Chapter 10
TEN
brOOKE
Grant’s face is too close, his voice too loud, his hands everywhere, and I’m trying to scream but nothing comes out, and my body won’t move, and I can feel the panic climbing up my throat like it’s about to choke me alive.
I jolt awake with a sharp gasp, my heart slamming so hard it actually hurts, like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest. It’s dark out, it must be the middle of the night.
My skin is damp, sweat cooling fast on my face and chest, and it takes me a second to realize I’m breathing like I just ran a mile.
I turn my head and see Rev on the other side of the bed, stretched out on his back, one arm bent over his head, breathing slow and steady. He must’ve come back in after I fell asleep earlier.
My chest tightens a little at that, in a way that’s not panic, just… something softer. Something that makes my throat burn for no logical reason.
I grab my phone off the nightstand and the screen lights up the room just enough for me to squint. 12:47 a.m. I have a bunch of missed texts and calls, all from Bella and Bri. My stomach drops until I open the thread and start reading.
Bri: Good morning, Brookie ??
Bella: Are you awake?
Bri: We’ve been waiting for you to text
Bella: Are you okay??
Bri: Please text us when you wake up
Bella: We love you, okay?
Bella: Rev said you were sleeping
Bri: We love you so much ??
Bella: Like… so much it’s ridiculous
Bri: Seriously, we’re not leaving you alone today
My eyes sting immediately, which is rude because I am so not in the mood to cry again. I scroll to the last message and my chest does that tight, twisty thing all over again.
I type out I’m okay, I just woke up, but then delete it.
It’s almost one in the morning, and if I answer now, they’re both going to be wide awake and spiraling and probably trying to drive over here.
I’ll text them in the morning. When I can sound calm and normal and not like I just ran a marathon in my sleep.
I set my phone down and sit there for a second, trying to slow my breathing, but my heart is still racing and my hands are shaking a little, like my body didn’t get the memo that I’m safe now.
I slide out of bed as quietly as I can, then tiptoe into the hallway and toward the kitchen.
The house is quiet, all dark except for the little nightlight in the hall and the faint glow from the microwave clock.
I grab a glass, fill it with water, and take a long drink, leaning against the counter and trying to convince my nervous system that we are not in immediate danger anymore.
Only, it’s not working. I’m staring into the sink like it might offer emotional guidance when suddenly a voice comes from behind me.
“Brooke?”
“Jesus Christ,” I gasp, spinning around. “Rev, you scared the hell out of me.”
He freezes in the doorway, hair messy, eyes still half-asleep, wearing nothing but his boxers. “I’m sorry. I heard you moving and thought you might need something.”
I clutch my chest dramatically because I am absolutely still recovering from that jump scare. “I almost threw this water at you and then we would’ve had a very different kind of night.”
He laughs. “Yeah, that’s on me.”
We stand there for a second, both of us blinking at each other like our brains are still buffering.
“You okay?” he asks quietly, eyes scanning my face like he’s looking for cracks.
I nod, then shake my head, then settle somewhere in the middle. “I had a bad dream.”
His jaw tightens a little. “About him?”
I hesitate, then nod. “Yeah.”
He steps closer without thinking, not touching me yet, just close enough that I can feel his warmth. “You wanna sit down?”
“I just needed water,” I say, lifting the glass like proof of life. “And maybe to remind myself that I am, in fact, not trapped in my own nightmare.”
He gives a quiet huff of a laugh. “Solid plan.”
I take another sip, then glance at him. “Did I wake you up?”
“Yeah,” he says simply. “But that’s fine.”
Something about the way he says it makes my throat tighten again, and I really wish my emotions would stop freelancing.
“I didn’t mean to,” I say.
“You don’t have to mean anything right now,” he replies. “You wake up, you wake up. That’s it.”
I shift my weight, suddenly aware that I’m standing in his kitchen in his shirt at almost one in the morning with my nerves still doing gymnastics.
He leans back against the counter across from me, mug in his hand, watching me in that quiet, steady way that makes me feel seen without feeling judged.
“You want to talk about the dream?” he asks. “Or you want to pretend it didn’t happen?”
I consider that. “Maybe… not right now.”
“Okay,” he says easily. “Then we don’t.” Silence settles between us, not awkward, just… late-night quiet. Then he says, softer, “I’m glad you woke up.”
