She didn’t answer. Her breathing evened out almost immediately, the fastest I’d seen her fall asleep since we were kids.
I wasn’t so lucky. My mind spun on everything she’d been through. Her scars, the ghosts behind her violet eyes, the way she held herself like she expected to be knocked down any second but refused to bend.
The light that wasn’t sure if it wanted to go out completely or burn brighter than ever. I swore to myself that I’d make sure that light never burned out.
Not fucking ever.
Sometime after midnight, I dozed off, but a soft whimper jerked me back awake. Then another. Then a muffled, strangled scream that ripped through my chest more efficiently than any bullet. “Mace,” I whispered, keeping my voice gentle as I pulled her tight while she thrashed. “Hey. Hey, I’m here. You’re safe. Macy. Wake up.”
She gasped awake, drenched in sweat, eyes wild until they focused on my voice. “Drew?” She panted my name, breathless as if she’d been fighting for her life.
I nodded even though she wasn’t looking at me. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here. You’re safe,” I sighed and held her a little tighter. “And damp as fuck.”
A startled laugh burst from her lips, small but genuine. “Sorry,” she muttered and tried to slide away from me.
I held her tighter. “Nothin’ to be sorry for,” I assured her. “Stay here. You always slept so good right here.”
With permission granted, she melted into me the way she always had and finally her breathing evened out again.
I didn’t sleep at all after that and I damn sure didn’t loosen my hold on her.
She’d never face another nightmare alone, not while she was under my roof.
Not since she was mine to protect. Again.
Chapter Six
Macy
Iwoke up before the sun had fully committed to the day. The room was washed in soft light that wasn’t quite bright yet, but I was wide awake after the best sleep I’d had in months. Maybe even in years. I couldn’t even remember. It was nice, that feeling of not being braced for impact all night.
Even with the nightmares that never seemed to stop, I’d fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep after that. No shadows lurking in corners, no hands grabbing me. No boogeyman, monsters, or gangsters waiting to attack. Just sweet, silent darkness and Drew. His arms and his warmth. The peace that came with being in his presence.
Peace thatalwayscame.
I laid there for a minute longer than I needed to staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing behind me. Drew’s solid presence at my back felt surreal, like my brain still needed a moment to catch up to reality. I still wasn’t sure that this wasn’t some psychosis-induced hallucination but if it was, I’d rather be here than wherever I really was.
After six straight months of nightmares, light sleeps and jumping at every sound, a solid night of sleep felt like winning the fucking lottery. Cocooned in the safest place I’d ever been—in Drew’s arms—was the best gift I could’ve asked for.
For however long it lasts.
The thought was intrusive, but true. Nothing good ever lasted. My past always caught up with me.
Carefully, I slid out of bed, moving slowly so I wouldn’t wake him. After that nightmare that probably shocked the shit out of him, he deserved more sleep, so I moved quietly around the room, proud when I didn’t flinch at the sound of a car door slamming in the distance. Maybe it was having a good night’s sleep or maybe it was just being back with Drew that had me feeling not quite relaxed, but not tense as fuck.
I pulled on jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt that had been washed too many times from my bag. I’d only brought a few changes of clothes with me because it was all I could reasonably take with me without drawing the attention of anyone who might’ve been watching me. I made a mental note to hit a thrift store later. I hated feeling unprepared and not having my own shit. It fucked with my sense of control, something my therapist said came from the uncertainty of my childhood and my time in foster care. I didn’t panic or spiral, I just made the mental note and moved on.
I needed to do something.
Downstairs, Drew’s house was still wrapped in early morning quiet. Last night’s kitchen had been cleaned and put back to rights, making me smile. Drew had always been messy, I guess the Army had changed him in some ways. In others, he was the same old Drew. I grinned, shaking my head as I put on a full pot of coffee, strong as hell the way we both liked it.Or used to, I reminded myself. I had to stop thinking of him like the boy I knew because he was no longer that. Even if my heart and head still thought he was.
While the coffee brewed, I pulled out ingredients for breakfast after I found a fresh carton of eggs, a can of biscuits, and even a roll of sausage patties. It was our struggle meals, only upgraded.
Cooking grounded me. It had since those days in Drew’s family kitchen when we worked together silently. It gave me something to do, something predictable to focus on while I processed my emotions and let my wounds start to heal. The crack of the eggs stopped my spiral of fear. The sound of the whisk hitting the bowl kept my heart rate calm while the sizzle of butter in the skillet quieted the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears. It was warm and familiar, and for the first time in a long fucking time, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for something bad to happen.
Drew groaned from the doorway, his voice rough with sleep. “You made breakfast. And coffee.”
I turned to see him padding into the kitchen, barefoot and rumpled, wearing nothing but worn sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair was loose around his shoulders, the red catching the early light, his beard scruffy in a way that made my stomach do a stupid little flip. “You didn’t have to,” he continued, making a beeline for the coffee pot. “But fuck am I glad you did.”
