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Eighteen

Willow

For once, my dreams aren’t filled with nightmares.

There’s no Dylan hiding in the shadows, bursting out to terrorize me.

No scary memories of pain exploding in my middle, bruises and contusions carefully hidden by my clothes, my movements, no fists darting out to catch me unaware.

It’s just peaceful oblivion.

And when I wake, it’s gentle.

Because it’s to the soft rumble of a male voice I know in my soul is safe, the same soft rumble that drew me out of the fog that had clung to my mind and kept me in the hospital, carefully ensconced away from Dylan.

My eyes peel back, and the fact that not for one second do I wonder where I am hits deep.

But in the best way.

I’m in Hudson’s arms.

I’m safe.

And I’m listening to him talk, very quietly.

“...yeah, Atlas,” he murmurs. “I’ll let her know as soon as she wakes up. Thanks for the call.”

My head bounces slightly as he shifts, setting the phone on the nightstand, and though I’m tempted to keep lying here in his warm embrace, the strong breadth of his chest beneath my cheek, the thrum of his heartbeat in my ear, his sigh is too troubled for me to ignore.

I lift up slightly. “What’s the matter?”

He touches my cheek. “Promise me you won’t be pissed at Atlas.”

“I—” My eyebrows furrow, but before I can ask him what the hell that means, he shifts us, gathering me close as he reclines back against the headboard.

“Promise me that much, princess?”

My heart thuds hard against my rib cage. “Is he trying to hurt me?”

His eyes go wide. “God, no. Baby, he wouldn’t do that. He got worried after what you shared last night and he did some investigating.”

“Okaaay,” I say carefully.

“Unfortunately…”

My heart thuds again.

“…that digging didn’t take much effort—mostly because Dylan released a statement on social media today.”

I suck in a breath, close my eyes, not releasing it until I know my voice will be steady. “What did it say?”

He gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I think it’s better if you just read it for yourself.” One hand settles on my hip, keeping me pressed to him as he reaches for his nightstand, snags his phone.

My heart…God, it’s pounding so hard now that I can barely breathe, barely think, barely keep my body in this bed.

I want to run.

To allow that fog to slip over me and pretend my life isn’t my life. To hide and cower and live a shell of an existence.