Her eyes flew open, wild and unfocused. For a moment, she stared through me, still caught between nightmare and reality. Then awareness crept in, followed immediately by that mask she wore so well. The one that said,I’m fine; everything’s fine.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” she said, voice scratchy, embarrassment flooding her cheeks with red. “I haven’t had a nightmare in a while.”
Even now, she was trying to comfort me. Jesus.
“Something triggered it.” Not a question. “Was it Jace? He didn’t mean to surprise you in the kitchen.”
We’d already talked about this, of course, when she’d apologized a million times.
“No.” She twisted her fingers in her lap, gaze down. The tell I’d memorized years ago.
“Was it because of our talk?” Damn, why did I bring that up? Maybe I should have taken her confession to my grave. If this was my fault?—
“No,” she said.
“Then what?”
Silence.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, but her voice wavered. “Really. I’m sorry I woke you.”
Tessa lay back down, shifting the covers until she was comfortable, making it clear this part of the conversation was over.
But something had set her off, and for some reason, I believed her, that it wasn’t our talk. But what then? What hadinfiltrated the safety of my penthouse and scared the shit out of her?
“Good night, Blake,” she said gently.
I turned toward the hallway but stopped, watching her stare at the ceiling with that carefully blank expression I knew too well. My feet refused to move, understanding viscerally what it was like to lie there alone after a nightmare, trying to be fine.
“Sometimes, sleeping can be the hardest when you don’t feel safe,” I said.
When she clutched the covers together to her chest, something twisted in my ribs.
“I don’t want to invade your space,” I started. “But … would it be okay if I lay with you? Just until you fall asleep?” She tensed slightly, and my voice softened. “I won’t get any sleep, worrying you might be in here, unable to sleep alone.”
Her voice was barely a whisper. “What if I can’t sleep at all?”
“Then we’ll be insomniacs together.”
That earned me a ghost of a smile, and after a moment’s hesitation, she shifted over, making room for me on the bed. After I shut off the light, we lay there in silence, but I could feel the tension radiating from her body, could sense her struggling to relax.
“Blake?” Her voice was quiet, embarrassed. “Would you … would you hold me?”
My throat tightened. “Cupcake,” I murmured, “I’d hold you every moment of every day if it meant you felt safe.”
I reached for her, but again, hesitated. She was in a bed, perhaps not unlike the one she was assaulted in.
“You’re sure?” I started. “I don’t want to trigger?—”
“I’m sure.” Her voice wavered, and we both knew she wasn’t being entirely truthful. The way she’d flinched from the male nurse was still fresh in my mind. But I understood what she meant. The nurse had been a stranger who’d moved suddenly,probably in a way that echoed her past trauma. With me, right now, she felt safe. “Therapy helped,” she continued softly. “It’s just the nightmares that still come, and for those few minutes after, everything feels … raw.”
My mind caught on the wordtherapy. This girl had been through a war while I was evidently studying textbooks. Fucking A.
“Besides.Yourtouch would never trigger me.” She nuzzled her face into my chest as if those words hadn’t penetrated my soul. Thatmytouch would be different. Safe. Even if all other men might scare her.
“Tell me what triggered this?” I kept my voice soft, though dread pooled in my stomach. Especially when she tensed.
“You’ll freak out.”
