Is he going to leave me here, this time?
Is he —
“Shh, I got you, Saban. Calm down. I’m here.” Startling awake, my eyes opening to the rough promise, I stare into the midnight of Hadrián’s gaze. Concern brackets his mouth in hard lines.
“Oh,” the nightmare rushes back. I messed up is all I can think burying my face into the crook of his neck. My entire body shivers still locked in the aftermath of the dream.
Strong arms hold me, settling the trembling. I take deep cleansing breaths. I count backwards. Nothing works. Pushing away from him, I rush into my ensuite bathroom, diving for the toilet.
Everything that spews out of me, coming in a hard rush of sickness. Stars dance before me as I heave. Once I’m done, my body feels wrung out, no different than a used wash towel.
My eyes dart up when I hear the water running from the sink. Unable to look his way, I try to stand. Strong fingers grip beneath my arms, helping me rise.
Reaching over, he flushes.
“Sit,” pressing me down on the closed toilet seat, he presses a cool compress on the back of my neck.
“Just breathe it out.” Moving back to the sink, he busies himself loading my toothbrush.
“Here.” Taking it, trying not to inhale the spearmint lest it triggers another bout of sickness, I brush, keeping my eyes averted. Shame eats at me. I wait for him to say something about my not taking care of myself.
We both know what happens when I don’t take care of my mental health as I should — my night terrors return with crippling ferocity. I haven’t been using any of the tools Dr. Kensington gave me to stave off the nightmares. Nor have I been keeping my appointments as I should.
Since the night of the kiss at the el Diablo, I’ve been winging it — screwing around, not doing what I should. To punish myself or Snake, I don’t know, so now here I sit suffering. I guess that answers the question of who I’m really hurting.
“C’mon, let’s get you back to bed.” His voice is gruff and far away. I still feel like I’m in that dark place — tied to the cot in some family’s tent waiting to be savaged by a monster.
I finish brushing and then rinse. I want to tell him so bad I don’t need him putting me to bed like I’m still a fragile ten-year-old, that I’m a grown woman if he cared to look. Instead, I trudge on tired feet back to my room without a word.
Feeling silly, I curl into myself, hoping I can stay awake until exhaustion takes me to a dreamless paradise. Knowing the pattern, I’m likely to fall back into another nightmare I can’t escape from. There’s only been one thing or rather person who kept the demons away, and he’s not speaking to me now.
He pauses, seeming to will me to look his way. No, I’m not asking him for shit. Never again.
I let the little nonsense song’s melody from my childhood I can’t remember the lyrics to soothe my mind. I quell a shudder when I hear his feet slap against the woodgrain floor as he leaves.
“Scoot.” His voice rumbles many minutes later. “I know you’re not asleep.” I press my body far over to the other side of my queen-size bed.
“Humph,” he mutters. “Being over there means you’ll be right back up in a hour, waking me up. I have a lot to do in the morning, so stop cutting up. C’mere and let me hold you, man.”
Hesitating, I exhale. Relief cascades over me in waves along with a relief I should not be feeling.
“Saban.” His voice does something to me deep down low in my belly. Noticing as I turn toward him that he’s changed into joggers and a t-shirt.
His arm is up as waiting for me to tuck myself into the crook of his muscular arm. I can’t deny myself the comfort he’s offering.
“You good?” A question he’s asked many times before, but this time there’s more on the back end — an anticipation of accusations because of his absence.
I’ve never done well when he’s gone on missions for the MC or legitimate business for Cruz Construction and Logistics. He probably thinks his being away almost every night over the past few weeks brought this on. It did, but that doesn’t make it his fault.
“Yep,” I say into his chest, not daring to look into the dark umber of his gaze. Scared of what I may see there. Scared of what I want.
“What brought this on?” He’s actually going to the place that hangs bruised and raw between us. I shouldn’t be surprised, no matter what face he’s wearing — Hadrián or Snake — he doesn’tlet things linger. He’s a rip the bandage off kind of motherfucker if there ever was one.
“Just haven’t been keeping up with my exercises.” I force nonchalance into my voice. “It won’t happen again. You don’t have to worry about it.”
“So we’re doing that bullshit again?” His sigh is long-suffering and forlorn. “I already told you?—”
“I messed things up between us. That’s why you stayed away.” Misery leaks into every word, and still — I would kiss him again. I haven’t apologized for it because I don’t regret it. I won’t lie to make things right. Just as I lay here with my sugarcake humming while I inhale the scent of his fresh clean scent. I could lie here with him for an eternity. I don’t care.
