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God… I sit up, curling my legs under me. “Shane. Let me—”
But his hand clenches and unclenches, and he reaches up to his neck, finds my pendant. His fingers curl around it, clench tightly, and his lashes lower. He’s muttering something, repeating one word.
My name.
Holy crap, I really have no control over myself when it comes to him. Tears slip from my eyes, running down my cheeks, hot. “I’m here. I’m right here, with you.”
This time, when he lifts his gaze, he sees me, his brows lifting, his eyes widening a little. Letting go of the pendant, he opens his arms, and I launch myself at him, wrapping myself around him.
“I’m sorry. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. We’re okay.”
But it’s not me saying those things as I sniffle against his bare shoulder, my face buried in his soft hair.
It’s him.
Chapter Thirteen
Shane
She’s in my arms, and the world is coming back into focus—the real world, the present time. My bedroom, my girl who smells of vanilla and is made of cream and golden toffee.
Cassie.
“Cass,” I murmur, and she clutches me harder. Something wet trickles down my shoulder, down my arm, and I frown, tug her away from me. “Cass?”
With the back of her hand, she wipes her eyes. They’re red and shiny. “Sorry.”
“Why? I’m the fuck-up.”
“Never.” She sniffles. “You fought it. Now, and before, and every time. Sorry for this.” She gestures at her face, the tears sliding again from her eyes. “You’re stronger than I am. In your place…” She sighs. “In your place I wouldn’t have made it.”
My head pounds. “Is this because of Angel?”
“I failed him. I’m so scared I’ll fail you, too.”
“Dammit, Cass.” I cup her face, wipe her tears with my thumbs. “You were a kid when your brother died. There was nothing you could do, and like you told me: you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. But I do. I do want it.” I hold her gaze, steady, as steady as I can be after a flashback. “Show me.”
“Shane…”
“This.” I release her face, grab the pendant. “This.” I snap at the rubber band around my wrist. “I’ll fight. I’ll work hard. I don’t wanna live lik
e this, in nightmares. In panic. I want…” I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying to stop the words, but there’s no fucking way. “You. I want you, Cass.”
I want to be with you. Don’t wanna lose you. I keep scaring you, and if I don’t get better, you’ll leave. Show me what to do. Please.
Pathetic—how much I need her. How scared I am of losing her. Even more than I am of the flashbacks.
Bullshit, I think. That’s bullshit, Shane. You’re terrified of the flashbacks and the nightmares.
Yeah, but not having her will end me. She’s part of why I wanna fight. Being with her makes my days brighter, the nights less dark.
She is my anchor. I thought of her back at the construction site when the memory closed around me—I thought of her scent, her kiss, her taste. Her warmth, her kindness, her presence by my side even through my worst.
I’m trying to wrap my head around these new realizations, when she takes my hand, lifts it, places a kiss in my palm. A shiver courses down my arm, reminding my kinda shell-shocked body that it was in the middle of having sex—at long fucking last—and hasn’t had release yet. My semi-hard dick, still sheathed in the condom, is swelling again, and a sweet ache is spreading through my groin and thighs.
The need to come.
“Remember this band,” she says. “Snap it against yours skin if you feel a flashback about to start, or a panic attack. It works most of the time. And the pendant. Like you just did, clutch it in your hand, focus on what’s real.”
