Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
HARRIET
Snug as a bug, I drag the covers up to my chin and sigh happily.
Unlocking my phone, I squint at the bright screen as I open the group chat.
Harriet: Operation Meet Parents was a success!
Talia: Knew you’d charm them. Who wouldn’t love our girl?!
Margot: Yay! I was manifesting good things for you all day.
Parker: How was Daddy Warren? Open up at all?
I chew my lip before responding and tap the edge of my phone case.
I’m tempted to tell them about the two run-ins we had today—both ending with his lips on my skin.
This is my first co-parenting relationship, but I’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to go around doing that.
I’m also still mortified at the way I ambushed him with that hug, and don’t even get me started on the intensity of his words in the pantry, as if he was making an oath.
We’re a team.
Harriet: Yes and no. He seems more relaxed and even bought me a pregnancy journal.
Margot: That’s so sweet!
Talia and Parker are silent. They’re less optimistic than Margot, and I don’t blame them. They’re only looking out for me. If I’m being honest, Warren’s avoidance of opening up is something I’ll probably need to learn to live with.
Harriet: I’m going to get some sleep. Speak tomorrow.
Talia: We love you!
Parker: I’m raising a glass in your honor, preggers.
Margot: See you next week!
I turn my phone to Do Not Disturb and flick off the bedside lamp. Satisfied with how the day’s gone, my brain switches off easily, and I slip under within minutes.
Bang.
I snap up in bed, clutching the sheets to my chest. The clock reads 2:56 a.m. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I try to figure out if the noise was in my dream or not, which is when my full bladder makes itself known.
I pull on a pair of pajama shorts and tip-toe my way out of the bedroom toward the bathroom.
On my way back to bed, there’s another bang, followed by a deep, distressed groan.
Not in my dream.
I wait, listening carefully to hear it again.
This time, it’s a muffled sob.
Coming from Warren’s room.
Concern seeps in, and I bypass my room. I’m silent, holding my breath as I press my ear to the cool wood of his door. I don’t want to overstep until a sharp “No!” perforates the quiet house, and I shove all hesitation aside and twist the handle.
I’m not sure what I was expecting to find, but seeing Warren thrash on the bed, the sheets wound tightly around his legs, and a mask of pain cutting into his features is the last thing.
The door snicks shut behind me, and I slowly approach.
“Warren?” I whisper.
His eyes remain clamped shut, clenched fists twitching at his sides. “No. No. No. I-I’m sorry.”
“Warren,” I repeat louder and gently lay a hand on his forearm. It’s slick with sweat. He’s only in a pair of briefs and glancing down, his body glistens. “Hey, it’s me, Harriet. You’re having a nightmare.”
There’s no reaction. He continues writhing and choking out a broken, “I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry. I’m sorry.”
You’re not supposed to wake a sleepwalker, but this isn’t that. He’s in misery.
Leaning over him, I take hold of his shoulders and shake. “Warren, wake up. C’mon.”
Dark eyes ping open, void and unblinking. Before I can react, he shoots up and a pair of strong hands wrap around my wrists. His bare chest heaves, breaths struggling to escape him with each ragged exhale. The grip he has is strong but not painful. He’s the one hurting.
“I’m so sorry,” he gasps, shaking his head. “I tried. I tried. I should’ve tried harder.”
“Shhh. It’s okay.” He isn’t fully awake and, not wanting to startle him to consciousness, I speak softly while easing out of his hold. “Lie down.”
His head jerks, voicing rising. “I have to help them.”
Lowering myself to the edge of the bed, I brush his hair from his sweaty forehead, hoping to soothe whatever memories dig their claws into his mind. “Lie down. I’m right here.”
Whether he’s aware of my presence or not, he obeys and settles against the mattress. I quickly replace the soaked sheets with a blanket hanging over the foot of the bed.
Vacant and unmoving, he stares up at the ceiling.
Something in me cracks at the sight. Firefighters see a lot of awful things. They’re usually the first on the scene, bearing witness to tragedies continuously. Is that what’s triggering this nightmare?
He calms under my touch, body gradually returning to its sleepy state.
I start to retreat. “I’m next door if you need me.”
His gaze remains glued forward, weathered and worn by his haunted dreams. “Don’t leave me. Please.”
The last word is hoarse and brimming with despair, shredding the last of my resolve.
