I stay on top of the covers. Don't slip under. Don't let myself have that.
But I'm here. Close enough to hear when the nightmare starts. Close enough to pull her out before it drags her under.
The monster who chases away nightmares.
A huff escapes me—one beat, barely a sound. More breath than laugh.
Yeah. Red would've gotten a kick out of that one.
She sighs in her sleep. Turns toward me, her hand sliding across the blanket until her fingers brush my arm.
I don't move. Don't breathe.
She settles. Her hand stays where it landed.
I let it.
***
Next afternoon, Eden's been quiet for hours. Moved from the kitchen table to the couch to the bedroom and back, notebook in hand, pen never stopping. She's finally at peace, and it's all thanks to a ninety-nine-cent notebook I found in a junk drawer.
I'm slicing tomatoes for lunch when I hear it.
I go still. My hand finds the Glock taped under the counter before I'm conscious of reaching for it.
Voices. Distant but getting closer. Two of them, maybe three—male, loud. The crunch of boots on dead leaves. Someone mentions a buck.
Hunters. Off-trail, probably tracking something.
Eden's head snaps up. The pen freezes mid-word.
I tuck the Glock at the small of my back and cross the room in three strides, pulling her up and away from the window. Her back hits my chest, my arm wrapped around her, both of us pressed against the far wall.
She doesn't make a sound. Goes where I put her.
The voices get louder. Someone laughing. A joke I can't make out.
Her heart hammers against my forearm. She's rigid, barely breathing.
The voices peak, then fade. Moving away.
The danger passes.
Neither of us moves.
I should let her go. Should step away.
"False alarm," I manage.
"Yeah." Her voice is barely a whisper.
I still don't let go.
Her pulse slows. Her body softens against mine. Then she turns and lets her forehead drop against my chest.
"I hate being afraid all the time," she says.
My hand finds the back of her head. Holding her there.
