I rubbed the heels of my palms against my achy chest. “Just sleep paralysis. Started summer before last.”
His head tilted.
Ugh. Said too much. “It’s when you can’t move. You seem awake but … you … can’t move.”Dang, repetitive.
“No. I get what sleep paralysis is.” Lachlan scrubbed the back of his neck. “But two summers ago? Thought Adrian Chelomey …” He paused, swallowed as if he carried my burden with me.
Did he want to connect so deep with me that my pain weighed him down?Uh-uh. I wouldn’t wish my memories on anyone.
I shook my head. “Adrian Chelomey didn’t rape me, Lachlan. Jordyn saw him carrying me out of his car into the pool house. Adrian roofied me sometime during our prom night. JorJor saved me. Almost died since his father had owned her for years when she risked her life to protect me.”
Lachlan’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak. Which meant he was putting the pieces together. This incident was unconnected to the Chelomey Bratva’s extinction years ago.
Since he’d been open about the video and how he was labeled astarthat had nothing to do with baseball, I added more. Just not themorethat included that sick stranger and my stolen virginity.
“As you know,” I said, “when Jordyn, Jamie, and I reconnected, my dad found out what Adrian tried to do. Nixed the entire Chelomey Bratva for it.” My voice cracked. “Anyway, the dreams started; paralysis followed. I usually bite my tongue.” I was glossing over the genuine issue.
Still, he connected dots.Whydidn’t this condition begin after Adrian’s rape attempt? Why all this time later? The secrets I’d erected around me would collapse beneath the weight of even the slightest pressure.He didn’t press, though.
“You didn’t bite down last night?” he asked with curious compassion.
Surprised, my eyes flicked toward him. Grateful he didn’t ask about the worst part of me. The shards of glass on the floor. So broken. “No. This time … it faded. I felt something warm. Steady. Like you’d kept the nightmare back. Held it off.”
“Me,” he said in a hushed, airy tone.
“Yeah, you.” After the trauma two summers ago, instead of keeping it surface level with the sports celebrity, I’d sought more than flirty text messages. And he became everything I needed. Because in all honesty, prayers hadn’t helped. Nothing helped but Lachlan MacKenzie. I glanced through my lashes, suddenly coy.
As if to set me at ease, he explained, “Heard you cry last night. I held you. Not sure what else to do.”
Tears stung my eyes. I blinked them back.
He’d stayed.
He didn’t push me away. Didn’t wake me to questions or blame the cancer, since some people had ridiculous ideas about cancer.
We sat in silence. The darkness lingered around the edges of my mind, but Lachlan’s presence kept its claws from sinking in.
I leaned my head against his shoulder. He simply said, “Whatever … brought the paralysis. I’ll fight it with you.”
“I want to tell you,” I said. “Is the Greece offer still available? Tell you there.” Although it sounded ridiculous, using a vacation as a cover for courage, the truth felt too heavy for this room, this Los Angeles air. Maybe if I were surrounded by sunlight and sea, it’d be easier to let the truth breathe—easier to stop pretending I was fine.
Greece.Lachlan and I had flown in Pop’s private jet to Greece. I hadn’t expected him to agree. We’d gotten adjoining suites, where we could reach each other from an inner door without prying eyes.
Last night, I’d left the adjoining bedroom door unlocked, worried about a bad dream. I absolutely needed Lach near me as I slept, far from my small little life. We woke in each other’s arms.
Swoon!
Tonight, we’d had dinner on a private boat. Dinner we’d caught ourselves. I was dressing in the nicest pair of pajamas I had when I saw a text.
Enzo.Ugh.
LORENZO: Didn’t see U at the hospital 2 day.
As I considered a response, the phone vibrated in my hand. A face flashed. A similar strong jaw as Pop, glinted with silver. A growling smile that said,My wife forced this smile. While most people feared my Uncle Simeon, I loved his honesty. He admitted to doing something bad over a decade ago. “To a lot of people.” His hidden regret was evident, even without elaboration.
But … I was in Greece. I leaned against a pillar in my suite and nonchalantly answered his call. “Hey, Uncle Sim.”
“You’re in Naxos.”
