34. Then
THIRTY-FOUR
then
It was a dream I’d had countless other times.
I tried not to think about it… but whenever I did, I came back to the conclusion that my subconscious clearly remembered more about that horrible night at the frat house than I did.
Because it produced a shockingly vivid nightmare every single time.
Maggie must have known about it. We shared a bedroom, and I had woken—bolting upright, panting—at least a dozen times in her presence. After I brushed off her concern with some mumbling about sleep apnea, she never brought it up again.
Honestly, I probably should have warned Gray ahead o f time. But as he held me in our afterglow and buried his face into my hair, I could have sworn he’d vanquished the painful memories once and for all.
In the Tiffany Suite, with Gray’s naked perfection warming my bones, the past slipped further and further away. So far that I forgot to worry about the possibility that pushing my boundaries might have consequences.
When the dreams first started, I assumed they would get better over time. Or maybe I would just get stronger. Yet, as my mind took me back to that dark corner bedroom for the hundredth time, the same fear pulsed through me, as thick and sickening as ever.
Why was I here? The familiar thought echoed through my head. Wasn’t I looking for a bathroom? Why was I so nauseous all of a sudden? I had two drinks, right? Or three?
The clueless string of questions muddled together into a mess of general confusion. I had no answers, and it was hard to summon a sense of urgency about any of it because I was promptly hit with a heavy wave of numbness.
I blinked at my surroundings, but it got harder to re-open my eyes each time the lids flutter closed. Why was I so tired?
The exhaustion was visceral, overwhelming all my other concerns. There was a bed in the middle of the room. My feet were like cinder blocks while I tripped forward, managing to crash onto the damp mattress before I fell.
The room swirled as I tumbled, giving me the oddest sensation—like I suddenly could not locate any of my limbs.
A sound came from across the room. A click? Shuffling?
None of it made sense. I was just going to the bathroom. Why was I on a bed? Why was I alone? Where were my friends?
My brain was soup. I opened my mouth to make some sort of noise, but it wasn’t a word. When someone actually replied, I was shocked.
“Hmm. Don’t try to talk, princess. Just relax.”
I do not know that voice, but the pitch suggested it was a man. Was I in a man’s bed? The notion sent a prick of queasiness through my guts.
Someone pulled at my skirt. Not me, right? I tried to find my arm, to lift it, but I only managed to get it to move a few inches before I lost it again.
“None of that, little princess,” the voice said. A smooth, detached chastisement. “You won’t win.”
Alarm bells clung in my muddy mind as the danger finally registered. In a burst of sheer terror, I managed to recoil, kicking my weighty legs until my knee connected with something.
There was a quiet grunt; then, all too easily, the man’s weight subdued my flails, catching each knee with an iron grip.
“A fighter,” he chuckled darkly. “Didn’t expect that. You seemed so quiet.”
When I couldn’t wriggle loose, I did the one thing I could think of and started to scream. All that got me was a sharp blow to the cheek, followed by a sweaty palm crushing my face into the mattress.
“Ella?”
Wait. That voice was wrong. It didn’t belong here. It’s…
“Ellie?”
Gray .
Reality smashed the nightmare’s strangling grasp. I lurched forward, my eyes flying open. Panting, I searched the dark room in front of me, frantically scouring for any trace that the dream had been real.
But the hotel suite was as peaceful as ever, serene in its quiet opulence.
“Ellie, baby?”
A warm hand fell on my shoulder, and I jumped, squeaking, my body automatically cringing from the contact. Gray dropped his arm instantly. A second later, the lamp atop the mirrored silver nightstand ticked on, bathing us in soft light.
It didn’t matter, though. My eyes squeezed shut as I hugged my knees into my chest a nd dropped my forehead to sit on top of them.
The timbre of Gray’s voice, rough from sleep, took on a stern note of concern. “Ellie. Talk to me.”
“Sorry,” I whispered. “Bad dream.”
There was a long pause. I felt his eyes on the side of my face. “Is there something I can do?”
I didn’t know. No one had ever asked. I turned my head, searching his unbearably handsome features.
Sleep-tousled and bare-chested, he looked even more tempting than usual. But my recently reawakened libido was nowhere to be found.
Gray’s face softened sorrowfully. “Ellie,” he murmured, reaching a hand out to me. “Let me hold you?”
An invitation, not a command. I slid my palm against his, and he pulled me into his arms, holding me gingerly. His hot, naked skin burned under my cheek.
“Just a dream,” he mumbled, running his fingers through my hair. “Just a dream, sweetheart.”
He gently slid me closer, like he wished he could pull me inside of himself for safekeeping. “Nothing will hurt you here,” he went on, low and soothing. “I would never let anyone hurt you.”
His utter sincerity was my undoing. Fat tears spilled from my stinging eyes. I turned my face into his chest, ashamed. But Gray didn’t so much as flinch. He continued stroking my back and holding me close, letting me cry. After a moment, he started to hum a slow song. It vibrated under my ear, giving me something to focus on until my tears subsided.
I couldn’t place the tune, but it had the lilt of a lullaby, and soon, I found myself drifting into a much less troubled sleep.
Ella fell back asleep sometime around 4 a.m., but I couldn’t seem to follow her lead.
Instead, I lay awake and stared up at the intricate plasterwork on the ceiling, softly illuminated by the lamp I left on to keep her nightmares at bay.
I’d had my fair share of bad dreams—mostly of the showing-up-for-work-or-school-without-pants, forgetting-I-had-an-exam, falling-fifty-thousand-feet variety—but none that had ever woken me up in a blind panic.
I hoped I had done the right thing. She was wild-eyed, gulping at air like she couldn’t remember how to breathe.
Something about her face reminded me of a child’s fear. All bewildered innocence. And I thought back to when I was small and my mother would come re-tuck me in after a nightmare.
She used to sing to me, even though she had no real musical talent. That never mattered, though—it was always comforting to listen to her voice, tripping over the forlorn melodies of her Spanish and Italian lullabies. I hummed the first one I could recall.
With her face tucked into my shoulder, Ellie’s tears slowed and then stopped. Now, curled sweetly against my chest, it was hard to believe she’d been so terrified just half an hour earlier.
“What happened to you, Ellie?” I mumbled so quietly she didn’t even stir. “I want to fix it. ”
Impossible, of course. I might have had the excessive influence of the Stryker name, but even that couldn’t undo the past. Money solved a lot of problems. Just not this one.
I lay awake for a long time, turning it all over in my mind, staring down at her sleeping face. By the time the first stirrings of dawn hit the Tiffany Suite, three things had become abundantly clear to me.
One: Something horrible had happened to Ellie before we ever met.
Two: I had to consider the possibility she might never tell me exactly what.
And three: I would just have to learn to live with that because I wanted to keep her forever.
Or, at least, for as long as she let me .