4. Ari
ARI
A muffled sound tears me from my sleep, followed by another louder, more urgent yelp. I wake up with a start, confused and disoriented by my surroundings. I’m in the coziest bed with soft, warm blankets that smell like pine and cinnamon.
When a third tortured cry rips through the otherwise silent log cabin, the previous night comes back in a rush. I was camping, freaked out, got stuck in a tree, and was saved by an honest-to-god bearded, growly mountain man.
A mountain man who has been to hell and back via his time in the Army Rangers.
I roll to the side, peering over the edge of the bed to see if Wilder is okay. He’s on his side, facing me. His eyes are scrunched up in pain, his jaw clenched as he relives something awful.
My heart breaks for him, like last night when he told me about his last mission. It’s clear he blames himself. I get the sense that Wilder chose to spend the rest of his days up here on the mountain working long, hard days as some sort of penance.
“Wilder,” I whisper, hoping to bring him back into the present moment. “Wilder, wake up. It’s just a dream.”
“N-no,” he slurs, his face twisted with regret and shame. I hate seeing him like this.
Tentatively, I reach out, placing just the tips of my fingers on his exposed arm. I gently stroke his feverish skin, whispering calming words and repeating his name over and over. After a few moments, Wilder’s muscles relax, and he heaves out a sigh.
When he blinks his eyes open, I’m struck once again by the magical color. I wasn’t sure I saw them correctly last night, but with the moonlight shining through the window, I can confirm that Wilder’s eyes are teal and filled with emotions he doesn’t know how to express.
“You’re okay,” I repeat, nodding while grounding him with my light touch. “It was just a dream.” He still looks a bit like a caged animal, but more and more of his humanness is returning as he wakes up and distances himself from the nightmare.
“Sorry,” Wilder says, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat and sits up, running a hand through his shoulder-length hair. “I don’t have guests over and…”
He trails off, but I know what he was going to say.
It’s been a while since he’s slept with someone else in the room, and he didn’t think to warn me about his nightmares.
I shouldn’t care that Wilder sleeps alone every night.
It certainly shouldn’t make my heart do silly things like flip in my chest.
I’m not special because I spent the night. I’m an idiot who hurt herself while camping, and Wilder is a good person, I remind myself.
“When I used to get nightmares, I would do a muscle relaxation technique to try and calm down and put my body and mind back to sleep,” I say softly. “Would you like to try it?”
After a beat of silence, I’m about to pull the blankets over my head and tell Wilder to forget I said anything. But then he speaks.
“Why did you get nightmares?” he grunts.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s upset on my behalf, but he doesn't even know me, so that doesn’t make sense.
“I’ll tell you if you come up here on the bed,” I answer with a smile, though I know he probably can’t see it. “It’s huge, and I think you’ll sleep better up here, no matter how amazing the floor is.”
“The floor is amazing,” he mumbles, but I hear a hint of amusement in his tone.
Wilder finally stands, and holy wow, yes, he’s as shredded, huge, and muscular as I remember him being last night.
My body heats up at the memory of being pressed against his chest, those strong arms wrapped around me, supporting my weight as if it were nothing.
And when I hugged him… I’m not sure what came over me, just that I knew in my heart this man needed a hug.
When he tucked my head under his chin and folded me up in his embrace, the strangest thought floated through my head. We fit.
I stay stock still as Wilder crawls into the bed next to me, careful not to jostle my sore ankle. It’s already feeling a lot better after the wrap, elevation, and pain meds, though it still hurts.
Once he’s under the blankets, I look over, smiling to myself when I see he’s tense and stiff as a freaking board. The poor guy seems uncomfortable, and I hope my relaxation exercise will help.
“First, we’ll start with some deep breathing,” I say calmly.
“First, we’ll start with why you get nightmares,” Wilder reminds me. He’s trying to be playful, I think, but he’s a little too anxious for that.
“Right,” I murmur, taking a cleansing breath.
I did offer to tell him about me, didn’t I?
It’s only fair, I suppose. He ripped his heart open for me last night after saving my life, so yeah, I owe him a bit of my story.
“It’s been years since I’ve had a night terror, but I used to get them all the time as a kid,” I say softly.
Wilder grunts in disapproval, and I roll my eyes at his ridiculousness.
“Remember when I told you my parents loved me a lot?”
“Mhm,” he acknowledges.
“They did. Right up until we were all in a car accident when I was seven.”
“Ari,” Wilder murmurs, his hand finding mine beneath the blankets.
I squeeze it, thankful for his borrowed strength. “I was the only survivor. For years after the accident, my aunt ran into my room and yelled at me for waking her up. I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t help it,” I insist, starting to get worked up.
“I know, Ari,” he whispers. “It wasn’t your fault.”
I nod, taking a deep breath and then another for good measure.
“I did some research on PTSD and night terrors and found some helpful resources. It felt weird to do some of the exercises at first, but when I finally found one that helped… it was all worth it. Can I share my favorite relaxation technique?”
When he doesn't say anything, I turn my head in his direction, wondering if I shared too much. Wilder is staring at me, his teal eyes peering into the very depths of my soul. I can tell he has about a hundred follow-up questions, but I’m banking on him not wanting to answer any of my follow-up questions about his time in the military, so I know he won’t pry any further.
“You can share anything you want with me, angel,” he finally murmurs.
I’m not sure I heard him right, but when he maintains eye contact, I nod.
“We’ll start with some deep breaths,” I begin again.
I inhale for a count of four, hold my breath, and exhale for a count of eight.
Wilder follows along, both of us breathing in silence.
“Now, we’re going to focus on relaxing specific muscle groups.
Focus on the tips of your toes, breathing calm and relaxation into your toes, the tops of your feet, the bottoms of your feet, your heels, and then your ankles. ”
I wince a bit when I focus on my sore ankle, but the relaxation exercise does help.
I focus my breath and energy on my swollen joint, keeping my muscles still and at ease, not adding any extra pressure or forcing myself to feel one way or the other about the pain.
It comes and goes, like everything else in this life.
“Now what?” Wilder says rather abruptly.
His grumpy tone makes me giggle. “Now we move up the muscle groups and focus on relaxing each one.”
He sighs. “I thought I was going to be relaxed by now.”
I grin. “Patience, young grasshopper,” I tease. I can’t tell for sure, but I think Wilder might have an actual smile on his face. “Now hush and focus on your legs.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I laugh and smack his chest, and Wilder surprises me again by taking my hand in his. He laces our fingers and rests our joined hands right over his heart.
I continue naming muscle groups to focus on, moving from the knees to the thighs, torso, shoulders, arms, neck, and finally, the top of the head.
“Feel your entire body now, the weight of it on the mattress. Breathing in, relaxing the body, breathing out, and letting go.” I repeat the last phrase a few times, noting Wilder’s even breaths. He’s asleep, and nothing has brought me this much joy in a long time.
I snuggle a little closer, resting my cheek against his bicep. He doesn’t even flinch. I drift off to sleep with a smile, feeling accomplished and completely satisfied.
I don’t know what tomorrow brings, but I’m glad I was able to give the lonely mountain man a night of peaceful sleep.