“Damn, do you do that to all your boyfriends?” Strangely, he doesn’t sound mad. He sounds curious.
I turn back to find him looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
“I don’t have any boyfriends. Haven’t in a long time. Perhaps that’s why I was startled.” I have no idea why I would admit that to him. But here we are.
He straightens his head, still holding the cloth to his nose. I can’t and don’t want even to begin to unpack the look he’s giving me.
“Why were you in my bed?” I ask, carefully sitting next to his legs.
“You were screaming in the middle of the night, and I thought something was wrong. I came in to find you thrashing around and covered in sweat, but you were still asleep. I tried to wake you, but I couldn’t. So, I wiped your face with a cool cloth and yanked off the blankets. You calmed after that, and when I went to leave, you rolled over and wrapped your arm around my waist. You seemed so at peace…” He trails off for a moment, angling his head toward the ceiling again. “I didn’t want to disturb you, so I…stayed.”
I blink at him. I don’t know how to process all of that.
“Serves me right.” He laughs.
I finally look around and realize the sun is already up.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“It’s around seven, I think.”
My heart practically stops dead. I can’t remember the last time I slept until seven.
“We’re late,” I stutter, because I’m pretty sure I’m in shock.
“You do realize I’m the boss, right?” That familiar arrogance is back in his voice. I ignore it.
“Why didn’t you wake me this morning?” I ask instead.
He doesn’t say anything right away and looks as though he’s trying to figure me out. What he doesn’t realize is that I’m trying to do the same. I’m so confused and ungrounded, and everything I thought I knew seems to be going to shit right now.
“I didn’t wake you because I was asleep, too. Best sleep I’ve had in a while, actually. But I could do without that alarm clock of yours.” He smirks, and now that the blood’s stopped, swelling and bruising inch their way to his green eyes.
He catches me staring. “Finally got a chance to ruin my beautiful face, haven't you?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my head into my hands. “That’s not what I had in mind when I imagined it.”
Owen laughs, and it surprises me so much that I drop my hands and look at him.
“So you have thought about it?” he asks.
I scoff. “Of course I have. But that was…” I trail off for a moment and look away. “Not what I wanted. I’m sorry.”
He surprises me by grabbing my hand. “What do you dream about that makes you scream like that?”
Looking down at his hand covering mine, I can’t help but feel small compared to him. What terrifies me the most, though, is that I don’t mind it. I feel safe with him. Which doesn’t make any fucking sense because he’s probably a murderer.
“My father's death. It’s on repeat in my dreams. I’ve struggled with them for fifteen years, but they’ve gotten worse lately.” I still can’t understand why I’m telling him so many truths, but in this moment, I realize that I don’t care. Iwantto tell him. I want someone to know me. I wanthimto know me. And I’m utterly terrified of that realization.
“Fifteen years is a long time to carry that burden,” he whispers, still holding onto my hand.
My eyes suddenly fill with tears that I somehow hold back. Fifteen yearsisa damn long time.
I pull my hand from his and crawl over his lap. His eyes widen when I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him. “Thank you,” I whisper, unable to say more than that. Unable to express everything I’m feeling and thinking.
His arms hesitantly wrap around my waist, but when I don’t object, he squeezes me tight and takes a deep breath.
I finally allow myself to breathe, too, and we both stay that way for a long time.
