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Mia’s nightmares started when Audrey thought the worst of her separation anxiety was over. She still had her own bad dreams nightly, dreams where she thought she was late for an important event, never arriving on time and in terrible trouble because of it. She woke to the sound of her own distress, heart pounding, as if she’d been running for her life.
Mia woke screaming and kicking, terrified. Horrible monsters with terrible faces were taking her away. She would shake and cry herself to sleep in Audrey’s arms.
The first night it happened was the night Audrey dragged Reece inside the fairy palace. She meant to do unspeakably degenerate things to him inside that pretty tent he’d built. She hadn’t counted on the effect attempting it would have.
She’d gone to him for the comfort of his touch, to celebrate being alive. She’d gone to him full of rationalisations and denials. It was two consenting adults fooling around. He was a more than a willing accomplice. She was a mother not a nun. And she wasn’t dead. And no one needed to know. But ten minutes in the tent with the pillows and the pink light, with the stuffed animals watching and the scent of lavender fabric softener, and she knew which one of them had their head screwed on.
Reece was so much more than she expected. He’d given her the control, but he had all the power, and he demolished her self-justification before he took her shirt off. This was more than proximity to easy sex. This was more than gratitude.
She’d have given him anything he wanted to take under those fairy lights, but he took nothing she wasn’t ready for. And he knew she wasn’t ready, hadn’t thought it through, wasn’t well enough for sex before she did. He kept her mostly dressed, he kissed her quiet, he soothed her almost to sleep and then Mia screamed.
This was the sixth night in a row since then that Mia had woken screaming and Reece carried her into Audrey’s bed. The sixth night she’d tumbled into Audrey’s arms, her face pinched and wet, her little chest heaving.
Reece resettled the covers over them and turned to go. She caught his arm. He was a shadow in the dark. Mia’s breathing was already steadying. “Stay.”
All week they’d stolen time to kiss and touch, a maddening mid-teen courtship, as much for its hint of illicitness as it was for its innocence. Reece kept withdrawing, not exactly pulling away and never rejecting her, but not letting things go too far.
She’d had headaches and the pins and needles and he worried she was too thin, while she worried about what was happening at work while she wasn’t there. They’d split up her projects, spread out the work. Would they still need her by the time she was well enough to return? It would be like starting again after maternity leave.
He knew that stressed her. He mothered her, making her eat and rest and helping her forget with kisses that were brands seared onto her lips, so hot they left scorch marks on her heart.
She’d never felt so sexually frustrated before. Abstinence had been a cupcake compared to this constant state of anticipation. Not that he was faring any easier. He was running at night after they’d settled Mia, partly to be out of the house, partly to slake his own tension. He’d come back late, lathered in sweat, smelling impossibly earthy and he’d look at her like he was scared he’d foul her b
y coming near. They’d go to bed in their separate rooms early, knowing Mia would likely wake them.
She could’ve changed the tempo if she’d pushed him; he wasn’t resisting to be cute. The wounded animal sounds he made when he broke away, dropped his hands from her, rivalled Mia’s best growling bear and lion roar. There was no mistaking he wanted her or that he was waiting for her to push the point. So why didn’t she act, nail him to the kitchen table, reverse him up against the fridge and pin him there till the rattling condiments ratted them out? She could hijack him in the shower. She could grope him in the garden. She could go to him in his room at night and stay there till Mia woke.
Mia. Of course, Mia. She was six foot of wonder, ten lengths of watchfulness, a galaxy of impressions being formed like stars. They let her see their affection, the easy, casual touches and kisses, the act of being loving, but she was also the hard line drawn, the non-compete clause. Neither of them would do anything to unsettle her.
But Mia was an easy out and Audrey had spent a week taking it. Reece was an easy mark and she was playing with his affections. This wasn’t her finest moment.
Now in the dark, Reece put his hand over hers. If he hadn’t been carrying Mia, he’d never have entered Audrey’s room while she was there. It was a hard rule he’d written himself. “You okay?” he whispered.
“I had a bad dream too. Maybe if I tell you about it, I won’t have it any more.” Maybe if she stopped having her dream Mia would settle too. That was a daft, superstitious notion, but her own recurring nightmare was sticky and without being the least bit scary, no monsters, no blood or guts, it still succeeded in terrorising her, and she was tired of being hesitant and unsure.
“Won’t we wake her?”
“I used to take conference calls with London and New York from bed with her beside me. She slept though everything. She’ll be fine.” But Reece was clearly uncomfortable. “Don’t worry. I’m keeping you from—”
He put his knee on the bed. “Shove over.”
Mia had half of the bed and a pillow to herself and was sleeping again. Audrey turned on her side and wriggled closer to Mia. Reece sat beside her, his back against the headboard. She was inside the sheet and blanket, he was out. He wore track pants and a t-shirt but he would get cold.
“You need to come under the blanket.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You’ll get cold.”
“You’ll get spooned.”
She smiled into the dark. “I’m absolutely fine with that.”
His warmth as he slid under the blanket was like the sun rising on her back. He kept the sheet between them, but manoeuvred them into an approximation of teaspoon nestled against a serving spoon. His arm around her chased the night terrors away. “What do you dream about?” His voice so soft, so close to her ear made her shiver.
“I suppose I’m dreaming about death.”
His arm tightened around her waist. “How long has this been going on?”
