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Or did it?
Had he experienced night terrors too?
My mind caught on that little idea, I ended up saying, “Six,” without meaning to.
Colton nodded, taking my answer seriously, which I appreciated. He hadn’t shrugged off my bad dreams as merely a silly little girl frightened of harmless shadows on the wall.
“How old were you when they stopped?”
I tipped my head curiously to the side. “What makes you think they ever stopped?”
With a secretive smile, he reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers over one of my dream catcher earrings. He barely grazed the lobe of my ear in the process, which made my breasts tingle. “These wouldn’t be so important to you if they hadn’t been effective, now would they?”
Damn, he was an insightful shit.
I felt as if he deserved an answer for paying such close attention to me as to pick up on that. “I was nine when they stopped.”
He smiled as if relieved to hear it. “And what were they about again?”
He asked it slyly as if trying to trick the answer out of me without me being aware of what I was revealing.
It made me grin and shake my head. I’d never be able to say Colton Gamble wasn’t wily. “Why is it so important for you to know?”
“Because I have to,” he said as if it was really some kind of necessity, like food or air.
“But why?” I persisted, growing more curious by the second.
“Because...” He shook his head, looking a little lost before his gaze focused on mine, and those brown eyes went über intense. “What if you had night terrors about the same thing I did?”
Well, shit. I caught my breath.
I guess he did understand.
I guess he had suffered from his own nightmares.
I guess... God, I don’t even know what I guessed anymore. I felt kind of shaky to learn I shared such a connection with him. My brain went all jumbled and woozy.
“So?” Colton asked, leaning in as his stare took in every feature of my face. “Were we haunted by the same kind of dreams?”
“I...” I opened my mouth, but only a dry croak emerged. After clearing my throat and licking my parched lips, I managed to say, “I guess that depends. Did your mom die when you were six too?”
He shook his head, and I swear his shoulders fell as if he were relieved. Then he said, “If she had, I doubt I ever would’ve had a problem with nightmares in the first place.”
“That’s terrible,” I blurted, my mind already racing with curiosity, wondering what his mom had done to haunt his dreams.
He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Yeah, well…so was she.” His gaze focused on my earrings, and his eyes softened with sympathy. “Was your mom a good mom?”
I pulled back, a little shocked he would even ask such a question. “Of course.”
Seriously, what the hell had his mother done to build that kind of distrust for all mothers?
With a nod, he murmured, “Then I’m sorry for your loss. Life can be seriously fucked up and unfair, can’t it? The good mom died, and the awful mom lived. How’s that for ironic injustice?”
“Geez,” I blurted. “You really don’t like your mother at all, do you? Which one is she?” I began to scan the room, focusing my attention on the wedding party’s table where his family had been seated.
But Colton only smiled as if amused. “Oh, she wasn’t invited.”
My eyebrows spiked. Wow, even Brandt wasn’t a fan of her. She must really be a piece of work. “What the hell did she do?” I couldn’t help but ask.
