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“No!” The scream rips out of me as something crushes tight around my chest, squeezing harder and harder until I can’t breathe.
Chapter 21
Conor
The first scream has me out of my chair before I even register moving, already halfway down the hall as it tears through the house. I wanted him in my room, not tucked away in the guest room where I couldn’t hear him, couldn’t get to him fast enough. I hit the doorway and stop just long enough to take it in.
He’s thrashing in the bed, sheets tangled tight around his arms and legs, trapping him as much as they’re holding him down. For a second, I think it’s a flashback. Some kind of nightmare dragging him under, but then I hear it. A name.
“Trent.”
The word is torn out of him, raw and desperate. My jaw tightens as something sharp and unfamiliar twists low in my chest. Who the fuck is Trent?
I move to the side of the bed and grab his shoulders, trying to still him before he hurts himself. Even drugged, his body jerks hard against my grip, every movement sharp enough that I know it’s going to cost him later.
“Jaxon, wake up.”
I keep my voice low, trying for steady, for gentle, but nothing about this is calm. He doesn’t respond. Just fights harder. His fist comes out of the tangle of sheets, swinging blind, and I don’t have time to think. I pull him in, wrapping my arms around him to pin him against me before he can hurt either of us.
“Jaxon—it’s Conor. You’re safe. Wake up for me.”
I keep hold of him as he fights it, trying to pull away, but then the sound that comes out of him stops me cold. A broken, wailing cry, cut short by a sob that seems to tear itself out of his chest. I tighten my hold, shifting just enough to bring my mouth close to his ear.
“You’re safe,” I murmur, quieter now, steady even if I don’t feel it. “No one’s touching you. I’ve got you.”
His body jerks once more before the tension starts to crack, not gone, but giving just enough that I can feel it. Trent. The name sticks in my head, sharp and unwelcome. Whoever he is, wherever he is, he’s the reason for this. And if he’s still out there, I’ll kill him myself.
Jaxon’s body suddenly goes slack in my arms, the fight draining out of him all at once as the nightmare finally loosens its grip. I start to ease back, just enough to check him, but his hands tighten on me hard enough to bruise, holding on like letting go isn’t an option.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, steadying my voice as I keep him close. I say my name again, low and deliberate, making sure it’s the only one he hears, the only one that sticks. Not fucking Trent. Me.
I guide us back onto the bed, shifting until I’m on my back with Jaxon curled against me, his head resting over my chest. He lets out a heavy breath, the tension finally leaving him as his breathing steadies into something deeper, more even. Good. He’s back under. This time, with me holding him, maybe the nightmares will stay away.
I run my fingers slowly through his short hair as he sleeps, the steady rise and fall of his breathing the only sign that the nightmare has finally let him go. Aside from the occasional twitch, he stays calm beneath my hand. At some point, I drift off, the rhythm of him pulling me under.
When I wake, he’s still there, pressed close, clinging to me like he never wants to let go. I glance down and find his eyes already open, those dark brown eyes fixed on me like he’s been watching for a while.
“Why are you here?” he asks softly.
“You were having a nightmare.” I run my hand up and down his back, slow and steady, not giving him much space to pull away.
“Sorry… about that. You don’t have to stay. I’m fine.”
“You weren’t,” I say quietly. “And I’m not going anywhere.” I glance at my watch before looking back at him. “You’ve only had about four hours. Do you need more meds? Or something to eat?”
I’d already called my mom earlier, told her I’d brought him home, and asked what he should be eating. She said she’d take care of it before dinner. We still have a couple of hours before then, but I’m sure I could find him a snack if he wanted one.
“No. I don’t need anything. Thank you… for everything, Conor.”
There’s something in his voice I can’t quite place. It’s too heavy to be simple gratitude, too quiet to name outright. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that. Do I leave it alone? Let him have the space he’s clearly trying to take? Or do I push, risk breaking whatever fragile calm we’ve managed to hold onto? The questions sit in my throat, hot and insistent, until ignoring them isn’t an option anymore. Right or wrong… I need to know.
“Who’s Trent?”
His body stiffens beside me. I wait for him to pull away, for the walls to slam back into place now that I’ve pushed too far, but instead he lets out a slow breath before starting to speak.
“Guess I was talking in my sleep, huh?”
His fingers move absently against my chest, tracing slow circles through the thin fabric of my shirt, and even that small touch sends heat skittering beneath my skin.
