8. He Didn’t See Past the Nightmare
He Didn’t See Past the Nightmare
Aiden
My eyes snapped open.
Reality was hazy. Inky shadows drowned the room, plunging me back into the choking waves of a nightmare I never quite woke up from.
Where am I?
Lost. Stuck . My heart hammered in my chest. A scratchy, broken reel of images played over and over, and even with my eyes forced open, raindrops danced in the slow swirls of red and blue lights over a silent highway.
Nights were always worse.
I pressed my hand to my chest, forcing myself to swallow the rock blocking my throat. The squeal of ancient springs under my weight speared through my temple.
Get up.
I sucked in another breath and tried to move, but my body stayed tangled in sheets and the pale, delicate limbs of… a woman? I squinted through the shadows. No, not just any sheets. Pink sheets. A fist squeezed around my heart.
Lola.
I eased my leg out from between soft thighs, and my hand slipped away from the gentle curve of her belly.
Lola grumbled in a sleepy protest.
“Shh,” I soothed, stroking trembling fingers along her hip, wild eyes scanning the room. “It’s okay, love.”
It wasn’t. Not at all. I’d stayed too long. I’d never meant to fall asleep. I—
The steady, unforgiving click of a clock filled the gloom.
I screwed my eyes shut. Every tick, tick, tick was like brittle nails hammering into a fragile skull. There were no clocks in my house. I couldn’t risk it—and I was about to make damn sure there wasn’t a clock in Lola’s cottage, either. I’d hunt that thing down and smash it into a thousand pieces.
I pushed off the bed, but a sleepy hand gripped my side.
“Where…you…?” Lola’s voice was groggy and still on the edge of dreams.
“Go back to sleep, love.” My hand shook when I smoothed back her hair. I kissed the spot on her shoulder dotted with freckles. “I’m just going to the bathroom.”
All I had to do was stick to the routine.
I’d done it a thousand times before. Find the bathroom. Splash some water on my face. Force my mind out of a tortured past back to the present. I could stop the panic before it spiralled out of control if I just followed the routine.
“Mmm ’kay… That way…” Lola’s finger pointed to the hallway before she smooshed her face back into the pillow.
I reached blindly over the side of the bed, fingers sweeping the floor for my clothes. Lola’s lacy knickers. Her pretty dress. My underwear underneath. That would do. I tugged up the black cotton as I stood.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
My body forgot how to keep me upright. I sank to the floor. The room disappeared into blackness—just like the road that night when raindrops danced in the fog of headlights swirling white, then blue, then red.
“Not real.” I screwed my eyes shut, but my heart thumped even faster. “Not real.”
Shuddering in a long, slow breath, I clenched my fist. I could stop it. Just this once. For Lola. I wouldn’t make it to the bathroom, so I needed to skip ahead and follow the rest of the steps.
What can I see?
I swivelled my head, a shaky smile on my face when I curled my finger around Lola’s pinkie dangling off the side of the bed. I could see her. My sweet girl. The pink sheet twisted around her legs to hide her bare skin, and her hair fanned over the pillow. Beautiful.
The hammering of my heart slowed.
What can I smell?
Sex. Patchouli. Before I’d made love to Lola the second time, she’d wriggled away from me to light one of her candles. She’d told me the scent was patchouli. Never heard of it. Smelled like clean laundry. Smelled like Lola.
The rasps of my breath evened out.
What can I hear?
Lola. Her quiet snuffles.
Tick.
Tick—
Unforgiving hands pressed over my ears. The clock. I couldn’t hear anything but that damn clock.
The scratchy, broken reel of images started spinning again—faster and faster—coming together in one long horror movie. The highway. The steady beat of the indicator as I cruised along the road. The blur of headlights where they shouldn’t be. The swirl of red and blue.
Vomit raced up my throat, but I fought to keep it down. Frantic, I yanked on my pants and stuffed my arms in my shirt sleeves before pulling it over my head. I had to get out of that cottage. Away from that clock. Just…
Away .
I’d stayed too long.
My mind was a haze of reality and a past I never forgot as I stumbled down the narrow hallway, grabbed my boots, and launched out the front door.
The second the cold night air hit me outside, I collapsed to my knees and then lurched forward, hurling my guts up behind the untamed hedges near Lola’s front door.
“You weak fucking bastard.” I punched my fist against my thigh. “Get the fuck up.”
Shaking, my eyes focused on nothing but my truck, I got up, forcing one foot in front of the other. Down the path. Out the gate. I slumped against the front tyre of my truck.
My keys dug into my skin through the pocket, but I knew I wouldn’t need them. I rarely drove at night and never this close to the edge. I sure as hell didn’t want some poor cop getting called out of bed to scrape my car off a tree.
I lifted my head just enough to glance back at the cottage. I sure as hell wasn’t going back in there, either. What other options did I have? Sleep in my truck? The gossips would love that. Yolanda had probably already alerted half the town about the fact I’d been parked out front for hours.
Looks like I’ll be walking back to my workshop.
I jammed my feet into my stupid socks. Boots next. A dog perked up at the sound of my heavy, uneven footsteps cracking along the road, and if I saw the flutter of Yolanda’s front curtains as I passed, I ignored it.
It was easy to ignore everything when guilt crushed my chest.
Lola wasn’t the type for something casual. I certainly hadn’t given her the impression I was, but I’d never planned to stay. My promise to treat her like a gentleman? Yeah, that had lasted for about twenty seconds after I saw her standing there, hugging the door, looking so goddamn beautiful.
