Hot Shot (Hot as Puck Book 2)

19. Blake

For the second night in a row, I’m out of bed and racing across the hall to Bran’s room.

To his side.

It’s the same as last night.

The same mad scrabble of legs, reaching arms and grabbing hands, shouts for Laura and murmurs of letting her go.

Once again, I’m able to soothe him or I’ve arrived as the nightmare releases its strangle hold. The ease with which he settles doesn’t stop my heart from breaking to see him like this.

I wanted to ask him about it today, but he wasn’t any different than he’s been the whole time I’ve been here.

Which makes me wonder if I’ve missed the nightmares until now. If me being here is prompting them.

Does he know he’s dreaming?

Does he know his grief is visiting him in his sleep?

Does he know he believes he has to let Laura go?

I don’t know what he means by letting her go. Her memory? Because he never has to do that. He shouldn’t even think he needs to do that.

Again I’m reminded of the lack of photos in the house, in his room. I’ve seen nothing. Not even a small snapshot of Laura.

It confuses me. When his mom died, he did everything he could to remind himself of her and one of those things was plastering every photo he could find on the walls of his apartment.

Did he do that here when he first arrived then remove them?

Could that be it?

Could he have once had her image surrounding him and recently taken them down, sending his healing backward?

I don’t know how to ask. If I should ask. Is it even my place?

Sitting on the end of Bran’s bed, I wait for his breathing to even out, go deep and relaxed, before getting to my feet. I leave him to sleep, like I did last night.

And like last night, I return to my room and toss and turn until just before dawn when I hear Bran stir, when he gets up and leaves his room to slip out the front door.

His morning ritual of watching the sun rise hasn’t changed and while I haven’t joined him a second time, I’ve lain in bed every day and listened.