Page 51 of Say You'll Never Let Go

He insisted on sleeping on the floor again. She should have known he wouldn’t give in so easily. If she’s honest with herself, she can’t shake the memory of his last nightmare, either.

Kara is not afraid of him, but she was afraid in that moment, when he had her pinned to the bed, threatening to kill her. It’s too soon to assume he’ll never have another backslide.

So, she relented. Much as she hates to admit it, maybe he’s right. If they allow another incident, it’ll only set them back further. For now, the safest option is to sleep apart, even if the distance is killing her. She tosses and turns, unable to think of anything except Wade on the floor while she’s in a comfortable bed. She might have had just as hard a time if he were beside her, waiting for a nightmare she knows is coming.

There’s no winning, no right choice, and that’s got her on edge.

Moving is stressful, even without his added trauma. The change from the blue house to this new one is the perfect opportunity for his mind to betray him. This place already had him hiding out in the smallest space he can find and flinching at every new sound. It’s overwhelming and they both know it.

Her subconscious has kept her on alert and spared her any recent nightmares of her own. They come on the worst when herstress reaches a boiling point, though, and she suspects the same is true for him, so they’ve tried to prepare for the inevitable. She’s been given instructions to launch a pillow at his face to wake him. She’s supposed to be a safe place, not another source of terror, but their options are limited. He’s the most hostile she’s ever seen him when he’s dreaming. She isn’t about to risk being on the wrong end of that rage.

A few hours in, a painful sound drifts up to where she’s staring at the ceiling. He kicks the blanket away and calls out her name as if she might save him.

Kara doesn’t overthink what she’s about to do, just grabs a soft pillow and aims it directly at his face. It does the job, even if it leaves her guilty the instant she commits. He wakes with a start and squeezes feathers from the offending object before punching it with a closed fist.

That could have been her face if she got too close. At the moment, she’s glad she listened when he insisted they sleep apart. Can’t assume herself protected with nothing more than the strength of their trust when his fear overwhelms all else.

“Wade? Look at me. You were dreaming.”

He comes out of it easier this time. Drops the pillow and falls back against his own as she peers over the edge of her mattress.

“Hey,” he whispers sadly. “You okay? I didn’t get you, did I?”

“I’m fine.”

His eyes slam shut as he tries to gather himself, hands flailing for an anchor, before falling with a thunk against the floor.

“Come up here,” she says softly. “It’s okay now. Come on.”

“Can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You’re awake. You know it’s me, right? It’s safe.”

She would crawl down there instead, but it’s easier if he comes to her.

This nightmare must have been awful for how little coaxing he needs to join her. His need for contact is as plain to see as his reluctance to allow it when he slips under the covers and struggles to find a comfortable spot. He reaches for her more than once before changing his mind. Only settles when his leg brushes hers, but it’s short-lived relief after he pulls it back again.

“Remember what I said before? You can touch me however you want. That’s still true.”

It is so hard for him to accept, likely for more reasons than she’ll ever know. This is having the opposite effect than she intended when she invited him up. Instead of relaxing, he’s only tense and agitated, fighting with himself over how to make this work.

“Just take what you need,” she tries again, offering so much of herself in that simple statement.

Hold me in your arms or press your naked body to mine. Cry into my chest or find solace in the most carnal of ways.

She would give herself to him if that’s what he needed, without hesitation or regret. It would be a comfort for her, too. Some part of her wishes that he’d allow himself to sink into her if he could find safety there, but that’s not who he is. He could never take that. Instead, he curls himself around her in a slow approach. His head finds her chest where her heart beats steadily, one arm wrapping along her ribs in a loose hold.

He’s tentative and embarrassed if the crimson flaring up his neck is any indication. It takes longer than it should for him to commit to the position, waiting for her to change her mind and shove him away.

She lies still, holding her breath while he fits himself against her, only wrapping her arms around him once he’s gone heavy and his inhales even out into a soft cadence.

He’s half hard against her hip, but she doesn’t assume that’s a reaction to her. Any number of emotions from that nightmare could have prompted him to go haywire.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be. Tell me about your dream?”

“You don’t wanna hear that.”