Chapter 15
Fifteen
Thorn
The scream startles me awake from a dead sleep and I’m moving before I fully process it.
Out of my bedroom, down the hall.
Into the guest room.
I don’t knock.
Don’t wait for River to give me permission. Not this time.
“No!” she shouts as I burst inside, flick on the lights, and search the shadows for an intruder.
She’s alone.
Relief barrels through me, at least until I see her pale, sweat-slick skin, her eyes closed but her expression one of terror as she thrashes on the bed, the blankets and sheets all tangled up around her.
Fuck.
I hurry over. “River.”
She jerks violently, her panic radiating off her so intensely it almost burns me.
“River.”
“No—no, stop— Don’t hurt—”
Fuck.
I reach toward her, my first reaction to wake her before I force myself to stop.
What if I make it worse? What if I scare her worse?
“River,” I say again, a little louder, a little more firmly. But my heart is pounding, making it difficult for me to speak calmly, to keep my voice calm and steady. “You’re safe, little hen.”
Her breathing turns ragged.
Her head twists from side-to-side on the pillows.
And dammit, I have to end this.
“Little hen.” I reach out, brush my fingers over her cheek, gentling my voice. “Wake up for me, sweetheart.”
The touch has her eyes snapping open, wild panic in the bright blue depths.
She flinches and flails her arms, trying to get away from me, but she’s still tangled in the sheets, something that makes her panic even more, wrenching herself against the material so fiercely I hear a tear and she nearly falls off the mattress.
“It’s okay,” I say. “You’re okay, little hen. It’s just me. Just Thorn.”
I keep talking, but I don’t touch her again.
And finally, my words seem to get through.
Her eyes clash with mine, her chest heaves violently. But she’s finally here in the present—even though the past still has her in its stranglehold.
I hate it.
Hate seeing the fear in her eyes.
But more so, I hate not being able to kill the man who put it there.
“Can I touch you?” I ask quietly.
She freezes, her stare still fixed on mine even as her lungs work impossibly hard.
Then—thank fuck—she nods.
I carefully stroke back her hair, brush my fingers over her cheek.
“I’m here,” I say. “Just breathe. You’re safe.”
Fast breaths. Clammy skin. But she nods again.
And she lets me gently soothe her.
Slowly, her breathing evens out and I drift my hand lower, along the outside of her throat, to the top of her shoulder, carefully extracting the edge of the blanket.
“You’re here with me,” I tell her calmly. “Well, me and Violet—who’s currently destroying my couch because I snuck out and ate the last of the sugar cookies but didn’t give her any more treats.”
A faint smile.
Thank fuck.
“You’re safe, little hen. I’ve got you.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, releases a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“No.”
Her eyes pop back open.
“No, little hen. You don’t apologize for surviving. Not tonight. Not ever.”
“But—”
I touch her cheek again. “Not ever.”
She bites her bottom lip then nods. “I hate nightmares.”
“Me too.”
Surprise filters across her face but before she can ask me what gives me nightmares, I cup her jaw. “You want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head immediately.
“Okay, little hen.” I straighten the rest of the blankets. “Want to come out in the front room and we can watch another movie?”
Another shake.
“Want me to leave you to go back to sleep?”
A third shake of her head, this one even more vehement.
I search her eyes. “Then what do you want, sweetheart?”
Another silence.
“What do I want?” she asks. “Or what do I need?”
I inhale sharply, desire and terror clawing at me in equal measure. “River,” I begin.
“Will you stay?”
My heart pumps in double time. “Wh-what?” I rasp.
“Will you stay in here with me?” A shaky breath. “Keep the nightmares away?” She covers my hand, squeezes lightly. “Keep them away for both of us?”
There’s no keeping my nightmares away.
But I can help River.
“I’ll grab a blanket,” I murmur. “Sleep on the floor.”
But her fingers don’t release mine. “I need you here, Thorn.”
“I’ll be between you and the door—”
She lifts the blankets.
“No, honey. Here.”
For a moment, I just stare at her.
Then, as though my body is possessed by some other creature, I slip beneath the blanket, lie down beside her.
She rolls to face me. “I used to count backward from a thousand,” she says quietly.
“What?”
“When I had a nightmare and couldn’t go back to sleep.” Her voice roughens slightly. “I’d count things. Cracks. Shadows. Breaths. Numbers.” A shrug. “It helped.”
My jaw tightens painfully. “What do you do now?”
River looks at me for a long moment then she whispers, “Ocean sounds.”
My lungs spasms. “I can get my phone.”
She touches my cheek. “No, honey.” A soft smile. “Because it’s not really the sounds that have been helping me sleep.”
Brows dragging together, I ask, “It isn’t?”
“No.” A breath. “I think…I think it’s because I have you.”
“What?” I rasp again.
“Seeing you,” she murmurs. “Hearing your voice.” She settles a hand on my chest. “Touching you…” She shifts closer, tucks her head into the crook of my arm, her voice softening, her exhale slow and steady. “You remind me that I’m not alone. That I’m safe.”
Her words slam into me, stealing all the breath from my lungs, the words from my tongue.
She burrows closers, her words growing sleepy. “I’m not lonely when you’re close by. Not scared. Not…broken,” she trails off.
More slams.
More stolen breaths and lost words.
But it turns out it doesn’t matter that I can’t speak, can’t breathe.
Because River is drifting off to sleep, her face pressed to my chest, her scent in my nose.
“When you’re in my arms,” I murmur, tucking her close as I reach over to turn off the lights, “I think…” I exhale softly. “I think I might not be broken either.”
A sigh and when I glance down, the moonlight gilding her face, I see her eyes are closed, her breathing is slow and steady.
But her mouth is curved into a smile.
I commit that smile to memory.
Because whatever else happens, however soon she leaves me…
I’ll always have that smile.