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Like every night, her screams become a whimper that almost break me until even the whimpers fadeinto the glow of the ensuite light she leaves on each night. It takes a few minutes before her body stops twitching and her breathing returns to something that resembles normal, peaceful.
Still, I sit with her as I do every night for the next hour. It’s not long after she settles, free of whatever grip whatever nightmare had on her that she flips onto her side, tugging a pillow into her chest and holding it tight. My hand, like it does every night, moves from her belly to the small of her back.
I’d give anything to crawl into bed with her—to tug her into my chest and hold her so tight I suffocate the demons that haunt her. I want to carve them out and live in their place, ready to slay at even the first glimpse of them.
I want to kill her ex for what he’s done to her.
She thinks she’s sleeping so well. I’d overheard her and Candace talking about it the other night when everyone was over, telling her that she hadn’t had a dream since Candace had left.
But before she’d left, Candace warned me about the nightmares that attacked Nevaeh every night. I still hadn’t been prepared to deal with them myself. That first night had fucking terrified me, because no matter what I’d done, I’d been unable to wake her. In the end, it had been my skin against hers that had steadied her—defeated them—and left me to sit in the silence of the aftermath, my despair murderous.
I swear it, if I ever see that sorry excuse of a boy who plays at being a man—I’ll snuff him out and never think of it again.
Fuck, I might even stop losing so much goddamned sleep.
As it is, I’m going to have to make bed sharing a condition of the marriage. I’m not sure how much longer I can do this.
How do people with kids wake up multiple times a night? I’m starting to feel like a zombie.
Fuck. I’ve always liked kids. Always wanted my own.
My gaze hasn’t strayed from where Nevaeh sleeps, holding her pillow. I wonder, does she want kids?
Shit, I’m clearly sleep deprived if I’m thinking about having babies with the fake-fiancée I’ve yet to convince loves me for real.
With my free hand, I rub my brow. As I peer through the dim of the room, my eyes burn. But I’ve learned if I leave her too soon, the nightmare will start again, and we’ll be back at square one.
So, sitting on the side of her bed, eyes on fire, sleep deprived, with my hand on her back, I stay.
She’s worth losing sleep over, anyway.
seventeen
Nevaeh
“You’re getting a new number,” Kane grumps from the kitchen as he smacks my phone back on the counter where I’d left it when I refilled my cup of coffee. He’d been going for his third refill when my phone chimed. I can only imagine by the murderous look in his eyes that it had either been Antonio or Kate, both of which text and call repeatedly every day. Every day, their messages, both text and voice go unchecked.
I’m not interested in what either of them have to say.
“Someone’s grumpy this morning.” I peer over the lid of my laptop at him, biting the inside of my cheekswhen he stops to stare at me.Oh, yes. Definitely grumpy.“Are you sleeping okay?”
He swallows, stiffening. “Why do you ask?”
I shrug, sliding my half-nibbled Santa from beside my laptop to bring it in for another nibble. “You look tired, is all.”
“I’m fine.”
“Is it work?”
My phone chimes and I swear the man grinds his teeth. I take another nervous nibble as fire flares in the frost of those eyes. Through the grind, he growls, “New number, Nevaeh. Today.”
“Okay,” I say simply, because they’ve kind of forced my hand. I’d blocked them both. They’d both found alternate numbers to harass me from.
It would suck, however, to change my number. Old client’s text for all kinds of things and would now have to communicate exclusively through my website. Oh well. It’s clearly just the way my cookie is crumbling.
I continue nibbling as Kane continues fixing his coffee before taking a hefty chug. I feel one brow inch high as I watch him, because there’s no way the man is sleeping. At least not well. How, I’ve no idea. I sleep like a dang baby in his softer than a cloud spare bed. Surely the bed he sleeps in is even better. Still, the man looks worse every day.
Not worse, worse, because I don’t think the man could look bad if he tried. But he doesn’t look like theenergetic Kane I’ve come to know, and that’s getting worse every day.
