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As I think about him, my heart races with anticipation. Anticipation of what, I don’t know.
Sleep finally claims me, and with it comes a dream that confuses my poor heart. Walker's there, larger than life. His arms encircle me, pulling me close until we’re chest to chest and I’m captive in his warmth. The scent of him, a mix of woodsy cologne and something undeniably male, fills my senses.
“Let go,” he growls, his tongue tracing the shell of my ear. His breath is hot against my neck, sending ripples of heat coursing through me.
In the safety of the dream, I do. I melt into him, allowing his strength to support me. His hands roam over my back, strong and sure, as if he knows my body better than I do. His touch ignites a fire in me that I've never felt before, something raw and insistent.
“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice a low growl that vibrates through me.
“For what?” My voice is breathless, my body responding to his nearness with a deep need that alarms and excites me.
“Everything,” he says, and his lips find mine in a kiss that seals my fate.
It's a kiss of pent-up desire. It's tender yet demanding, as if he's claiming me for his own. And in this moment, in this dream, I am his.
But it's more than that. There's a sense of readiness within me, an acknowledgment that I'm on the edge of something possibly amazing. Something that could heal the wounds in me… or tear open new ones.
“I’m ready.” I breathe out against his lips, surrendering to the sensation, to the overwhelming certainty that, with him, I’m ready for anything. Anything.
An insistent banging pulls me out of the dream and Walker's safe embrace. Groggy and disoriented, I squint at the intrusive sunlight spilling through my window, painting golden streaks across my rumpled blankets.
The knocking persists, and with a weary groan, I roll out of bed, my feet hating every step on the cold, hardwood floor. I feel like I haven’t gotten any sleep at all. The pain didn’t help things.
I approach the door. Peering through the peephole, I spot Amber's impatient figure, her hand lifted to knock again. I’m happy to see my best friend, but couldn’t she have let me sleep a little longer? I pull open the door, and she walks in past me, her frustration rolling off her in waves.
“You're not answering your phone,” she says the words exploding out of as if she was really scared.
I rub the sleep from my eyes, still trying to process being awake and having company. “It's like five a.m., Amber.”
She plants her hands on her hips and stares at me as if not sure if I’m joking. “It's ten in the morning, and I brought you breakfast.” Bringing her hand from behind her back, she thrusts a brown paper bag into my hands, the aroma of bacon and eggs wafting up to greet me.
As we settle at the kitchen table, the comforting scent of familiar food does little to ease the tightness in my chest. Amber watches me with sympathetic eyes as I take a small bite of a pancake drenched in syrup.
“I'm sorry for breaking it to you like that,” she says, a hint of regret in her voice. “I was just so mad at him.”
“I'm grateful you told me, to be honest,” I say as I poke a bite of egg with my fork. Her sideways glance meets my face as if she’s searching for signs of anger or resentment. There is none and I see her shoulders drop an inch in relief.
“Word around town is that you punched him in the nose,” she teases, trying to lighten the mood.
My fingers instinctively curl, recalling the satisfying crunch and sharp pain that followed. I’d escaped without even a bruise after icing my knuckles right away. “Yeah, I’m hoping he doesn’t press charges.” The memory of his shocked expression bringing a smile of satisfaction to my lips.
Amber chuckles. “He permanently revokes his man card if he does.”
Shaking my head, I can’t agree with her. “Domestic violence can happen to men, too.” It's a sobering thought amidst our laughter, but the truth remains—no one should endure the torment of betrayal or physical harm, regardless of gender.
“Still,” Amber says, a sly grin spreading across her face, “seeing him clutch his bleeding nose must've been a sight.”
I can't help the small smirk tugging at my lips. Maybe it was wrong, but in that heated moment, it felt like payback for the emotional wreckage he left behind.
We laugh and talk, the topic of conversation drifting from the past to the present to the future, and when she’s finally ready to go, I realize I feel a lot better.
*
I stand in the doorway, watching Amber's retreating figure. A lingering silence settles around me, but the expected sadness doesn’t follow. I turn back into the room, my gaze drifting to the floor where a vase of orchids brightens the space.
“Secret admirer?” Amber's playful, teasing voice echoes in my memory.
I study the vase—clear glass with smooth curves that cradle the vibrant blooms. The petals are a soft mix of purple, pink, and white and they make my heart dance. The flowers exude a subtle fragrance, delicate yet present, bringing a sense of serenity my world turned upside down.
