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Yet it hurt more than Bailey could ever imagine that he couldn’t ease Henri of this terror that seemed to taunt him every time he closed his eyes.
The moonlight shimmered through the curtain across the open door, which billowed gently in the soft breeze. The only other sound was the water lapping at the wood below—but then it started again.
At first, Henri’s legs kicked out, the left and then the right. Bailey caught his breath at the violence behind each kick. They were sudden, jagged moves that would hurt if they connected. But luckily, Henri kicked toward the bottom of the bed and Bailey avoided contact.
Next, Henri’s head jerked, and the movement was so abrupt that Bailey imagined it would leave a crick in Henri’s neck when he woke. The moves were agitated, frantic.
“You’re done, Jimmy. You can’t win here tonight.”
Jimmy? That name was new, and Henri said it the way someone would address the devil himself.
Bailey was confused. Priest? Jimmy? The cops? Was this something to do with an old case Henri had worked on? Maybe one Priest had gotten called in on as a lawyer?
Bailey had no idea. But before he could think too much about it, Henri said something that brought him up short, something Bailey wasn’t sure what to do with. Because what could you do when your boyfriend, the man you had taken inside your body and admitted you loved more than you ever thought possible, said, “I’m going to kill you, and no one is going to care.”
“HENRI.”
THERE WAS a firm voice and a palm on his arm shaking Henri awake. He opened his eyes and focused on Bailey, who withdrew his hand the second their gazes met.
It was still dark, so they hadn’t been asleep for long. Henri noted the tangled sheets around his legs and realized he must’ve had one of those fucking nightmares again.
Jesus Christ, what was the matter with him? Here he was in a tropical paradise with the man of his dreams, whom he was likely scaring off by talking in his sleep every time they got into a bed together. At the rate he was going, he’d be lucky if Bailey didn’t have him committed, or at least say he didn’t think it was a good idea if they had sleepovers anymore.
Henri needed to get this shit under control. But as his sleep brain left and he became more alert, Henri realized Bailey was watching with a curious expression. He looked almost wary. Henri offered up a half grin and was about to apologize for whatever it was he’d done—shit, maybe he’d kicked Bailey.
“Who’s Jimmy?”
Nothing—and Henri meant absolutely nothing—could’ve shocked him more. He lay there momentarily paralyzed, waiting for his brain to catch up.
Who’s Jimmy…
Who’s Jimmy…
Who is Jimmy? No fucking one, that’s who, Henri wanted to say. But judging by the look on Bailey’s face, that answer wasn’t going to fly. Bailey looked more serious than Henri ever remembered seeing him. As his cop shifted and sat up on the mattress, Henri racked his brain, trying to think of an explanation for the piece of shit that was Jimmy Donovan.
“I don’t mean to be pushy or nosy,” Bailey said. “But these nightmares of yours get worse every time you close your eyes. And each time a new name pops up, a new ghost to fight off. I just wish I knew more, so…maybe I could help fight them with you.”
Henri stared up at Bailey. The moonlight illuminated the netting surrounding them, making Bailey appear almost…ethereal.
Yeah, maybe that was it. Bailey was an angel come to save Henri from his demons. Or maybe sent for him to confess his darkest deeds to?
Hell, maybe it was both, because why else would someone so good, someone as pure as Bailey, be in love with the likes of him? It made no sense.
“Henri?”
Henri licked at his suddenly dry lips and wondered if Bailey would mind if he excused himself to get a drink—or three. He felt like he’d spent five days in a desert, his throat was so parched, and he couldn’t help but think that a shot or two might ease the tension headache he could now feel forming. “I—”
“Before you say it’s nothing or that you don’t remember, I want you to know that nothing you say to me will make me change the way I feel about you.” Bailey reached out, and it wasn’t until their hands connected that Henri realized his were shaking. “I love you. Please, let me help you the way you helped me. Trust me with your secrets.”
As Henri stared into Bailey’s eyes, he felt as though his heart was about to split in two. What Bailey was asking, Henri knew he couldn’t give. It was too risky, too illegal, and involved too many people that he cared about to share that kind of information with a cop.
