SUNDAY, JUNE 1
A scream ripsthrough the silence, yanking me from sleep.
I toss the covers off, gaze darting across the room, shadows stretching long in the moonlight, but nothing moves.
A soft whimper floats in from across the hall. It's not sharp like the scream, but just as unnerving.
Releasing a heavy sigh, I sit up on the edge of the bed, bare feet pressed to the cold floor. The whimper rises, fractured and panicked.
Ryder.
I hurry to his room, finding the door still cracked open from when he went to bed, so it’s easy to slip inside without waking him.
I’m inches from his bedframe when I realize themassivemistake I’ve made.
Seeing this man in nothing but his briefs is going to make every encounter going forward that much more difficult. Thankfully, it’s dark, save for the small stream of moonlight through the blinds, so I can’t make out details.
He lets out another whimper, tossing in his sleep, his eyes clenched shut. There’s nothing peaceful about him right now.
Come on, Lola.Get a grip.
I reach for the comforter he’s kicked to the end of the bed and toss it on top of him before climbing in. My arms wind tightly around him as his large body shakes beneath me.
“Ryder,” I whisper into his hair, not wanting to startle him awake.
He continues trembling, and his breaths come out in short, shallow gasps.
“Ryder,” I say, louder this time. “Come on, you’ve gotta wake up for me.Please,” I plead with him as he continues to struggle.
My arms feel weak, unable to keep holding him like this.
Weighted blankets can be good for panic and anxiety attacks, which I only know because I was desperate for anything to help suppress the restless energy I experienced while planning a future I didn't truly want with Russ. Unfortunately, the weighted blanket didn't do shit for me, but, according to Dr. Google, the weight triggers the nervous system to lower your heart rate and slow breathing. That’s why I laid on top of him like I had the other night, andit worked.
Since he seems to have no plans to wake up anytime soon, I do the same as I had before. Rolling on top of him, I practically straddle his lap before lowering my upper body to cover as much of his massive frame as I’m able.
It kills me to see him like this, struggling with memories—or maybe new fears, I can’t be sure. This steadfast and self-assured man has always seemed so solid. It physically hurts to see him crumbling like this.
I start to count down from sixty, planning to try to wake him again if he doesn’t on his own. By the time I reach twenty-six seconds, his breathing has evened out, and a moment later, his warm hand is on the back of my head, caressing my curls through my silk bonnet.
“Thank you,” he whispers quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I blow out a contented sigh, relaxing into his embrace.
I fall asleep just like this.
Chapter Thirty-Three
NEW REALITY
SUNDAY, JUNE 1
When Ryder enters the kitchen,his hair falling in damp waves over his forehead, I’m still standing with the injector pen in my hands.
“Time for your next shot?” he asks, opening the fridge and grabbing a carton of orange juice for himself and, as usual, the chocolate almond milk for me.
“Yeah,” I say, a little wary.
He must hear the apprehension in my voice because he sets the cartons down and turns to face me, giving me his full attention.
He’s leaning against the counter, his hands gripping the smooth granite, waiting for me to explain what’s going on.
