Page 91 of In Somnis

I focus on the heat of her hand through my hoodie and take a deep breath.

She’s fine. She’s standing right here.

Her fingers flex, and I look down to catch the scrape on her hand, red and raw. I take her wrist and turn her palm up, where there’s more torn skin.

“Fuck.”

She could’ve died. And I made a joke about it.

“Nevan?” Her voice is soft, uncertain.

All the warmth drains out of me at once, replaced by a hollow, buzzing ache.

She could have fucking died, and I laughed at her.

“Nevan?” Lennon asks hesitantly when I stare.

“That must’ve hurt.” My thumb brushes lightly over the inside of her wrist, below the raw wound.

“A little.”

A little.

I meet her eyes, manage a small smile even though my throat feels tight. “You’re a terrible liar.”

She smirks just as the kitchen doors swing open.

Paul Bennett steps inside, holding a tumbler covered in tiny gold stars. Lennon snatches her hand away as if we’ve been caught in the act, and, suddenly, I want to snap at Paul for interrupting before I could check her for more injuries.

“Hey,” Paul greets her with a smile, and she gives him one of hers in return.

I shift my weight, suddenly very aware that I’m still standing close to her. I should probably step back. Give them space.

I don’t.

“Hey, Nevan,” Paul says, glancing at me.

“Dr. Bennett.” I nod.

His expression shifts to almost amused. “I told you yesterday, you can call me Paul.”

“Right. Paul.” I lean back against the prep counter, trying for casual.

Yeah.

I definitely hated yesterday.

“Dr. Bennett?” Lennon asks. “No wonder you were able to patch me up that well.”

“Not that kind of doctor,” I say before I can stop myself.

Both of them look at me, and I realize how defensive and petty that sounded.

Great job, Nevan.

“He means I’m a psychologist,” Paul says easily, not bothered at all. “So I can tell you about your emotional wounds, but the physical ones, I google the same as everyone else.”

Lennon laughs, and I watch her reach up to fidget with the crystal pendant.