Carter has the same flavor of worry that Nash showcased at Lakeside when he found me after Chloe and I got lost deep in the forest. And the time I tucked and rolled out of his car. He’s so familiar... so much like Nash.
I’m drowning in paralysis, my thoughts a jumbled mess of fragmented memories.
One...
Two...
Three...
“Bad dream?” Carter scoots closer just as one of his men—Broadway, I think he’s called—jumps into the room, gun in hand.
“Fuck, you scared me,” Broadway huffs, wiping his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
Carter tries to take my hand, maybe pull me into a hug, but he can’t even lace our fingers together. His eyes widen and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“I don’t know, she can’t move,” he tells Broadway, never taking his eyes off me. “You’re okay, I’m here. You’re fine.”
I’m still trapped in this stiff, unresponsive body, incapable of calming down enough to lift the paralysis. Another breathless whimper escapes my lips when Carter stares into my eyes... he’s so much like Nash right now. I’ve seen him worried; I’ve seen him angry, but I’ve never seen him scared.
It’s an odd look. It doesn’t suit him but it makes him feel real... familiar. I want to reach out, touch his face, and tell him I’ll be fine, but I can’t speak.
One...
Two...
I stare into Nash’s eyes. Of all the people in my life, I knowhewon’t hurt me. He might lie to me and deceive me, but the way my pain throws him into this anxious state shows he’d never hurt me.
“Shh, pretty girl, you’re okay,” he coos, his warm hand covering mine, the other brushing my hair. “Calm down, it was just a dream.”
But that’s just it... it wasn’t.
I focus on his voice as he continues whispering, telling me I’m safe and he’s here. That he won’t let anyone hurt me.
One...
Two...
Three...
Four...
The knots in my muscles unwind slowly, the paralysis easing off enough for me to flex my fingers around his.
“That’s it, you’re doing great. Focus on me.”
I can’t tell if he’s figured out what’s wrong or if he’s running on instinct, but he’s helping. His soothing tone, the monotonous rhythm of his fingers through my hair, the way he watches me, the warmth radiating from him in waves... it all helps me push the panic down.
My heartrate slows and the stiffness ebbs away. I inhale a shaky, abrupt breath, whipping myself into a seated position. “I’m okay,” I gasp, gathering fistfuls of sheets to work my fingers. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“Don’t worry,” Broadway says. “As long as you’re fine.”
I inhale another deep breath, pins and needles dancing along my muscles. “I’m okay.”
Broadway nods, backing out of the room. “Shout if you need me,” he adds. “I’ll be downstairs.”
Nash moves closer, his hand tracing a gentle path down my back once Broadway’s footsteps are echoing down the hall.
“What was that?” Nash asks. “You couldn’t move. Does it happen often?”
