Not in the least. The woman was very, very concerned. When I explained what happened and why I’d not been in touch, she was practically in tears for me. Not everyone lacks compassion, I suppose.
“No, she was very helpful and supportive.”
“Your boss needs to be fired.”
Probably. I’m not going to argue that. In fact, I don’t want to talk or think about work again for a while. I roll onto my side and press my face into Oxley’s shoulder to breathe him in. He smells of paper. Warm paper, like when it’s fresh off the copy machine.
Paper and linen, and something masculine. Unique. I can’t quitedecide what I’m smelling except that I know I’d recognize it as Oxley without seeing him.
A yawn overtakes me, and I close my eyes. Pain is exhausting. That exhaustion, combined with being held in Oxley’s arms and cuddled up in the most comfortable bed I’ve ever been in, makes it easy to fall asleep. Even with the dull throbbing in my leg.
It’s not a deep sleep, though. I feel awake but in a dream world. That moment when you know you’re not fully conscious, but your body is still in a sleep state. I’m simply existing there for quite some time.
Then, I’m walking down the street where my apartment is. It’s the same familiar feeling of being watched. There’s someone there, but no matter how I try to find them, I can’t. The shadows elongate, stretch like fingers or the limbs of trees.
My heart races as I quicken my pace. I’m not running. You don’t tempt a predator like that. But it’s clear that I know something dangerous is there as I speed walk. The hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Tears threaten to obscure my vision, which is dangerous in itself.
I need to see. I need to be aware.
A car drives by. Is it moving slowly, or is that within the speed limit? Another car. Is there more traffic right now than usual? It’s a common time of night for people to be returning from work.
Then the gunshots begin. One and I scream. A second, and pain burns as it rips through my leg. My screams echo around me as I fall to the ground.
Then it’s dark, but I’m still screaming.
“Huntley,” a voice says. I swim around in my half-sleep state, spinning to find the voice. “Huntley, you’re okay. I’m right here.”
“I was shot!” I scream. “I’m going to die.”
Comfort surrounds me, and a sob breaks free of my chest. My eyes snap open, and I gasp as a fresh wave of pain claws at my leg. My chest heaves. Tears streak down my cheeks.
Just a dream. That’s all.
Oxley’s hands move through my hair and over my back as I cling to him, shaking. Fuck, I hope I don’t have to live through it again in my dreams too many more times. Once was more than enough.
“What do you need?” Oxley asks.
I suck in air like I haven’t breathed in an hour. “Nothing,” I answer. The eerie feeling of being watched lingers. The hair at the back of my neck is standing on end. “Ox, was I the only one shot that day?”
“Oxley,” he corrects and then shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ll find out.”
“Were they caught?”
His arms tighten. “I’ll find out.”
He’s told me that once, but I guess I can’t be surprised that he hasn’t found out yet. He never leaves my side unless he’s cooking me dinner or using the bathroom. If he’d looked into it, I’d have known. Unless he does while I sleep. Admittedly, I sleep a lot.
“When do you think I’ll be able to begin walking again?” I ask.
His arms tighten further. “No.”
“I need to get back to my life, Ox. I have a job that I don’t particularly want to lose, even if it becomes miserable for a while. And my apartment. God, I still haven’t called my roommates! I’m such a shit person. They’re probably worried.”
“It was in the news that there’d been a shooting on your street,” Oxley says.
I wait for him to correct my use of Ox, but he doesn’t. It makes me smile a little. There’s a chance I just distracted him with other shit, and the shortening of his name became less important than this discussion.
“Thatdoesn’tmake it better. If they think I was the one shot and I haven’t reached out, they might think I’m dead!”
