’t know how to talk about it.”
“Is it that?” My fingers tightened into a ball. “Or are you afraid that once you pull out the cork, all the water will drain?”
“Huh. Isn’t that a good question?”
“Some people don’t like to let it all out, in fear that once those words are spoken, they can’t take them back. Some people worry that once it’s all out, there won’t be anything left.”
“Which one are you?”
I laughed. “Oh, no. You’re not going to turn this around on me. The spotlight is still on you, I’m afraid.” I tapped one of his pecs.
He stroked my lips. “I love your laugh.”
“Whiskey … you’re trying hard to change the subject. It’s not going to work.”
“I’m doing no such thing. I’m just telling you, I love your laugh.” He paused. “And I’m going to miss it.”
I was weirdly going to miss laughing in front of him.
An admission that was as powerful as the statement he’d just voiced.
I slowly filled my lungs with air. “I’m going to take a guess and say you’re the type who’s worried if there will be anything left. It’s not that you want to hold on, it’s what will you reach for once you let it go.”
I could feel his eyes moving over the shadows of my face.
“You’re far beyond twenty-three—you know that?”
“That’s because I’ve lived a thousand lives.”
His exhale was even louder than mine, and he rolled onto his back. “You’re right—to answer your question.”
“I know.”
“If there isn’t anything left, I don’t …” His next exhale made a whistling sound, and he folded his hands behind his head. “I don’t know what I’ll do. It’s consumed me for so long. Who am I without it?”
