Page 139 of Almost Ravaged

Sawyer’s ability to coax him out of his shell was nothing short of a miracle. It was impressive, her willingness to be vulnerable with him, to ask him for something none of us were sure he could give.

It’s incredible to be seen and to be wanted by not one but two people. Despite the platonic dynamic between Noah and me, the deep-seated trust we share is what made tonight possible. Regardless of what happens next or where this journey takes us, I’ll never forget the magic of this night.

Though it’s dark, my eyes have adjusted, allowing me to make out Sawyer’s features.

The messy mass of hair piled atop her head. The sharp slope of her nose. The soft curve of her jaw. The roundness of her cheeks.

I’m staring at her like an absolute creeper when her brows pull together and stay like that, causing a crease to form between them.

The whimper she lets out next is not the kind I love to hear from her.

It drips with fear, or maybe pain.

I hold my breath, waiting for the moment to pass. But rather than pass, it gets worse, her eyes screwing shut. Then a quiet but clear “no, no, no” escapes her parted lips.

Fuck. I don’t want to disturb her sleep, but I hate the thought of her experiencing even a modicum of distress.

I’m still warring over what to do when she lets out a much louder “No!”

Noah startles; panic flares inside me.

If she wakes him, the magic of this moment might very well be broken. If he’s disoriented or foggy, he might climb out of bed and leave. I don’t know what it would do to Sawyer to wake up and find him gone in the morning. Especially after he walked through my bedroom door tonight and the most brilliant smile illuminated her face.

Sawyer thrashes against her pillow, the sheet twisting around her.

That’s when I make my move.

With an arm around her, I bring my mouth to her ear. “Shh, sweetheart. You’re all right.”

I cup the back of her neck, searching for a way to calm her. The move has the opposite effect, and she jerks on contact, kicking me in the shin.

I smooth my hand over her face repeatedly and speak in a low, easy tone, hoping I don’t wake Noah as well. “Sawyer, you’re all right. Wake up, sweetheart. You’re all right.”

As I cup her cheek, my palm dampens.

My heart thuds painfully.

Is she crying? In her sleep?

“Sawyer,” I say, louder this time. I have to put an end to her agony.

Her eyes flutter open, and she lets out a gasp.

“Shh.” I kiss her forehead. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re all right.”

All the tension in her body deflates as she comes to. Sniffling, she wiggles closer. I pull her in and hold her tight.

“You’re okay,” I tell her.

Eventually, she nuzzles into my neck, releasing an exhausted sigh.

“You’re okay.”

“I’m really not,” she says into my chest.

I still, though I don’t loosen my hold. “Do you want to talk about it?”

A few charged seconds pass between us before she shakes her head.