That woman made me so weak, but I could never let my guard down around her again.
What life could she possibly have with me? Constantly walking on eggshells, waiting for me to snap? She deserved better. And what would she say if she found out the truth of why I’d ended up this way?
No.
No fucking way.
Lola and I were never happening.
I’d make sure of it.
Harry’s boots scuffed along the workshop floor. The sound was the first thing that dragged my attention away from the vanity drawers I’d been crafting for most of the morning.
“Hey, old man.”
I scowled when he dumped his cooler on the concrete, his tool belt dropping on top a second later. He aimed his empty iced coffee bottle for the bin like a pro basketballer. Turns out, he was a shit shot. The bottle hit the wall and bounced along the ground.
“You gonna pick that up?” I grumbled.
Harry shrugged. “Later.”
I wedged the chisel into the wood, flicking my eyes up at him before my attention went back to my work. “How is it that ninety percent of this place is mine, but a hundred percent of the mess is yours?”
“A little thing I like to call teamwork .”
I grunted and went back to the dovetail joints.
Harry’s hip slanted against the bench beside me. “You in one of your moods again?” The fact I ignored him only made him laugh. “That’s a yes. Come on, it’s ten thirty. Let’s hit the road for the coffee shop.”
And risk seeing Lola in town? Hell no. “Not today.”
“What about your whole morning routine?”
I flattened my lips and refused to say a word.
My morning routine had gone out the window when I’d abandoned the woman of my dreams and spent the rest of the night pretending I could fall asleep in the back room of the workshop instead.
Then, I’d crept back under the cover of dawn like a coward to pick up my car.
Yeah, it was safe to say my well-worn routine had gone out the window.
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You’re acting sus. You’re usually a drill sergeant. Monday. Ten thirty sharp. Coffee. Right?”
I put my tools down. Truthfully, I was tired as shit, and my back was killing me after being stuck on the pull-out cot. Caffeine sounded good. Maybe Lola wouldn’t be at the coffee shop. She wasn’t there every day. Not like the store…
“Okay,” I muttered.
Wrong call.
Brooke and Lola were wandering towards the coffee shop just as I pulled into the parking space out front. I almost took out a tourist because my eyes were too busy staring at the sweet girl clutching a bright pink container instead of focusing on the road.
Harry was out of the truck in a flash. “Hey, Lola from the City!”
Lola shrank back. She really hated that nickname. Not that Harry noticed. Grinning, he waved to her and then bounded into the coffee shop. Brooke tottered after him.
I would’ve followed, too, but Lola blocked my way. Café tables and the metal bin trapped me on both sides. I couldn’t dodge her.
Her eyes dropped to the pink container clutched against her stomach. “Hi,” she whispered.
I said nothing.
“We didn’t get to say goodbye this morning.” Lola hesitated, taking a breath that made her shoulders hike up. “You, um… probably had a big job to get started on…or…something?” Her blue eyes lifted, misty, and she buried her teeth in her lip.
My heart twisted. I’d done that. Hurt her. I could’ve made some flimsy excuse and softened the blow, but we couldn’t risk another night together.
“No,” I said, flat.
Her eyebrows pinched together. “Oh.” She pushed her glasses up, an uncertain smile on her pretty lips. “We never got to dessert after, um…” She held out the container. “It’s a piece of the apple pie.”
Lola was so damn sweet and perfect. I wanted to sink to my knees and confess everything. Beg her to forgive me and give me another chance. Take her home to my bed and show her how sorry I was.
I didn’t. I stood there. Silent.
Unsettled by the stone wall glaring back at her, Lola’s eyes darted around the street. “Apple is your favourite, right?”
“Don’t need it.”
Another smile cracked through her confusion. “Well, no one needs apple pie.” She laughed nervously. “But here”—she thrust the container at me—“it’s home-baked and so yummy. I tried some for br—”
Lola’s words died in her throat when my palm landed flat against the container. I pushed it back at her.
“Don’t want it,” I said.
The water pooling in the corners of her eyes disappeared with rapid blinks, but she pulled the pink container protectively into her chest. “Aiden, did I do something wr—”
“It’s busy in there today!” Harry bounded up with a laugh. “Oh!” His eyes landed on the container. “What you got there, Lola from the City?”
Lola winced. That name again. “Apple pie.” She looked nervously between Harry and me. “Would you like it?”
“Oh, hells yeah! You’re a great cook, right?” Harry grinned as he balanced our coffee cups on top of each other to free up a hand. “Gimme that.”
My gaze narrowed on Harry’s grubby paw wrapping around my gift. Lola had packed that for me. I clenched my jaw. If I didn’t get to have it, he sure as hell wasn’t. I snatched the pink container from him and whipped around to glare at Lola. She shuffled a step backwards.
My voice was low, nothing but ice, when I said, “Take the hint, Lola.”
I dumped the container into the bin beside her.
Harry’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Why the f—”
“We’re going,” I snapped at him.
I stormed back to the car and ignored Harry’s whispered questions about what the hell was happening. None of his business, that was what I told him. He wouldn’t get a word out of me, but people would be talking around town soon enough.
Lola stood there, frozen, her head bent, arms hanging limply at her sides. She wouldn’t stop staring at that bin. Her eyes only lifted to catch mine just as I opened the door to my truck. A tear slid down her cheek.
I was such a selfish fucking bastard.
The devastation on her face shattered my heart, but pretending that treating her like that didn’t destroy me, like it didn’t bother me at all, I turned my back on her and left.