He’s asleep, but his face is pinched in pain, mumbling words as he dreams.
“No, stop,” he whispers, shaking his head side to side. His arm is tense under my body, his other hand clenched in a fist at his chest. “Run,” he whispers again. His legs bend and shake atop the comforter, his body like an oven.
“Malcolm,” I whisper, placing my hand on his chest, and I feel his heart pounding. He thrashes his arms and legs, clenching his fists and hitting the mattress. Holding his breath, his cheeks go red. “Malcolm,” I say urgently.
He doesn’t wake up. “Malcolm, wake up,” I speak calmly as I bring my hands to the sides of his face, trailing my thumbs over the dampness on his cheeks. “Please wake up.”
A jarring gasp leaves him as his eyes snap open. “Kate?” Shock and confusion move across his face as he squeezes my hands at his cheeks. He trembles as he frantically asks, “What happened? Did I hurt you?”
“No, no. You just had a nightmare.” I don’t let go of his face. I can’t.
“I’m so sorry.” His voice is tender and embarrassed. The side of Malcolm I rarely ever see. The vulnerable side that makes me want to weep.
“Don’t,” I whisper. The sound of our thumping heartbeats fills the room.He’s okay. He’s okay.I recite it to myself as I stroke his cheeks and smooth out his hair. Misty blue eyes stare at me, searching my face for reassurance. I wipe at the corner of his eye and smile.I’m right here.In an instant, he pulls me across him and wraps me in his arms, a quivering sigh leaving him as he deflates at our touch.
We lie there, holding each other tighter this time. His breathing doesn’t slow like it did earlier, like he’s fighting sleep. My heart breaks the tiniest bit at the cracks he tries so hard to keep hidden.
I feel useless. There’s nothing I can do to shut off the memories in his brain.
So, I just lie with him, hoping it’s the tiniest bit comforting.
Chapter thirteen
Malcolm
You're weak.
It’s all I’ve heard swarming inside my head since early this morning, when I woke up with Kate hovering above me, pulling me out of my nightmare.
The desert. The bullets. My friend.
Pounding my fourth cup of coffee, I will myself to stay awake for the first of many coaching meetings today. Of course my brain would decide to rebel and throw me into a traumatizing dream the week I’m away from home, with my therapist out of town.
They were getting better. Not the nightmares themselves—they’ll probably always be the same—but they were happening less and less. I thought that was good enough, but clearly I’m an idiot.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Kate:Are you sure you’re ok??
I pinch the bridge of my nose, the migraine from lack of sleep and not enough water making itself known. Of course I’m not okay. The sheer fact that I had another nightmare, the first in weeks, is answer enough. But adding in the fact that Katesawme have a nightmare? I can’t stomach the pity she must have felt for me.
Rolling and cracking my neck, I respond.
Shouldn’t you be paying attention, Coach Stanley?
I’m thankful our coaching meetings are separate today. I put my phone back in my pocket and try to focus. Coach Dawson reviews the year's statistics, and a feeling swells up inside of me when I see two of my guys at the top of that list.
Is that excitement I’m feeling?Shut that down, Geer.
I could strangle Benny for begging me to be head coach four years ago. And I could strangle myself even harder forstayinghead coach this long. This was supposed to be a temporary situation with an easy out anytime I wanted. But nope. I had to let myself get attached to these kids and this team.
My lieutenant would have my neck if he knew how mushy I was becoming because of a few teenagers. I should have my own neck.
“Geer, would you like to lead our scrimmage this afternoon?” Coach Miles, a man who definitely aged out of his role a few seasons ago, asks from the side of the room.
No, I do not want to lead the scrimmage. Everyone waits expectantly as I take a slow sip. I am a strict no-helping-hand person around here, and I will not cave. Do. Not. Cave. Geer.
“Sure.”
