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Chapter 17
Over the next week, things were almost normal during the day. They would wake up and get ready. Cornell would opt for a bowl of cereal while Ali had yogurt and fruit, Mowgli sitting on the floor between their chairs at the table. Words between them were almost always about work—the team, staff gossip, something new Cornell tried in the cafeteria. Even though they lacked the spark and flare that used to dominate them, the quiet conversations were a relief to Cornell more than bothersome because they were safe.
For the rest of the day, Ali and Cornell would fall into a groove—he would pop into her office in the late morning, and she would stop at the field as practice ended to take Mowgli home so he could lift. And lift Cornell did—heavy weights with too many reps. At home, he would find Ali making dinner and having a glass of wine. There would be a small kiss before he opened a beer, and they ate.
But after dinner was when things weren’t so normal, and Cornell knew Ali must have felt it—the void that seemed to grow and fester between them as soon as the sun went down. Because there was nothing normal about Cornell keeping distance from Ali as they lay on the couch—some distance, at least.
He couldn’t quite not have her leg in his lap or an arm around her. But it wasn’t the way it should have been, with her snuggled flush against him, her fingers drawing idle circles across his chest. Cornell’s hand wasn’t resting on her ass, squeezing it every time he wanted a kiss until they finally hit that kiss that would lead to another and another.
But as long as Cornell had some touch, he would be alright—and that had nothing to do with sex. Touch means she’s here, she’s safe. That’s worth more than its weight in gold.
But he also knew that even though Ali was there, she wasn’t always with him.
“Sorry, what did you say?” Ali asked, brushing off some of Mowgli’s hair from the duvet.
Cornell watched her from the bathroom door, his toothbrush dangling out of his mouth. “I thought we could spend Saturday in Dallas.”
“Sure,” was all Ali said with a yawn as she pulled the covers back. “Sorry. I’m exhausted.”
Of course, you’re exhausted. Anyone would be getting up at four in the morning every day.
Sometimes he would find her still in bed when he got up, scrolling on her phone. Other times she was in the shower or already done with it. And even though Ali had slept silently beside him since she came home, Cornell wondered if the haunting that woke her was the same that kept him awake. Gone were the nights of playful whispers and lazy touches, of tangled limbs and breath-filled lullabies.
Instead of whispers, there were silent vows of protection.
Instead of touches, there was careful hand placement.
Instead of tangled legs, there was space between.
Instead of a lullaby, there was a melody of Ali’s breathing that kept Cornell awake, a reminder that she was with him and not in the place his mind wanted to drift to.
Nothing about the night was normal Everything about it was one big nightmare—including the one Ali seemed to be having an hour after Cornell finally fell asleep.
“Ali?”
She was whimpering, each a little dagger piercing Cornell’s skin as his eyes flew open, and he froze in fearful confusion. The glow from the bathroom illuminated Ali lying on her back with her arms pulled up against her chest. The pillow beneath her nearly flattened from her head turning repeatedly back and forth.
He switched on the lamp. “Ali, it’s a dream. Wake up.”
Afraid she might hurt herself, Cornell placed a hand on Ali’s shoulder as her rigid, tense body continued to thrash. “Baby,” he said a little louder over her babbling. “Baby, wake up.”
Please fucking wake up. Cornell didn’t know what was worse—his mind playing out all the possibilities of what happened to Ali that night or watching and hearing her relive it when she was safe in bed beside him. But Ali’s whimpering turned into sobs, and Cornell shook his head. This is so much fucking worse. I’m right here. Hear me. Feel me. Open your eyes and see me.
Mowgli whined as he approached the bed with hesitation. Cornell kept repeating her name, gently touching her face, pushing her hair back. “Ali, please. I’m here. You’re safe,” he begged, squeezing his eyes shut, but they opened immediately when he heard it.
“You’ve reached Cornell Crawford… can’t get to the phone—”
“Ali!” he shouted, totally at a loss, and it was enough. Because Ali’s eyes flew open. For a moment, Cornell wished she hadn’t woken up because the terror on her face was something he knew he would never be able to unsee.
Ali’s mouth was parted, choking on gasp after gasp. Her eyes were wide—petrified—focused on him and filled to the brink with an insurmountable amount of tears. The harrowing, haunting, tormented look on her face tore through him, straight to the bone.
Cornell forced his voice out. “You’re okay,” he told her, gently pressing his hand to her cheek while mentally trying to assure himself of the same. “It was a dream. You’re safe.” Please believe it. Please stop looking at me like that.
Ali’s eyes finally left his and glanced over to his hand against her face. She startled while the other continued to stroke her hair. “Get off me,” she whispered hoarsely, the softness stinging Cornell with so much hurt he jolted back when Ali sprinted into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.
“Ali,” Cornell called out, getting up to knock. “Ali, please—” He stopped himself.
Please what? Please come back and let me hold you even though I’m fucking freaked out of my mind. Please don’t shut me out even though I can’t bear to hear it. Please tell me everything even though it will kill me.