I look up at him. “Why?”
“Because if you were having a nightmare, I’d rather you be out here with me than stuck in it alone.” He just reaches for my hand and gently tugs. “Come on. Back to bed.”
Something in his voice tells me this isn’t a suggestion, and honestly, I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts right now anyway.
I follow him down the hall, barefoot and exhausted and still wound too tight. He doesn’t turn on any lights, just guides me by the hand like he already knows exactly where we’re going.
He climbs in first and pulls the blanket back, then opens his arms without saying a word.
I slide in against him, my cheek settling on his chest, his arm coming around my back immediately, firm and steady like he’s anchoring me in place.
His hand rests between my shoulder blades, warm and solid, and my body finally, finally exhales.
“Better?” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “A little.”
He shifts so I’m tucked closer, my head fitting right under his chin, and I can feel the slow, heavy rhythm of his heartbeat under my ear. It’s stupid how much that helps, but it does. Like my nervous system is borrowing his calm because I ran out of my own.
We lie there in the dark, breathing together, and for the first time since I woke up, my thoughts slow down enough that I’m not replaying everything on a loop.
But I’m also… wide awake. My hand is resting on his stomach, fingers splayed over warm skin and ink, and I don’t know when I started doing it, but I’m tracing the lines of his tattoos without thinking. Following the curves and edges, the way the designs move when he breathes.
He stills just a little. Not pulling away. Just… aware. “You okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just… distracting myself.”
He hums softly. “Fair.”
I keep tracing, slow and absentminded, grounding myself in something real and solid and here. That’s when I notice the shift in his body. The subtle change in the way he’s holding himself. The tension that wasn’t there a second ago.
I look down and his very hard cock is standing at attention. Jesus, he’s huge. I freeze, my hand still on his stomach, suddenly very aware of exactly how close we are and how little we’re both wearing. “I—” I start, then stop, not even sure what I was about to say.
He exhales slowly through his nose. “Fuck me, just ignore that.”
Ignore it. Right. Except now I can’t un-notice it, and my body is already a mess of nerves and leftover adrenaline and feelings I absolutely do not have the emotional bandwidth to sort through at one in the morning. “I wasn’t trying to—” I whisper.
“I know,” he says immediately, tightening his arm around me just a fraction, protective not possessive. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just… my body being inconvenient.”
That would almost be funny if it didn’t make my chest feel all tight and fluttery at the same time. “I can move,” I offer, even though the idea of not being right here suddenly feels awful.
He shakes his head against the pillow. “No. Don’t. You’re fine.”
My fingers curl lightly into his skin without me meaning to, like I’m bracing myself against him. “Rev…”
“Yeah, Princess?” He goes still when I say it. Not pulling away. Not moving closer either. Just… still, like every muscle in his body is locked in place on purpose. And that somehow feels way more intense than if he’d shifted.
My fingers are still resting on his stomach, heat under my palm, and I can feel the way his body is tight, coiled, like he’s holding himself back by pure will.
“Brooke,” he says quietly, and my name sounds rough on his tongue, like it costs him something to say it.
“You’re not in a place where I should be pushing anything right now. ”
“I’m not asking you to push,” I whisper. My heart is hammering, and I can feel it everywhere, in my chest, in my throat, in the way my body keeps leaning into his without me telling it to. “I just…” My voice shakes a little. “I don’t want to pretend you don’t feel like this. Or that I don’t.”
That does it. His arm tightens around me, not enough to hurt, but enough that I’m suddenly very aware of how strong he is, how easily he could pull me closer if he let himself.
“Princess,” he murmurs, and now his voice is lower, rougher, like he’s barely keeping it under control.
“You have no idea how hard it is not to pull you into me right now.”
My breath stutters. “Then why don’t you?” I ask, barely louder than the space between us.
He exhales slow and heavy, and then his hand slides from my back to my waist, gripping there like he needs something solid to hang onto.
“Because you trusted me when you were scared, and I’m not ever going to be the guy who blurs that line when you’re not steady yet.
I won’t take from you when what you really need is safety. ”
Something in my chest twists painfully and beautifully at the same time.
“But don’t think for one second,” he adds, voice dropping even lower, “that I don’t feel this. Or that I haven’t wanted you long before tonight.”
My breath catches hard this time. “So you’re just… going to lie here pretending this isn’t happening?” I ask softly.