Page 21 of Dreadful

The tightness in my shoulders begins to dissolve, seeping out like sand through fingers. “Okay.”

“With me,” he murmurs into my skin, his voice thick with sleep. A rough palm slides up my ribs, settling over my frantic heart. “Got you, baby girl.”

EIGHT

GAGE

I stare at the ceiling, the plaster cracks mapping out routes I can’t take. Every time my lids drop, it’s there: the sharp report of a gun, Bellamy stumbling back, the wet bloom of red on her shirt—details my brain paints in brutal, vivid strokes I never actually saw. My skin feels too tight, humming with a low current that has me shifting under the sheets, restless. Logic doesn’t stand a chance. If I don’t see her—actually see the rise and fall of her breathing—soon, this feeling is gonna claw its way out of me.

After hours, I give up.

The route from my room to Cruz’s is tattooed inside me. I could do it blindfolded with noise-cancelling headphones on—in fact, we did that one night. A test to see who can get from point A to B in the house with the least amount of collateral damage.

But noise is more than just sound. And Coco’s house is never quiet.

And tonight, silence writhes over my skin like a horde of centipedes.

I spot Rafe in the backyard, a dark shape nestled in the shadows. I watch only for a moment, before moving to the security camera monitor in the family room. Flicking the screen on the multi-camera view, I scan every frame. Everything looks calm, but still the crawling sensation persists.

Low murmuring bleeds through Coco’s door as I pass it. I don’t stop walking. Some random new boyfriend, here, now, in the middle of all this—I catch myself starting to do the math on that and let it go. Coco doesn’t make moves she hasn’t already thought three steps ahead of. She never has.

I find Bellamy curled on her side, my brother’s arm slung heavy over her waist, fingers splayed like he’s staking claim even in his sleep. I don’t pause to untangle the knot that sight puts in my chest. Just peel back the sheet and slide into the narrow space left on her other side. A strand of hair sticks to her cheek, dark against her skin. I brush it back with my thumb, and her eyes open—not startled, just soft with sleep.

“What’s going on?” she whispers, voice thick.

“Crashing your slumber party.” I settle onto my side, facing her, our heads sharing the same pillow. My eyes trace the line of her nose, the splatter of freckles across her cheeks, the way her mouth relaxes into something almost like a smile even now.

“Okay, fine. I can’t sleep without you.” I trail my fingertips over her forearm, skirting the bandage on her bicep, around the ball of her shoulder and back down again.

Her brows lift, and her small smile grows into a grin. “I don’t believe that.”

“Don’t believe what?” I keep up the pattern I’m tracing on her arm.

“I’ve seen you sleep through a fire alarm,” she reminds me, her brows creasing.

She’s not wrong. My fingers slow on her arm. Stop. I look at her bicep instead of her eyes—the place where the bullet split her flesh. I’ve been staring at that spot since I walked in.

Her hand finds mine in the dark and stills it against her arm. “I’m okay, Gage.”

Something in my chest starts to unknot so fast it almost hurts. I hadn’t realized how hard I’d been holding it until it eased.

“I should’ve been there.” My hand finds her thigh under the sheet.

“There was nothing you could’ve done, Gage.”

My thumb moves in a slow arc against her skin. “Still.”

Her breath catches, but she doesn’t move away.

“Do you remember what I told you all those years ago?”

“Remind me,” she murmurs.

“It’s you and me, Bell.” I pull her leg over my hip and close the last inch between us on the pillow. Her eyes are dark and soft and right there. “Don’t leave me again, okay?” It’s a whispered confession, one I didn’t plan on ever releasing into the world. But it’s out there now, floating around the two inches between our faces. Fuck it. Can’t take it back.

Her eyes close slowly. “I’m sorry, Gage.”

“No. I’m sorry.” My thumb smooths an arc across the soft skin of her thigh. “I should’ve looked for you then. I’ve regretted it a million times since.” I exhale, the band around my ribs squeezing tighter when I thought it would loosen with the confession. “But you’re here now.” It’s a reminder to myself more than anything.