I didn’t need to hear Orin’s voice, purring in my ear like death dressed in charm. It was over.
Just a nightmare.
But my heart didn’t care. It kept racing, clawing at my ribs like it still thought we were in danger. My hands trembled in the sheets, and I tried not to wake Beau.
He needed rest. I wanted him to rest. But the dream had settled its claws deep, and no matter how tightly I clung to the warmth of reality, it wouldn’t let go.
I took a slow breath, then another, counting them the way Beau had taught me.
Four in. Four out.
My pulse started to settle.
He shifted slightly behind me, and I froze, worried I’d disturbed him, but he didn’t stir beyond that.
His arm stayed around my waist, the heat of his bare chest pressing gently into my back. I could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, steady and slow, grounding me.
The moonlight slipped in through the curtains and cast a soft glow over the room, enough for me to see his hand resting over my stomach. His skin was rough, warm. Protective.
Everything about Beau was that way, his presence, his voice, his touch. Like armor I didn’t know I needed until I had it.
And yet...
My eyes drifted to the curve of his shoulder.
Scars, pale and long-healed, caught the moonlight like whispers of old wounds. Some of them I’d asked about. Others he didn’t talk much about.
I reached out, fingertips brushing one of them gently. A jagged one near his ribs. If Beau got involved in my mess… would he have more scars someday?
Or worse…
Would he even survive?
I swallowed hard, blinking fast. The image of him on the bakery floor, cold, blood-soaked and lifeless, flickered behind my eyes like static. My stomach twisted.
I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t.
Beau sighed softly in his sleep, lips brushing the nape of my neck. He always did that. Always curled around me like a shield even in dreams.
I couldn’t stay still anymore.
Carefully, slowly, I pried myself from his embrace. His arm slipped off me with only a faint murmur of protest from him.
I waited, breath held, to see if he’d wake, but he didn’t. He only rolled onto his back, one hand resting against his chest. I stood, heart aching as I looked down at him.
Beau looked peaceful like this. Golden-brown skin bathed in silver light.
Chest rising with easy breaths. That faint frown he always had during the day was gone. It was rare, this version of him. Untouched by the world. Untouched by me.
I turned away before I could spiral further. The kitchen was familiar, even in the dim light. It was quiet. Still. Safe.
My bare feet padded softly across the floor. I turned on only the stove light, not wanting to ruin the calm with anything too bright.
The old light buzzed faintly overhead, casting the countertops in a warm, amber glow. I tied an apron around my waist, Beau’s, because mine was in the wash, and rolled up my sleeves.
Baking always helped.
When everything was chaos, when my thoughts were loud and sharp, baking was the one thing I could control.
