Not only is she in my bed, but shechoseto be there.
My heart races beneath my ribs, hard enough that it might escape if I don't get it under control.
Without turning to look at her and see how unbelievably overwhelming it'll be to see her in it, I turn on some garbage reality show, leaving the volume low enough that she could sleep through it if she needed to.
The captions float across the bottom, mapping out the woman in a bikini with a microphone dangling from it, yelling at a man in swim trunks whoalsohas a microphone attached.
What's the point of being in swimsuits if they're hooked up to stuff that prevents them from going swimming?
I'm stalling.
I don't know what kind of animal I'm going to turn into once I look and see Brigit between my sheets.
I'm only delaying the inevitable.
So I turn, letting my eyes fall over the bumps between the blanket first, seeing the vague shape of her legs, before my gaze goes higher and higher, my throat going dry at the sight of her nestled in my bed, wrapped in my blanket, and leaning against the wooden headboard. Her wild waves piled on top of her head, the strands falling out from the haphazard bun. Her still red-rimmed eyes that even her extensive skincare routine couldn't wash away.
Even freshly traumatized and still shaking, she's the picture of poised and immaculate.
And thankfully, she's not paying attention to me and my admiration at all, her gaze glued to the drama unfolding before her.
Definitely for the best, she needs this distraction from the shit unfolding in her real life.
Our problems will certainly still be here tomorrow, but for tonight at least, she can lose herself to someone else's.
Gathering all my courage, I walk around to my side of the bed and slide into it, only under one layer of blankets, letting her have the rest to herself to keep at least something between us.
The choice to keep the lights on might make it difficult to sleep, but I don't think she wants to be in the dark tonight, not after what she's been through, and not in an unfamiliar place with a man she claims to want nothing to do with.
"Thank you," she mumbles once I'm settled.
I keep my eyes locked on the screen, "For what?"
She breathes slowly out her nose, the quiet whoosh of air filling the space between us, "For protecting me."
Ididn't, though. She protected herself. All I did was come in behind her and help clean up the mess.
She has such strength, and for some reason, she's afraid of it as much as she is of me, if not more.
"You're welcome," I say anyway. Diving into her fear surrounding the truth might be too much to ask for tonight.
Leaning back against the headboard, we don't speak again, letting the TV be the only sound in the room for a few minutes, freeing us from having to fill the silence with words or even our own thoughts.
And despite her belief that she wouldn't be able to, Brigit falls asleep, something I only notice when her body relaxes, and her head lolls, resting on my arm.
And for the first time since I woke up in the hospital, I feel centered enough to truly relax, dozing off almost immediately after her.
Chapter 28
The Bat Man
BRIGIT
Somewhere in dreamland, the delicious scent of Cormac surrounds me, and I find myself slowly climbing out of unconsciousness.
A heavy weight lies across my chest, and only as I try stretching and easing into being awake do I realize it's an arm, wrapped warm and loosely around me, holding me close to an even warmer body.
In the barely there light of the morning, I blink my eyes open, finding Cormac still deep in sleep, his chest expanding and shrinking evenly.
