Page 167 of His Reckoning

His arm tightens instinctively around my waist for a second before he settles again, like he doesn’t want the space between us.

I stare at the ceiling. This is dangerous territory.

The longer I stay here … the harder it’s going to be to pretend this is temporary.

I glance over my shoulder at him again. His hair is messy from sleep, one arm still stretched across the bed, where I am lying.

The most powerful and controlled man I know, and somehow, last night, he let me hold him together.

I exhale slowly.

Yeah, this is definitely dangerous. If I’m not careful, I’m going to start believing that I belong here.

Sawyer wakes a few minutes later. I know the exact moment it happens. His arm tightens around my waist slightly, and his breathing shifts.

For a second, he stays still, like he’s trying to figure out where he is.

Then he clears his throat quietly.

“Morning,” I say softly.

“Morning.”

His voice sounds rough. Not tired but guarded.

He rolls onto his back and drags a hand over his face. The sunlight from the windows cuts across the bed, lighting the faint sheen of sweat still lingering on his skin.

For a moment, neither of us says anything … and then he sits up like last night never happened.

“I’ve got an early call,” he says, already swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

My chest tightens.

He’s doing exactly what I expected—ignoring. It’s probably worked for him his entire life, but it doesn’t sit right with me.

Not after what I saw.

“Hey,” I say quietly.

He pauses for a second.

Then he looks over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

I hesitate because I know the second I say this—the energy will change. But if I let him walk out of this room, pretending everything is fine … he’ll keep carrying it alone forever.

“You had a pretty intense nightmare last night.”

Sawyer’s expression shuts down immediately. “I’m fine.”

“That didn’t look fine.”

He stands fully now, tension settling into his shoulders. “It happens.”

He reaches for his shirt like the conversation is over … like it’s not worth talking about.

“People don’t usually scream like that in their sleep,” I say gently.

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond.