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He gasps, then tries to turn over, arms flailing, and fails. He fights with the cushions, punching his fists into the sofa, his face a mask of fear.
“Dammit, stop.” I grab his arm, but that only seems to make it worse for him. He wrenches his arm free and kicks at me, garbled sounds that might be words falling from his mouth. I grab at his ankles. “Jet, stop, it’s me. Joel.”
He sobs something, then finally stills. His wide eyes stare back at me, blank and full of fear. His face is deathly white.
“Don’t let him,” he whispers, barely above a breath.
“It’s okay, Jet, it’s just a nightmare.” I pat his leg, something twisting in my chest from seeing him like this and not knowing how to help. “It’s not—”
“Don’t let him get me, too,” he pleads, his voice broken.
I blink. “Man, Jet, that must have been a hell of a nightmare. But it was a nightmare.” I slide my hand up his arm. His body is shaking on the couch, his skin cold and clammy under my palm. “Just…”
Just what? How can I help him? I think back to when I had the nightmare of him bloodied and dying, and shiver. He was there for me.
Hell, why not? It’s a big couch, and if it gets him to sleep and rest… He hasn’t been sleeping much lately, but I don’t remember seeing him this bad before.
“Scoot over,” I tell him and shove him a little when he doesn’t move. “Damn, you’re heavy.”
I stretch out on my back beside him and wrestle him around until his head is resting on my shoulder and his arm is draped over my middle.
If his eyes get any wider, they’ll pop out of their sockets.
“All right, fucker?” Damn, he’s still shivering. I rub his back. “Comfortable?”
He nods and some of that chilling blankness leaves his gaze. “Yeah.” Even his voice sounds creaky and rusty.
“Try to get some sleep.” I let my eyes drift closed. “I’m right here.”
“Everyone leaves, J,” he whispers. “Everyone.”
He doesn’t sound angry, or sad. He sounds… defeated. That wakes me up again, and I pet his back, then his hair.
“No, they don’t. I won’t. Is this about Candy?” When he says nothing, I forge on. “Candy will come back. We won’t let her go, all right? I don’t know why she left like that, but I’m sure there’s an explanation. Hell, if she really wanted to be with us for so long, she won’t just walk out now.”
His hair is silky soft under my fingers, and I twine them in the dark locks. He swallows hard, his eyes drifting closed. “She won’t?”
“She won’t.” I tug a little on his hair, and he produces a tiny moan that goes straight to my dick. Dammit. Not the time for this. “We’ll talk to her tomorrow morning.”
Jet hums in response and curls up closer, throwing a leg over mine. He’s warming up, too, and he’s real and solid against me, his musky smell familiar and pleasant. Eventually his breathing evens out, and he falls asleep, his fist planted on my chest.
Right on top of my heart.
***
Only tomorrow morning Candy’s not at work.
I know because I drive Jet there. He did sleep after I joined him on the sofa, but fitfully, and he barely picked at the breakfast I made him before we left home. Normally it’s a short bus ride for him, but today I said to hell with it.
I need to fix this, whatever it is, to get Candy back. We need to fix this. Jet is happy when she’s around, and I… Yeah, I’m happy, too. Can’t deny it. She makes me smile. I like her nerdy moments, and her sleepy moments, and her sexy moments. I mean, the girl’s hot.
But I also appreciate how she takes care of us, how she touches both of us, hugs us, kisses us, holds us. How she takes the time to talk with me about books, and tease Jet until he relaxes. How she cares for him. How well she fits in our lives.
“She’s not here,” Donna says. “Didn’t come in today. She texted me to let me know she isn’t feeling well.”
Jet and I exchange worried glances. She’s sick? Or she doesn’t want to see us? Either option is a stone hanging around my neck.
Worse still, Jet looks like he might punch someone, and Donna is his boss. Not a good idea. So I get in front of him to catch any errant punches.
