Page 73 of Resurgent

"Goodnight, Hunter."

The door closes behind him and a few minutes later, the unmistakable growl of an engine rumbles through the open living room window.

Before I can stop myself, I'm peeking through the curtain just in time to see Hunter swinging a leg over a blacked-out motorcycle now parked in front of the shed on the side of the house.

The engine vibrates beneath him as the leather jacket settles across his shoulders.

And when he pulls the helmet on and glances toward the house one last time—

I immediately step back from the window.

Absolutely not.

Nope.

Not happening.

Smug asshole is NOT about to catch me checking him out.

Forcing my weight onto my good leg, I more fall than climb out of the bath I’d drawn when my leg locked up earlier.

At first, I’d assumed it had simply fallen asleep from the way I’d been sitting while reading the books I’d picked up from the library, but when readjusting my position and trying to walk it off did nothing, I decided a nice, warm bath was the obvious solution.

Man, was I wrong.

The pain only seemed to worsen the longer I lay buried beneath the supposedly healing bubbles. Every scrape of a branch against the windows while I read felt like a blade twisting deeper into my skin. Every maddening drip from the sink faucet felt like an infuriating tap against my forehead.

And now, with a head-splitting headache and pain pulsing through me so viciously I can barely stumble toward my towel, I finally reach for one of the bottles of pain pills on the counter.

Guess my wild night of studying and snacking on slightly burnt popcorn with melted chocolates is getting cut short.

What a pity.

Using the walls for balance, I struggle to find a single one of Mattey’s shirts in the drawer. I’m about to give up and grab one of my old gym shirts when the soft, overly worn fabric brushes against my skin.

The second it's an inch off the pile, a deep thud sounds from the back of the drawer, followed by an intermittent rattling noise.

Pulling it out further, I can't help the laugh that escapes as I find my purple vibrator buzzing against the metal hardware on the setting no one actually uses. Only Matt would have thought to bring this out here.

Like on auto-pilot, I click through the settings, ready to turn it off and put it away until the familiar long, constant vibration sends an unexpected tingle of desire through me.

Sure—I knew it would probably come eventually, especially after researching how I “should be feeling” between homework and time with Tyr. Of course, like my therapist had said over and over again, every person is different…my own history of trauma putting me in the solid, “It’ll happen when it happens,” category.

I consider bringing it to the bed with me…consider what it could feel like to get that rush of endorphins right before my body explodes with pleasure.

But as quickly as the thought hits me, medication-induced exhaustion hits harder, and I find myself stuffing it back into the drawer and curling up in my plush comforter instantly.

Sleep takes me so deeply that, for a while, I feel like I’m floating on a cloud. The medication’s done its job; the pain I’d felt only a little while ago has completely vanished.

Now replaced by a man’s gentle breathing at the foot of the bed.

For one terrifying second, I’m frozen beneath the covers, every instinct screaming that I’m not alone. The darkness presses in around me, thick and familiar in all the worst ways. My heart begins to pound, but then I remember what my therapist keeps telling me.

In my dreams, I’m in control.

I can decide who he is. I can decide why he’s here.

Tonight, I don’t want to be afraid or alone. Tonight, I want to pretend I’m whole.