Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Livie
I bolt upright in bed, a scream tearing from my raw throat. The darkness presses in around me, disorienting and thick. In my nightmare, Richard's hands were around my neck again, squeezing tighter and tighter while Greyson watched from a distance, unable to reach me.
"No, no, no," I gasp, clawing at my throat, still feeling phantom fingers crushing my windpipe.
The door bursts open with such force it slams against the wall. Greyson stands in the doorway, shirtless and wild-eyed, a gun gripped in his hand. His eyes scan the room frantically, weapon raised and ready.
"Livie!" His voice is sharp with fear as he sweeps the room for threats, moving with lethal determination from the closet to the bathroom, checking every possible hiding place.
"Nightmare," I manage to choke out, my voice barely a whisper. "Just a nightmare."
Relief washes over his face as he lowers the gun, though the tension doesn't fully leave his body. He crosses to me in three long strides, setting the weapon on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed.
"You're safe." His hands are gentle as they frame my face. "I'm right here. No one's going to hurt you."
I'm trembling uncontrollably, cold sweat making my tank top cling to my skin. "It felt so real. He was—he was killing me, and you couldn't reach me."
"Look at me," Greyson commands, tilting my chin up until our eyes meet. "Richard Keller is in a hospital bed, handcuffed to the rails, with two police officers outside his door. And even if he wasn't, he'd have to go through me to get to you. That's never going to happen."
I nod, trying to believe him, but the terror of the nightmare still has its claws in me. Greyson must see it in my eyes because he shifts, pulling back the covers.
"Move over." His tone is gentle but brooks no argument.
I slide to the other side of the bed, making room as he climbs in beside me. He gathers me against his chest, one arm wrapping securely around my waist, the other cradling my head. His skin is warm against mine, his heartbeat strong and steady under my ear.
"I've got you," he murmurs into my hair. "Just breathe with me, okay? In and out."
I focus on matching my breathing to his, the panic slowly receding as his warmth seeps into me. His fingers trace soothing patterns on my back, and gradually the trembling subsides.
"I hate this," I whisper against his chest. "I hate that he's still in my head, still making me afraid."
"It's normal," Greyson says, his voice rumbling through his chest. "Your body and mind went through hell today. It's going to take time to process."
"What if the nightmares don't stop?" The question slips out before I can stop it, revealing my deepest fear, that Richard Keller has permanently broken something inside me, stolen my sense of safety forever.
Greyson shifts, tilting my face up to his. In the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, his eyes are impossibly blue, intense with emotion.
"Then I'll be here," he says simply. "Every night, for as long as you need me. Until the nightmares fade. And they will fade, Livie. I promise you that."
The certainty in his voice, the unwavering conviction, brings tears to my eyes. I reach up, tracing the strong line of his jaw with my fingertips.
"Why me?" I ask, the question that's been lingering since that first kiss outside the clubhouse. "Of all the women you could have, why wait for me?"
He catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. "Because no one else has ever felt right. From the first moment I saw you—really saw you, not as Mason's little sister or Wilder's daughter, but as you—I knew."
"Knew what?"
"That you were it for me." The admission falls from his lips. "That no matter how long it took, no matter what stood in our way, we'd end up here."
The simple honesty of his words steals my breath. There's no artifice in Greyson Reed, no games or pretense. Just raw truth laid bare in the darkness between us.
"Even when I left?" I press, needing to understand. "Even when I stayed away for two years?"
"Especially then." His thumb traces the curve of my cheek. "Because leaving took courage. Staying away took strength. And I've always admired both those things about you."
I lean into his touch, something warm and tender unfurling in my chest, pushing back the lingering shadows of the nightmare.
"I think I've been yours since I was seventeen," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just didn't know if you'd wait for me to figure it out."
His smile in the darkness is breathtaking. "I would have waited forever, Livie Bennett."
This time when his lips find mine, there's nothing gentle about it.
The kiss is hungry, desperate, filled with two years of longing and the relief of finally, finally, being together.
His hand tangles in my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss as I arch against him, every nerve ending coming alive under his touch.
