I startle and snap my eyes open, locking onto Ollie’s sleepy blue stare. His hair points in a thousand directions, his brows furrowed until a deep line digs into his forehead. He wears just a pair of silky black boxers, revealing a chest and one arm smattered in tattoos I’m not sure I realized he had. Just one half of his torso is shaded with designs, just one arm covered from his shoulder to his forearm.
He lowers into a crouch, his right knee almost in line with my chin, and, sliding his thumb across my cheek, he collects a tear I didn’t know had fallen.
“I’m sorry for waking you up.” My breath comes out on a choked sob, a groan of exhaustion, because of course he’s not mad. Not even a little impatient at yet another interruption to his sleep. “I was trying really hard to be quiet.”
“You didn’t wake me up. The storm did.” He lowers to his butt and presses his back to the wall, then he drapes his arm over my shoulders and pulls me in.
His kindness undoes me. His warmth destroys me.
Fresh tears flood from my eyes and torrent onto my cheeks, sliding down and dripping off the edge of my chin.
“Did you have a bad dream again?” He presses his nose and lips to the top of my hair, breathing warm air against my scalp. “Liam?”
“I think my name is Rosaline.” I curl into his side exactly how I curled into Liam’s, but I pull the blanket across to cover us both and wrap my arm over his bare stomach.
I hold nothing in my hands. Not a candy bar. Not a protein bar. And definitely not a gun.
“And I think I’m a bad person.”
His breath hitches for a beat, his heart jumping. But then he goes back to normal, sliding his hand beneath the blanket and trailing his fingertips across the ball of my shoulder. “Impossible.”
“You don’t know that.” I hate being this person. This whiny, sniveling, crying idiot all the damn time. I hate that the dark scares me, and that my dreams are always bad. I hate that Ollie’s always the one carrying us. Soothing me. He gives, gives, gives. And I just… I take. “My dreams say I am. I shot my friend.”
He pulls back and looks down into my eyes. Searching. Probably considering a call to 911. “What?”
“We’d stolen things. Food,” I sniffle. “From a convenience store. It wasn’t winter yet, but it was cold out. And dark. My stomach hurtbecause I was starving. But I didn’t even eat all my food, because then I was holding a gun and I was pointing it at Liam.” I squeeze my eyes shut, choking on my sob. “What if I’m a killer and that’s why I was on the road that night?”
“Your dreams aren’t memories?—”
“How do you know?!” I shove away and sit on my own. Shivering. Freezing. Alone. “You can’t possibly know that, Ollie! Which means this is a confession. You should call Billy and tell him. Let him arrest me.”
“I know, because your dreams include me. And we hadn’t met before Barbara.” He reaches across and drags me in, pulling me under our blanket and laying his hand over my hip to keep me close. “Your dreams include Liam stabbing me to death, which also hasn’t happened. And now you say Liam is dead.” He cups my jaw with his free hand and strokes my chin, collecting the tears sitting on the edge with his thumb. His eyes swell with kindness. With the kind of selflessness few possess. They lower to my lips. To my stuffy nose. “You’ve been fighting against the dreams where he hurts me for days,” he murmurs. “And now you’ve dreamed something new, whereyouhurthim. That’s not something to call Billy over. It’s protection.” He licks his lips, a soft smile tugging them higher. “You felt awful dreaming that he hurt me, and now you feel awful for stopping it.”
I release a heavy, grunting breath that sounds a whole lot like‘ugh.’
“I’m a mess.”
“You’re going through a lot. I took you to the gym last night, so now you’ve got new protective thoughts running through your subconscious, then that halfwit Dusty turned up and messed with your emotions.” He pulls me closer, closer, heart-wrenchingly close until the oxygen stops in my lungs and my entire body freezes. Then he presses the world’s softest, sweetest kiss on my cheek. Pulling back, he grins and pushes me down, forcing me toward his lap until I lie on my side and rest my cheek against his muscular thigh.
Emotion backs up in my throat as he fixes the blanket and covers me all the way down to my toes, inadvertently breaking a cycle without evenrealizing. He changes our position, so instead of me curling against his side—like I did with Liam—I lie flat.
It’s me and Ollie. Not me and Liam. And I’m not cold or hungry or lost anymore.
“You’re protecting me in your sleep, Rose.” He plays with my hair, gently massaging my scalp and twisting a lock around his finger. “When everything feels out of control and this person insists on visiting you where I can’t intervene, instead of waiting around for him to hurt me, you’ve stepped in and neutralized the threat. That doesn’t make you a bad person.” He leans forward, combing my hair back and warming the side of my face with his stare. “You’re perfect. And if youdidhurt someone, then I know you had your reasons for it.” He draws a pattern against my cheek, trailing his fingertips over my skin in an intoxicating swirl that allows my eyes to droop and for sleepiness to come for me. “Eventually, this’ll all straighten itself out. We’ll get the answers we’re looking for, and we’ll fill in the picture your subconscious is trying so damn hard to complete. You’ll see, Rose.” His voice softens, and with it, my pulse slows. “I know good people when I see them. This’ll all make sense eventually.”
“Good people don’t steal, even if they’re hungry.”
He strokes the bridge of my nose with the tip of his finger. “I have faith in you. I have from the moment you opened your eyes that first night. Now sleep.” He folds and presses a kiss to my temple. “You need to rest, beautiful. I hate knowing you’re all alone in your room, all alone in your dreams. I’m right here, Rose, and I wanna slay your dragons for you. But you have to invite me in.”
ROUND THIRTY
OLLIE
Days pass in chunks of twelve-hour shifts at the hospital, lingering side-stares from Dara when she passes in the halls, gentle questions from Janine at shift change, two more phone calls from Billy with two more motherfuckers who thought they’d try their luck claiming a woman they don’t know, and several more training sessions at the gym.
But every night ends with Rose right here beside me on the couch, the fire flickering to my left, the television illuminating the otherwise dark room, and every now and then, I’d catch her peeking at me. Studying. Staring. Thinking. She blushes each time our eyes meet, shooting her gaze back to the movie she’s only mildly interested in, but without fail, within minutes, she’d look again.
Every time she does, my heart skips a beat.
