Page 72 of Shelter for Shay

Moose knew better than most that this wasn’t going to be an easy journey, but in the end, Shay was the air that he breathed and he’d do anything to help her find that safe space again.

18

SHAY – MONDAY NIGHT | THE REFUGE, NEW MEXICO

Atight zip-tie was carved into her wrists. Her mouth was taped shut. The cold muzzle of the gun pressed against her temple.

“Say goodbye,” Blake whispered.

She turned her head. Moose was on his knees, blood blooming across his chest, his eyes locked on hers.

“You came,” she tried to say.

But the words wouldn’t come. The tape held them back.

Blake pulled the trigger.

Moose fell.

Dead weight. Lifeless eyes.

And Shay screamed.

She jerked upright with a choked sob, limbs tangled in the quilt, her chest heaving like she’d been underwater. The room was too dark. Too hot. Too silent. Her body trembled, heart jackhammering against her ribs, fingers clawing at the sheets like they were restraints.

Moose bolted upright beside her. “Shay?”

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Her hands pressed to her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’tthink.

“Shay, look at me. You’re safe. You’re with me and we’re both okay.”

She gasped, the sound ragged. “He shot you. I saw it. Ifeltit?—”

“No. No, sweetheart. That was a dream. I’m okay. I’m right here.”

She blinked. “It was so real, Moose. I heard the gun. I felt the blood. I saw your eyes. You weren’t breathing.”

She folded into him with a whimper, pressing her face into his chest as he wrapped his good arm around her and held her tight. His heartbeat thundered against her cheek. Solid. Steady.

Real.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “You’re safe. It’s over.”

But it didn’tfeelover.

Her body still trembled with phantom terror, the nightmare etched into her skin like a bruise that wouldn’t fade. “What if it doesn’t stop?” she rasped. “The dreams. The fear. What if I’m never the same again?”

Moose held her tighter. “I told you that I’d never lie, so the hard truth is that you won’t.”

She stiffened.

“But that’s not a bad thing,” he said gently. “You survived something that should’ve broken you. And yeah, it’s going to leave marks. But you get to decide what they mean. You get to decide who you are on the other side.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him. His hair was a mess, his face drawn with sleep and worry, the bandage on his arm stark in the moonlight.