His arm tightens fractionally. Not trapping me. Anchoring. “There’s that word again.”
Another sob claws its way up, and I clamp my hand over my mouth, shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping it contained
“Dakota. Let it out.”
“I can’t.” The words come out muffled against my palm. “If I start, I won’t—I can’t?—”
But it’s already too late. The first sob breaks free, ugly and raw, tearing from somewhere deep in my chest. Then another. And another. My whole body convulses with them, years of swallowed pain erupting all at once.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp. “I’m sorry, I’m?—”
“Stop apologizing.” He shifts behind me, angling the arm beneath my head so his hand curls protectively over my chest. His other hand finds mine. “Just breathe.”
I can’t.
Can’t think.
Only shake apart while he holds me together, his thumb drawing slow circles on the inner side of my wrist. The sobs keep coming, harder now, wrenching sounds I’ve never let anyone hear.
“It’s okay.” His voice stays low, steady. “I’ve got you.”
My fingers clutch his, craving something solid, and I cry until there’s nothing left, until my throat is raw and my eyes burn. Until the sobs turn to hiccups, then ragged breathing, then finally silence broken only by the occasional shudder running through me.
Julien doesn’t let go, his thumb still tracing those slow, steady circles on my hand. I focus on it. The rough calluses.
“Better?” he asks after a while, voice quiet against my hair.
I nod.
“You needed that.”
“Probably.” I wipe my face with the back of my free hand. “My mother used to say crying was for people who had the luxury of falling apart. That we didn’t have that luxury.”
His fingers linger on one spot. “You’re allowed to fall apart. Especially after what you’ve been through.”
“What we’ve been through.” I shift slightly, testing whether he’ll retreat. He doesn’t.
“Get some sleep and no squirming,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice a low rumble I feel more than hear. “Need to be alert if anything happens.”
A sudden heat flares low in my belly.
Why now?
The world ends, I just cried my soul out, nearly died today, and my body chooses this moment to remind me it’s alive?
That it has been ages since anyone touched me like this. And this isn’t even like that—it’s just survival warmth, physical comfort. But try telling that to the flutter in my stomach or to my skin, which grows more sensitive wherever we are connected.
I force my muscles to relax, my mind to quiet. “Same goes for you.”
His soft chuckle tickles my neck, raising goosebumps along my arms. “Sleep tight.”
My eyelids grow heavy, the day’s horror and fear finally giving way to exhaustion. Consciousness slips away, and I’m in my dream, where Julien presses a soft kiss on my hair, so light it could be an accident, but I let myself believe in intention anyway. His arm tightens by a breath, his body shifting closer to mine, and his voice too soft to make out.
That’s how dreams are.
Just… dreams.
Sunlight slices through the gap in the curtains, caressing my face. I reach out before I’m fully awake, my hand patting across cool sheets. Empty. The heat that cradled me through the night is gone, leaving me oddly bereft.
