Tristan #2
“I can walk,” she protests.
“You can,” I agree, already heading for the stairs. “But you’re not going to.”
She sighs, long and theatrical, but she wraps her arms around my neck without further argument and lets me carry her up.
I set her down outside the bathroom, give her some time, then get cleaned up myself and climb into bed. A few minutes later, I hear the bathroom door open, and she pads across the darkened room and gets in beside me, pulling the covers up and settling into the mattress.
When I reach for her this time, she doesn’t move to her edge of the bed.
She lets me pull her in against my side, shifting until her head is resting against my chest and her hand is draped over my abs.
I can feel the moment she stops holding herself carefully apart from me and actually settles into it, her body going soft, her breathing starting to slow and even out.
I stay awake a little longer than she does, lying there in the dark with the sound of the ocean coming in through the cracked window and her hair against my jaw, tickling my skin.
“Goodnight, wife,” I whisper quietly into her hair.
Several seconds go by, long enough that I’m certain she’s already out. But then she speaks, her voice thick with sleep.
“Goodnight… husband.”
I’m still smiling when I close my eyes.
It’s a quarter past one when a sudden noise jolts me awake.
I sit up abruptly, my senses on high alert. Disoriented, I strain to pinpoint what broke me out of a deep sleep. The room is shrouded in darkness, and the sound of Chloe’s breathing fills the space next to me. Then I hear it again—a muffled, almost pained sound coming from her side of the bed.
Shit. That’s what woke me up. It’s her.
My heart clenches with sudden concern as I see her tossing and turning.
Her face goes taut with distress as her breathing becomes more uneven, and her murmurs turn into soft, incoherent cries that make my stomach go tight.
Not quite sure what to do, I reach out, gently shaking her shoulder in an attempt to rouse her from whatever nightmare she’s having.
“Hey,” I murmur. “It’s okay, dimples. It’s just a dream.”
Despite my efforts, Chloe’s distress only seems to intensify. Her movements become more frantic, her cries more desperate. It breaks my fucking heart, and I wrap my arms around her trembling form, pulling her close in an attempt to offer any comfort I can.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I whisper soothingly, even though I have no idea if the words are breaking through. “You’re safe. I’m right here with you. It’s just a bad dream.”
Her grip tightens around me in her sleep, her sobs muffled against my chest as tears stream down her cheeks. I hold her close, my jaw tight and my hand moving rhythmically to stroke her hair, feeling her body shudder against mine.
“What—I—” Suddenly, Chloe jerks awake, her breath coming in heavy, uneven gasps.
She blinks rapidly, her eyes darting around as if trying to make sense of her surroundings.
I feel something shift in her body, her fingers digging into the muscles of my back as she realizes where she is, and the tears continue to fall as she clings to me, her sobs quieter but even more heartbreaking now that she’s awake.
I keep holding her, whispering soft words of reassurance as I stroke her back soothingly.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”
I breathe with her, slow inhales and exhales, letting her match my pace until the hiccupping sobs finally stop. But as she calms down, a new kind of tension seems to fill her body. Pressing on my chest, she extricates herself from my arms, avoiding my gaze.
“What happened?” I ask, my voice low in the darkness. “What was it?”
She doesn’t respond immediately, her breathing still ragged from the remnants of her nightmare. I reach out a hand, but she shakes her head, scooting back over to her side of the bed.
“I’m…” She makes a vague gesture, wiping uselessly at her eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Chloe.” I lean a little closer, trying to see her face. “Are you sure? You were really upset.”
“It was nothing. I’m fine,” she repeats, although it’s fucking obvious that she’s not.
She settles onto the mattress, lying down with her back to me.
It’s a hell of a thing to feel someone close off like that in real time. I’m certain it wasn’t nothing, but pushing right now would probably make it all worse, so I lie back down and stare at the ceiling as I listen to her breathing, which is still slightly uneven but slowing.
I sleep like shit for the rest of the night. Every time she shifts or makes a sound, I’m awake and listening, and by the time morning light starts coming in through the window, I’ve probably gotten another hour in total.
She must slip out while I’m dozing a little after dawn, exhaustion finally claiming me, because when I wake up properly, her side of the bed is empty.
I pull on sweats and head downstairs, and she’s in the kitchen already dressed, one shoe on as she fights with the other one.
She’s trying to slide the heel on while keeping her weight off her injured ankle, swearing under her breath, and she doesn’t hear me come in until I’m almost at the bottom of the stairs.
She looks up, cutting herself off mid-curse. “Oh. Morning. I was just heading out.”
“How’s the ankle?” I ask, studying her.
“Much better.” She sets her foot down carefully with her shoe now on. “Almost back to normal.”
She picks up her purse and adjusts it on her shoulder.
Everything about her is clipped and polished and closed up tight, but I know her well enough to know that it’s just a mask.
Seeing her work so hard to hide her feelings from me, especially after last night, after the way she clung to me in the dark, makes something tighten in my chest like a vise.
“The nightmare you had,” I say, ducking my chin to catch her gaze. “What was it about?”
She shakes her head vaguely, not meeting my eyes. “Just a bad dream, I guess. I feel silly about it now, I don’t even remember what it was.”
She’s lying. I know it. Something passed across her face when I asked, there and then gone, but I caught it. She remembers everything, she just doesn’t want to tell me.
I hate that, but I don’t know what to do about it, and she’s already most of the way out the door.
“I’ll see you tonight.” She throws the words over her shoulder before leaving in a rush.
I shift my weight as I stare after her, the floor cool beneath my feet as the house goes quiet.
Yesterday felt like progress. Real progress, the kind that doesn’t happen by accident. And now she’s gone, and whatever we built yesterday is locked behind that mask she puts on, and I have no idea what scared her badly enough to undo all of it in the middle of the night.
I blow out a breath, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Fuck.”