Safe.
Something wakes me.
I don’t know what at first. A sound. A shift. The sensation of the mattress jerking under me. I blink in the dark, disoriented. The room is mostly shadow, a faint glow leaking in from the crack under the door, the curtains drawn.
Charlie’s not lying beside me anymore.
He’s sitting up.
No, half off the bed, muscles coiled tight, breath coming fast.
“Charlie?” I rasp, still half-asleep. “Babe?”
He doesn’t answer.
His eyes are open but … not. They’re unfocused, wild, like he’s looking at something past me. Through me.
“Get down!” he snarls suddenly, voice hoarse, thick with panic. “Move, move, move …”
My heart slams into my throat. “Charlie, hey,” I say, pushing up on one elbow. “It’s me, it’s Derrick.” I reach toward him, fingers brushing his arm.
He explodes.
It happens faster than I can process.
His body jerks, fist flashing out on instinct. There’s no hesitation, no control, just pure, trained reaction. His knuckles collide with my cheekbone with a sickening thud. White pain bursts behind my eye. My head snaps sideways, and I tumble off the bed, catching myself badly on my shoulder as I hit the floor. For a second, the world tilts.
“Fuck,” I yell, hand flying to my face.
Charlie falls from the bed and hits the floor hard. He doesn’t usually sleep with his prosthetic. His chest heaves, fists clenched, eyes scanning for some invisible enemy. “Where is he?” he growls. “Where the fuck is he? Jackson, get down …”
Jackson.
My stomach drops.
Oh God.
He’s not here.
He’s there.
“Charlie,” I wheeze, staying low on instinct. “Baby, you’re safe. You’re not there, you’re with me. It’s Derrick. You’re in Switzerland, remember? St. Moritz. With your family.”
He spins toward the sound of my voice, and for a split second, I’m terrified he’s going to hit me again. His expression is wild, like he doesn’t even see me, just shapes and threats.
I force my voice to stay steady. Soft. Grounded. “Hey,” I say again, hand up, palm out. “It’s me, D. You’re okay, you’re safe.”
He sways, blinking hard, like something’s fighting its way back into focus. “D …?”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” I breathe. “It’s me. You’re not there or wherever the fuck your brain is right now. You’re in bed. In St. Moritz. With me.”
His breathing is still ragged, loud in the quiet room.
My cheek throbs in time with my heartbeat.
There’s a pounding on the door.
“Charlie?” Everly’s voice, panicked. “Derrick? Are you guys okay?”
