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I wrinkled my nose. “Yuck, sports.”
“You might hate them, but I plan to dress our little one in my team’s colors.”
“Whatever you want,” I yawned again.
I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up from a disturbing dream while it was still dark out. Oliver was curled around my body and his normal early morning erection pressed into my back. If I had the energy, I would have woke him up, but I decided to try to go back to sleep.
It wasn’t to be. The dream about the dead thing was back and I kept seeing it behind my closed eyes. Even in death, Raphael Caruso haunted me. I thought back to the night my father was killed. I remember it so vividly, even the details before. I went to dance class and my father stopped to get me ice cream.
He seemed so jumpy, but I really wasn’t paying attention as I enjoyed my strawberry ice cream in a sugar cone with colored sprinkles. It was my favorite. I sometimes wonder if we hadn’t stopped at the ice cream shop, would my father still be alive? Probably not. The Carusos would’ve gotten to him somehow but maybe when I wasn’t with him.
I turned in Oliver’s arms and pressed a kiss to his pec, inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne into my nose. He didn’t stir and I did it again and again. I wanted him to keep me company.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he mumbled.
I burrowed against him. “Nothing. I just wanted to kiss you.”
“I like your kisses. Are you interested in more?”
“Not now. Just hold me.”
He answered me, the fog of sleep gone from his voice. “Something is wrong. What is it?”
I sighed. “Bad dream.”
Oliver pulled away from me, the sheets rustling as he turned on the bedside lamp on his side. His face was creased with concern as I squinted from the intrusion of light.
He met my gaze. “About?”
I turned on my back and closed my eyes. “The usual.”
“Your father or the shit from our honeymoon?”
“The second one,” I said softly, opening my eyes to meet his.
His face screwed up in pain. “This is my fault.”
I propped my head up with my pillow. “How exactly is it your fault? Did you make the decision for my father to get involved with Antonio Caruso?”
“No, but….”
“But nothing. Once they knew the police were closing in, they acted. I was a witness, even though I really couldn’t identify Raphael. I didn’t remember him, or maybe I tried to push it out of my mind. I wish Ty never dug his heels in,” I said, my voice tinged with regret.
Oliver sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I could say I’m angry at him, but I know he did it because he liked your father.”
“That’s part of it, and the other part is that he thought once the case was solved, it would put my nightmares to rest. Turns out it made them worse,” I confessed, my eyes downcast.
Oliver reached out, taking my hand in his. “I still think you should see a therapist.”
I shook my head, my grip tightening on his. “No. I’m done with therapy.”
“I’m just making a suggestion,” he said softly, his eyes full of concern.
“I understand and appreciate your concern, but it’s closed,” I replied firmly, trying to convey my determination.
“Give me some latitude since I’m your husband. I need to know you’re okay,” Oliver insisted, his tone gentle but unwavering.
“I am okay. This shit probably came to the surface because of that nonsense with Tim,” I said, trying to reassure him.