When we break apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rests against mine. "We should stop," he says, though his body tells a different story. "You're injured, and I don't want to rush this."
"I'm not that injured," I argue, pressing closer to feel the hard length of him against my hip. "And two years feels like the opposite of rushing."
He groans, the sound vibrating through me. "Livie…"
"I nearly died today," I remind him, my fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest. "I don't want to waste any more time."
For a moment, he seems torn, desire warring with concern. Then he captures my wandering hand, bringing it to his lips.
"Not tonight," he says firmly. "Not while the nightmare is still fresh.
Not while you're bruised and hurting." His eyes hold mine, serious despite the desire darkening them.
"When we do this—and we will—I want it to be because we both want it, not because you're trying to outrun your fear or prove something to yourself. "
The wisdom in his words surprises me, though it shouldn't. Greyson has always seen me more clearly than I see myself.
"Okay," I concede, settling back against his chest. "But rain check?"
His chuckle vibrates through me. "Definitely."
We lie together in comfortable silence, his fingers drawing lazy circles on my back. The terror of the nightmare recedes further with each passing minute, replaced by a drowsy contentment that pulls me toward sleep.
"Greyson?" I murmur, fighting to keep my eyes open.
"Hmm?"
"Thank you. For being here. For understanding."
His arms tighten around me. "Always, Livie. Now sleep. I'll keep the nightmares away."
As I drift off, safe in his embrace, I believe him. Whatever demons lurk in my subconscious, whatever shadows Richard Keller left behind, they don't stand a chance against the man holding me. Not tonight. Not ever.
* * *
When morning comes, golden light spilling through the curtains, I wake to find Greyson still beside me, his blue eyes watching me with such tenderness it makes my heart ache.
"No more nightmares?" he asks, brushing hair from my face.
"No more nightmares," I confirm, stretching against him like a contented cat. "Just dreams. Good ones."
His smile is devastating. "Care to share?"
Heat rises to my cheeks as fragments of those dreams flash through my mind—Greyson's hands on my skin, his mouth trailing fire, our bodies moving together in perfect rhythm.
"Maybe later," I murmur, hiding my face against his chest.
His laugh rumbles through him. "That good, huh?"
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it, checking the screen with reluctance. "It's Diane," I say, my mood immediately souring. "Again."
"You don't have to talk to her," Greyson reminds me, his hand warm on my back.
"I know." I stare at the screen, watching it go dark as the call goes to voicemail. "But I can't avoid her forever."
"Why not?" There's no judgment in his voice, just simple curiosity.
I consider the question, trying to articulate the tangle of emotions I feel toward my former roommate. "Because even though I'm angry—furious, actually—she was still my friend. And she's probably terrified right now, wondering if Richard hurt me before he was caught."
Greyson studies me for a long moment. "You're too forgiving."
"Not forgiving yet," I correct him. "Just… willing to hear her out. Eventually."
He nods, accepting this. "When you're ready, then."
The phone buzzes again, but this time it's a text from my father.
Coming by to check on you. Bringing breakfast.
I show Greyson the message, watching as his expression shifts to something more guarded. "Guess that's our cue to get up," he says, making no move to leave the bed.
"Guess so," I agree, equally reluctant.
For a moment, we stay where we are, suspended in the peaceful bubble we've created. Then, with visible effort, Greyson presses a kiss to my forehead and rolls away.
"I'll make coffee." He stands and stretches in a way that showcases every sculpted muscle of his torso. "You want to shower first?"
I nod, unable to trust my voice as I watch him move around the room, collecting his gun from the nightstand. He pauses at the door, looking back at me with a smile that promises so much more than words could convey.
"For what it's worth," he says, "that was the best night's sleep I've had in two years."
After he's gone, I lie in the warmth he left behind, marveling at how much has changed in such a short time.
Three days ago, I was nervous about coming home, about facing the past I'd left behind.
Now I've survived a stalker, reconnected with the man I never thought I'd have, and discovered a strength in myself I didn't know existed.
Not bad for a homecoming, I think as I finally rise to face the day. Not bad at all.