My chest stings and my eyes are wet as I push up from the floor onto my knees. I can still feel the heat, still hear the screams.
Dragging my hands through my hair, I give it a yank. I need the pain, something real to drag me back to the present.
A soft meow breaks through the chaos in my head, and I feel something warm and soft brush against my leg.
Goonie jumps into my lap, purring loudly as he headbutts my chin. His warm weight anchors me back to reality, pulling me away from the edge.
“Hey, pudge.” My voice comes out in a rasp, hands shaking as I stroke his soft fur.
Rubbing firmly against me, his purr vibrates through my chest like a tiny engine. It’s amazing how something so small can make such a difference, a steady presence helping to slow my racing heart.
“You’re a good little man,” I murmur, scratching behind his ears. “Just don’t tell your mom I said that, okay?”
When my breathing finally evens out, I gently set Goonie on the floor and push myself up on unsteady legs. The nightmare has left me drenched in sweat.
Fuck. I need a drink.
Sweat slicking my skin, I leave my room and head straight for the liquor cabinet, pulling out the bottle of Jameson I bought last week.
Pouring three fingers into a tumbler, I down it in one burning gulp, then immediately pour another.
The warmth of the whiskey hits my veins, dulling the jagged edges of the dream and I head to the bathroom, taking the bottle with me.
Stripping off my sweat-soaked boxers, I leave them on the bathroom floor and turn on the shower.
Pressing my forehead against the cool tile, I let the water sluice away the remnants of my nightmare. By the time I step out, the whiskey has taken some of the edge off, leaving me exhausted but no longer trapped in the past.
I towel off and pull on a clean pair of boxers, not bothering with anything else, and I make my way into the living room.
The house is quiet and I’m thankful Noia is asleep and can’t see this train wreck. Collapsing onto the couch, I stretch out my legs and glance at the clock on the mantle: 3:17 a.m.
Then, like a small ghost, Goonie appears and jumps up into my lap. He turns in three tight circles before settling down, his warm weight oddly comforting.
I sigh and stroke a hand down his back.
He blinks up at me, yellow-green eyes telling me he understands much more than he’s letting on.
TWENTY-NINE
noia
The next morning,I wake up feeling a little groggy. After a quick shower, I head downstairs to make coffee and find Ryder already in the kitchen.
He’s standing at the stove flipping pancakes. When he looks over at me, I notice a slight tinge of darkness under his eyes, and his face is a little pale. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept much at all.
“Morning.” I study him with concern. “You okay?”
“Never better.” Despite the smile he gives me, his eyes look… haunted. “Coffee’s ready.”
As I reach for a mug, his hand brushes mine, sending a shot of electricity up my arm. I chalk it up to an accident until it happens again when I’m pouring cream into my coffee. His fingers graze my wrist, lingering just long enough to make my pulse jump.
“How did you sleep?“ I ask, trying to keep my voice steady as I take a seat at the island.
“Well enough.” He slides a plate of pancakes in front of me, his chest pressing briefly against my back as he leans over me, breath warm against my neck. “You?”
“Fine, thanks,” I squeak, nearly dropping my fork when he brushes his fingers across my lower back as he moves to sit beside me.
He’s sitting so close our knees are touching. Every time I reach for something, he somehow manages to brush his fingers or arm against mine. Then, when I take a bite of pancake and a drop of syrup lands on my lip, he reaches over and swipes it away with his thumb, lingering an extra second.
