Page 166 of His Reckoning

“Hey,” I whisper.

Without thinking, I move closer and wrap my arms around him. His body is burning hot and trembling.

At first, he goes rigid in my arms, like he’s not used to someone touching him in this moment.

But then his shoulders sag slightly. His forehead presses against my neck as his breathing slowly starts to calm.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur quietly.

My fingers move through his damp hair, slow and steady.

“You’re okay.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just sits there, letting me hold him while the adrenaline slowly drains out of his body.

After a few minutes, his breathing evens out again. Carefully, he lies back down beside me.

This time, he turns toward me, pulling me closer, like he doesn’t want space between us.

Within minutes, he’s asleep again, but I stay awake, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Wondering what kind of nightmare makes a man like Sawyer scream in his sleep.

* * *

When I wake up, it takes a moment to remember where I am.

The sunlight coming through the windows is softer than usual, filtered through the curtains that Sawyer never bothered closing before I started staying here.

I feel the warmth behind me. His arm is draped loosely across my waist, heavy and protective.

Sawyer is still asleep. That almost never happens. For a few seconds, I just lie still, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

Last night flashes through my mind in pieces.

The nightmare, him screaming, and the way his body shook like he was fighting something he couldn’t see.

My chest tightens slightly at the memory.

I turn my head carefully. Sawyer’s face is relaxed now, the tension that normally sits in his jaw completely gone while he sleeps.

It’s strange, seeing him like this. Soft, unprotected, and human.

A small part of me realizes something at the same time.

He didn’t push me away after. Nor did he tell me to go back to my room. Instead, he pulled me closer.

Sometime during the night, he fell back asleep with his arm still around me.

My fingers move lightly across the sheet, tracing the edge of the blanket while my brain tries to process what that means.

Sawyer Maccini doesn’t let people see his weak moments—everyone knows that.

But last night, he did … with me.

The thought sends something warm through my chest.

Carefully, I shift in the bed. Sawyer stirs slightly behind me.