Screw the boundaries and lines. He can tell me to go. Only, he doesn’t. He doesn’t move a muscle when I climb into bed beside him, link our fingers, and, with my other hand, stroke the soft hairs along his jaw.
“Please don’t leave me,” he whimpers, and I hush him softly, trying to ease him back to sleep when he suddenly turns to me, recognition flaring in his eyes. “Harriet?”
“Yeah, it’s me. You’re not alone.” I watch as the tension eases from his shoulders, his fingers squeezing mine in silent acknowledgement. “You’re at your parent’s house. Safe.”
“Safe,” he echoes, almost testing the word. “Are you safe?”
I pause. “I’m very safe. Especially with you.”
He swallows, voice leaden with regret. “They weren’t.”
Whatever questions zip around my brain go unasked. Now isn’t the time. “Everyone is safe, you can rest. Try closing your eyes.”
Right before his eyelids flutter closed, a darkness shadows his features, shrouding him in despair again.
Just as my arm numbs, his breathing grows shallow. I study him, cataloging the gray hairs on his temple and beard, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, the strong bridge of his nose. Small welts and scars decorate his hands and forearms. Occupational hazards.
Whatever barricades he had up crumbled this evening, leaving him the most vulnerable I’ve witnessed in the short time we’ve known each other.
I could return to my room. I should. Instead, I rest my head on his shoulder and join him, hoping whatever demons haunted him stay away.
Turns out, pretending last night never happened is the route we’re going.
Groggy and weighted with sleep, I wake to find the space beside me cold and empty.
There’s an extra blanket draped over me, a fresh glass of orange juice, water, and a mini box of cereal on the bedside table, confirming Warren was here at some point and the events of last night weren’t my imagination.
It’s Sunday, meaning no work for most, but Warren and Marcus are both on shift later, and I’m meeting with the girls for brunch at Margot’s.
Needing out of his bedroom, I dash for the door and slink down the corridor. I almost make it until an amused voice sounds behind me.
“Do I pretend to not see you or greet you good morning?”
Angling my head, I meet Ben’s gaze, sparkling with mischief.
He’s easy to like and I return his smile. “The latter is fine, so long as you promise to not make it weird. It isn’t what it looks like.”
“And what does it look like?” He cocks a brow.
“That I’m sneaking out of Warren’s room.” My response is breezy.
He’s itching to make a joke. “You’re new here, so I’ll take it easy on you.” He winks. “Now, be on your way before my mom or sister sees you. That’ll get the rumor mill churning, and I can’t help you then.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn back to the door before pausing and facing him again. “Ben?”
“Yeah?”
“Warren…” I start, unsure how to word my thoughts. “Is there anything I should know?”
Ben’s posture shifts, spine straightening and mouth flattening. “What do you mean?”
I don’t divulge the reason I was in Warren’s room, choosing to stick to safer territory. “Anytime I try to talk to him about work, he freezes or dismisses the question. I don’t want to overstep but I get the impression he doesn’t like talking about it.”
He sighs, as if expecting my response. “Don’t take it personally.
He’s convinced himself discussing any aspect of what he does isn’t right.
It’s about helping people, end of story.
He has somewhat of an inferiority complex.
He’s fantastic at what he does, but the years have taken its toll on him, along with life. ”
“Does he have someone to talk to if a call is traumatic or…fatal?”
Ben swallows. “He does.”
His tone tells me there’s more to say, but he doesn’t continue, and I don’t press. “Sorry, I know it’s not my place. I’ll see you downstairs.”
“He wasn’t always like this.” Ben steps closer, voice hushed. “Some see him as withdrawn and cold. He prefers it that way. He’s careful who he lets in, and him bringing you here this weekend speaks volumes, Harriet. I want you to know that.”
I circle my stomach. “Kinda gave him no choice.”
Ben’s head rocks sideways. “Agree to disagree. In the grand scheme of things, you’re a stranger in his world, and it might seem small, but this is big to him.
My brother carries the world on his shoulders, no matter how heavy the burden.
There are things I hope he’ll share with you one day that’ll help him make more sense.
For now, trust me when I say, while this wasn’t planned, you coming into his life might be the best thing for him in a long time. Just do me a favor?”
I nod. “Anything.”
“Warren has a lot of love to give, but it doesn’t come easy to him. Not anymore.” Ben rests a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. “Be patient with him. For all the people in the world to tie yourself to accidentally, you picked a good one. Trust me.”