Page 191 of Diego

For a while, neither of us speaks.

The wind is colder now that I am paying attention to it, and I shift so my body blocks most of it from reaching her. Blair slides her arms around my waist and holds on, and I press my mouth to the top of her head.

“I hate that day,” she says eventually.

“So do I.”

“I keep thinking I should be over being scared because everything is getting better.”

I look down at her.

There is something in the way she says it that catches my attention. It is too familiar, too carefully casual, and suddenly I wonder how many times she has been frightened when I was not there to see it.

Blair keeps her face against my chest.

“You still think about it a lot?” I ask.

She hesitates.

There is my answer.

My hand moves slowly over her back. I could press. Part of me wants to. Instead, I wait.

“I dream about it sometimes too,” she admits.

I lean back enough to look at her face. “You never told me that.”

“You never told me either.” There is no defensiveness in her voice, which keeps the immediate frustration out of mine.

I stare at her for a moment, understanding perfectly. “I didn’t want to keep bringing you back there every time I had a bad dream.”

“Me too.”

For a second, we simply stand there.

Then Blair’s mouth curves faintly. “We’re idiots.”

“Apparently so.”

That earns the smallest laugh from her, and some of the pressure in my chest eases with it.

I pull her against me again. “Next time, wake me.”

“You too.”

“Okay.”

There is no need to turn it into anything bigger than that. I understand what she means, and she understands me.

Blair shivers against me.

“I think that is enough terrace therapy for one night,” I murmur.

I bend and lift her before she realizes what I am doing. This time she doesn't argue, just puts her arms around my neck and lets me.

I carry her toward the door, and this time when I look down at her, the image from the nightmare does not come back.

I see Blair as she is.