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Maybe some part of me is too wary of falling back asleep again, though. What if I have another nightmare? The second the thought passes through my brain, I instantly become more alert.
I can hear her heartbeat thudding through her chest and it’s so… nice. Peaceful. I’ve never laid like this with a woman before.
So many firsts with this woman.
She keeps stroking my hair and I think any second she’ll stop, that she’ll drop off to sleep, but her breathing never slows or evens out.
I settle in, soothed like a beast by her petting.
“You’re good at that,” I murmur.
She laughs and I love the way I can feel it rumbling throughout her body.
“You have good hair,” she says, grazing her nails gently along my scalp before rubbing circles at my temples with her thumbs.
We don’t say anything else for long minutes. Her touch is too soothing. It would be too easy to drop back off to sleep and I can’t fucking do that.
The image of her holding her arm to her chest flashes through my head. Followed by another image—my sister, curled in a ball on her bed. I’m instantly more awake.
Eventually her hand slows, she finally stops stroking my hair, and I hear her breathing ease.
But I don’t allow myself to fall back asleep for the rest of the night. I checked the clock beside her bed. She set it for six-thirty. I slip out of her house at six-twenty-five after one last, lingering look at the woman who is far, far too good for me.
If I were any kind of honorable man, I’d never look back.
Eight
DYLAN
Three days.
I make it three whole days without responding to Miranda’s text.
I can’t imagine what she must have thought, waking up after the night we had and finding herself alone in bed.
Hopefully she thought he’s an asshole who’s not worth my time.
Her text came right when her alarm went off and she found me gone.
It said, simply: Please don’t run.
Followed a few minutes later by: I could be your safe place.
That one text gutted me. Because fuck, I know it’s true. I felt it that night. I felt the kind of safety I haven’t since… well I’m not sure I ever felt as safe as I did last night. Certainly not when I was a kid. I could never truly relax in that house. I always had to be on edge for the next time Dad’s voice would be raised or time Mom screamed out in pain. Get the kids out of the house. Don’t let them see. Protect them. Protect—
And look how well that worked out.
I’ve been having the nightmare every night since I left Miranda’s. And it’s as vivid as the first time I lived through it all.
There are the sounds I’ll never forget. Chloe’s screams. My fist banging uselessly at the door.
Someone was hurting her. Violating her, and I couldn’t get through. Not in time to help her. Not in time to be any good to anybody.
Of course the terrible, terrible truth was that I was years too late.
Even though I’m at work and am wide awake, the flashbacks are so real I might as well be reliving them.
I slammed my shoulder against the door a second time and the door finally gave way. Only to find my sister weeping on the bed, tugging down the skirt of her school uniform as the door to her bathroom shut behind someone exiting out the bedroom.
“You son of a bitch!” I shouted, sprinting across the room and yanking the door open. The bathroom had two doors because it was shared between bedrooms and I ran for the other one. I’d kill the motherfucker when I caught him. I’d fucking kill h—
I yanked the door open.
Only to find my father in his dressing gown, standing with his hands out. “Dylan, now just wait a second. You—”
“You sick fuck!” I shouted and ran at him.
My first punch had him on the floor. He’d been a powerful man once but a heart attack last year had left him weakened.
Not so weak he couldn’t still prey on his own daughter. I was going to throw up. How could—? How long had he—?
I reared back and punched him again. He shoved at me even as blood spurted from his nose but I didn’t care.
Chloe. Sweet Chloe. She was the best of us. The only good thing to come out of this house besides Darren.
“Dylan. Dylan!”
The shrieks from the other room came through my haze of fury only distantly at first but as soon as they registered, I dropped my father to the ground and stumbled backwards.
“Chloe?” I turned and ran back through the bathroom to her room.
She was still where I’d last seen her. On the bed, hunched over, except she’d pulled the blanket around her, only her head peeking out. It was something she used to do as a little girl when there was a thunderstorm.
