CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
ELISE
I WOKE UP to silence.
Not the kind that wrapped you in comfort, but the strange kind that pulled you awake and made you notice things you usually wouldn’t.
The bed beside me was warm, the sheets still indented where Nathan had been lying. But he wasn’t there.
For a moment, panic pricked at me. Old habits, leftover from the weeks of fear when Jax could’ve been anywhere. I sat up, listening, and that’s when I heard the faint creak of the floorboards downstairs, the low hum of a TV somewhere in the distance.
I slid out of bed, padding quietly until I found him.
Nathan was on the couch, the glow of the muted television washing over his face. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands raked through his hair. His eyes weren’t on the screen, though. They were far away and unfocused.
He didn’t notice me at first. His chest rose and fell too fast, like he was stuck in some memory.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked softly.
His head jerked up, the mask sliding over his face almost instantly. Almost. Because I saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the heaviness in his shoulders before he could hide it away.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” His voice was rough and a little too even.
“You didn’t.” I walked closer, sitting beside him. “But you’ve been up for a while, haven’t you?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just rubbed his palms together, staring down at them like the words he wanted to say were carved into his skin. Finally, he exhaled.
“I thought I was doing better. That I had beaten my insomnia. I haven’t had any trouble sleeping over the last week or so.” He explained.
I stayed quiet, giving him the space to choose what to share.
“After my mom died, closing my eyes felt like giving someone permission to take everything from me again. So I stayed awake. I kept watch. And even now...” he let out a bitter laugh “Even now, some nights I swear I still hear the floorboards creak, like it’s happening all over again.
And then when Jax went after you, it was like that fear, that same helplessness, slammed back into me.
I couldn’t stop it, just like I couldn’t stop it with my mom.
Some nights, that’s all I can think about. ”
The crack in his armor nearly broke me.
I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. “I get it. Losing someone you love, feeling powerless… I can feel why it keeps you awake,” I lifted his hand to my cheek, pressing it gently. “Nathan, look at me. I’m here. I’m okay. I’m safe. You don’t have to carry that fear alone.”
For a moment, he just stared at me, like he was trying to figure out what to do with the comfort. Then, slowly, he let out a breath and leaned back against the couch, his hand still holding mine.
His grip on my hand was tight, almost like he didn’t trust that I’d stay if he let go.
I squeezed back gently. “Come back to bed with me.”
Nathan gave a short huff of a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “You know I won’t sleep.”
“Maybe not,” I said, shifting closer until our shoulders touched, “but at least you won’t be awake alone.”
His eyes flicked toward me, the faintest softening in them, like he wanted to believe that was enough. Like maybe it could be.
I tugged on his hand, coaxing. “Please.”
For a heartbeat, he stayed put, knuckles white where his fists rested against his knees. But then, slowly, he let me pull him up. His body was warm and solid beside mine, but there was a heaviness to the way he moved, like he was carrying too much, even now.
Back in the bedroom, I climbed onto the mattress first, waiting until he slipped in beside me. He lay stiff at first, hands clasped over his chest, staring at the ceiling as though the dark could betray him.
I rolled toward him, pressing close, and laid my head against his chest. The steady thud of his heartbeat thrummed beneath my ear. “You don’t have to close your eyes,” I whispered. “Just breathe with me.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move. His chest rose and fell too quickly, too shallow. So I slowed mine, exaggerating the rhythm. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. After a while, his body began to match mine, the tension easing out of his shoulders bit by bit.
His hand found my back, sliding up until his fingers tangled lightly in my hair. “You’re dangerous, Cupcake,” he murmured, voice roughened with exhaustion.
“Why’s that?”
“Because you make me want things I shouldn’t.” His thumb brushed the back of my neck, a soft, unconscious gesture that made my chest ache. “Things my dad would probably say he knew I’d find with you.”
I tilted my head, confused. “Your dad?”
Nathan gave a short, humorless huff and shook his head. “Ignore me. I’m tired. Talking nonsense.”
But when he pulled me closer, burying his face against my hair, the heaviness in his hold told a different story.
I didn’t need answers, not tonight. All I needed was his heartbeat steady beneath my ear and his arms wound tight around me like I was the only thing keeping him here.
But even as his hold anchored me, I couldn’t shake the whisper of a truth he wasn’t ready to share.
And I knew, sooner or later, it would find us.