When her hair lay in a sleek curtain and his temper had finally eased, he set the brush on the nightstand and stretched out on the bed. She remained where she was, swaying slightly, too tired to move. He reached up and drew her down beside him.
Julia went without resistance. Fitted against him like she was made for him. Why hadn’t he noticed before now? Or maybe he had and refused to see it.
His arm tightened around her, anchoring her in place as if he could prevent anything from taking her again.
“Sleep,” he whispered against her head.
She was quiet only for a moment. “Will you stay?”
“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”
She relaxed against him and, in seconds, fell asleep. The kind that wasn’t rest so much as shutdown.
Leland didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, the dark pressing in around him, her weight against him the only thing grounding him in the moment.
But his mind wouldn’t shut off. He kept picturing the room where Strickland had held her. The narrow iron bed, eyebolts embedded in the frame.
What if he’d been too late? The thought returned again and again, sharper each time. If Callan had taken longer. If Greta hadn’t left her phone on the boat. If—
He cut it off and refused to picture what he could’ve walked into instead. Because this time, it hadn’t happened. He hadn’t lost her.
The realization settled slowly. For the first time in forty-one years, something had gone wrong—badly wrong—and he wasn’t standing alone in the aftermath.
Julia stirred. It was subtle. A slight change in her breathing.
He moved his hand along her spine, trying to soothe her, but she jerked awake, her hand coming up searching. He caught it, threading his fingers through hers.
“I’m here,” he said, low and soothing. “You’re safe.”
Her grip tightened. Hard. She pressed closer. Still tense. Still holding on.
Leland shifted slightly, his free hand moving over her again. “Want to talk about it?” he murmured. “It might help.”
There was a pause. Then she quietly explained, “I wasn’t dreaming about him.”
That caught him off guard. “No?”
She shook her head against his chest, her voice smaller now. “I woke up and…”
“And?”
Her fingers twisted in the sheet across his belly. “You were gone.”
The words hit with brutal accuracy. That was what she’d come to expect from him. No more.
Leland pulled her closer, one hand sliding into her hair. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She didn’t answer right away.
Then— “Promise?”
Without hesitation, he replied, “Yes.”
Quiet. Certain. Final.
“Sleep,” he said softly. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
She settled down after that. Not completely relaxed but enough. Her breathing evened out. Her grip loosened just slightly. Still holding on.
