Page 34 of She's Like the Wind

She just shook her head. “You men are all assholes.”

“I know,” I agreed and repeated as sincerely as I could, “I’m really sorry.”

Then, I walked out of her fancy place feeling like I’d cheated on Naomi.

It didn’t sit well with me, not at all.

By midnight, I was drunk at my place with the lights off, a half-emptied bottle of bourbon, andKind of Blueplaying on vinyl because, apparently, I liked to punish myself with moody Miles Davis when I was spiraling.

By the time I went to bed, the sky was lightening.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The fan spun lazily above me, the shadows slicing across the walls in rhythm.

I’d apparently drunk myself sober.

My skin itched. My chest felt too tight. I hadn’t felt this out of control in years.

The crash hit before the dream even had time to build.

Rain.

Headlights.

Screaming tires.

The smell of blood and gasoline.

Broken glass.

Lia’s slumped body.

The sound of sirens.

The way her name tore out of me like a wound.

“Lia.”

“No, no, damn it. Open your eyes.”

I woke up choking on my breath, sweat slicking my back, heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted out. My sheets were tangled. My mouth tasted like ash.

The clock read 5:12 a.m. I’d gotten an hour of sleep, tops.

The nightmares were back, and they were fucking with my head.

You know when I didn’t have them? When I was with Naomi.

When I was with her, I slept like I hadn’t slept since I was nineteen.

No jolts.

No screaming awake.

Just her warm body pressed against mine, her hand on my chest, her breathing soft and steady like an anchor pulling me up from the deep.

She never knew. I never told her.

I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, trying to catch my breath.