“Don’t hurt them,” she begged, her voice so small it nearly broke me. “I’ll do anything, just don’t?—”
Unable to bear it any longer, I brushed my fingers across her cheek, wiping away the tears. “Riley, wake up. It’s a dream.”
Her eyes flew open, her gaze wild and unfocused. For one moment, she looked at me without recognition, fear making her go rigid in my arms.
“It’s Dungar,” I said, loosening my hold. “You’re in Lonesome Creek. You’re safe.”
Recognition dawned in her eyes, followed by a flush across her cheeks. “I—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” I kept my voice soft, fighting the urge to pull her closer. “Nightmares aren’t something you can control.”
She drew a shaky breath, her hand coming up to rest against my chest. Through my shirt, I could feel the warmth of her palm, the tremor in her fingers.
“Want to talk about it?” I asked.
“No.” The response came too quickly, though her tone softened. “Not really.”
I waited, giving her time to collect herself. Outside, an owl hooted, its lonely call echoing through the night.
“I dream about people I couldn’t protect,” she finally said, her voice barely audible. “People who trusted me.”
The admission held a world of meaning. Riley was carrying a burden far heavier than whatever cover story had brought her to Lonesome Creek.
“We can’t save everyone,” I said. “No matter how hard we try.”
Her eyes met mine in the darkness. “Is that what you tell yourself too?”
The question caught me off guard. Riley saw more than she let on, recognizing in me the same drive to protect, to make things right, that I sensed in her.
“Yes, when the world gets too messy and I can’t bring order to it,” I said.
She shifted, adjusting her position to see my face better. The movement brought her closer, her breath warm against my throat. “Is that why you need thingsorganized? To feel like you have control over something?”
“Yes.” I’d never explained what drove me to anyone outside my family before. “When everything is in its proper place, I can think clearly. It turns down the volume on all the noise in my head.”
Riley nodded, understanding dawning in her eyes. “We all have our coping mechanisms.”
“What’s yours?” I asked, tracing circles on her shoulder with my fingertip.
She paused. “Running, I guess. Never staying anywhere long enough to—” She stopped herself.
“To what?”
“To care too much,” she said. “About places. People.”
The vulnerability in her voice made my chest ache. Whatever had happened to Riley in her past had taught her that attachment meant pain. That connections were dangerous.
“And how’s that working for you?” I asked.
Her short laugh held no humor. “Well, I’m still alive. So there’s that.”
The words chilled me. Not a figure of speech, then. Whatever she was running from was truly life-threatening. I tightened my arms around her.
“You don’t have to run here.” My words held a promise I intended to keep with every part of my being. “Not in Lonesome Creek.”
“You can’t know that.” She might sound stiff, but she relaxed against me again. “You don’t even know what I’m running from.”
“I know you’re someone worth protecting, and that’s enough.”
