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“Kylie,” I rasped, my heart hammering inside my chest.
I stormed into her room, and when I didn’t see her, I pushed open the door of the en suite bathroom.
I froze as I saw her on her hands and knees, dressed in sleep shorts and a matching tank top, her red hair falling in a curtain around her face.
“Kylie,” I said in a harsh whisper.
She pushed her hair back to look up at me, but my eyes were riveted on the mess in front of her.
“Blood. So much blood. Broken glass. Fuck!” I cursed, paralyzed as the scene I was witnessing was overlaid with what had happened two years ago.
“Dylan?” a female voice said, her tone full of concern.
“Too much blood,” I rasped.
Kylie rose and stood in front of me, pushed me back, and pulled the bathroom door closed behind her.
“It’s not blood, Dylan,” she said softly as she took my hand. It’s just a broken candle. I lit it while I was taking a bath. I knocked it off the bathtub ledge when I went to blow out the flame. It’s just bright red, liquid candle wax.”
I shook my head, trying to reason out what was real and what wasn’t as I reached out for her, tugged her into my arms, and held her so tightly that she squeaked.
“You have to be all right, Kylie. Please fucking tell me you’re not hurt,” I said, my voice half pleading and half demanding.
She felt warm, soft, and…alive.
Kylie was speaking.
She was standing on her own two feet, but I still couldn’t shake off my disabling fear.
She wrapped her arms around my body protectively as she crooned, “Breathe, Dylan. It wasn’t blood. I wasn’t injured. I was clumsy, that’s all.”
I suddenly realized that my breathing was heavy, and my heart was pounding in my ears.
I threaded my hand into her hair and pulled her head against my chest, trying to make sure she was protected as I rocked her smaller body in my arms.
“Breathe, Dylan. Just breathe,” she said in a calm, gentle voice. “It was just a flashback. I’m okay. You’re okay. Trust me.”
“I don’t give a fuck about me,” I said in a graveled voice. “I care about you. Nothing can happen to you, Kylie. Nothing.”
My irrational terror had subsided, but I still couldn’t let her go.
“I’m fine, Dylan,” she said as she pulled her head back and put a palm on each side of my head. “Just look at me.”
I did, and my relief at seeing her smiling face nearly floored me. “Thank fuck!”
“Flashback gone?” she asked in a serene voice.
I shook my head as I told her, “It wasn’t exactly a flashback. Nothing has triggered a reaction like that in a long time. It was like my past and my present got confused for a minute. I thought you were hurt. Bleeding.”
“It makes sense,” she assured me. “It was red candle wax that looked just like blood, and the glass shattered. I was just wiping it up.”
“Don’t,” I said gruffly as I kissed her forehead and then pulled her toward the bed. “Sit. I’ll clean it up. There’s too much broken glass. You could cut yourself.”
She sat down next to her sleeping miniature beagle with a small smile on her face. “And you can’t cut yourself?”
“Better me than you,” I replied as I moved to the bedroom door and retrieved the towels I’d dropped on the floor. I could handle watching myself bleed profusely, but I wasn’t sure my heart could take seeing even a drop of Kylie’s.
“Are you okay to be doing that?” she asked, sounding worried.
