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“Noooo,” she whimpers, arms reaching into the darkness. “Come out. Come out. Where are you?”
“Emily.” I curl my arm firmly around her waist and drag her against my body. Her agony feels like a living, breathing thing between us. “Shhh, you’re okay. I’ve got you. Everything’s okay,” I reassure her over and over.
She lets out a scream and thrashes. Tears stream down her cheeks.
What the fuck do I do? Let her go? Shake her awake?
The bedroom door creaks open.
“Em?” Libby whispers.
Well, this just took an awkward detour.
Bright light floods the room, searing my eyeballs.
“Oh, shit!” Libby shrieks. “Dex, I didn’t know you were here.”
Darkness descends, and I blink my eyes open. Colorful dots still dance in my vision.
“What’s happening?” Emily slurs. “Why’s the light on?”
“I heard you calling for me,” Libby says from the doorway. “Another nightmare?”
Another? This happens often?
“Yeah,” Emily mutters. “Sorry.”
“All right. As long as you’re okay…” Libby stands there for a moment. I’m frozen with my own indecision. “Sorry, Dex,” Libby whispers. “You’ve got her?”
“Yeah,” I rasp. “I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
Libby nods once and closes the door with a quiet snick. Her little feet scurry over the hallway’s hardwood floor all the way back to her room.
Emily groans and sits up, rubbing her forehead.
“Damn it,” she mutters.
“Hey.” I rub my hand over her back and up to her shoulder. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” she whispers. “Give me a sec?” She tosses the covers aside and slips out of bed. She pauses at the nightstand and opens a drawer, grabbing a pair of shorts and shimmying them up, under her T-shirt. “I’ll be right back,” she says over her shoulder.
Concern eats at me. The pain in her voice still lingers in the air. But what am I supposed to do? Follow her to the bathroom? Force answers out of her that she’s not ready to give?
I sit up, stack some pillows behind me, and grab my phone, checking for messages.
A picture from Z of his son riding a tiny quad with his dogs, Ziggy and Zipper, following closely behind.
Z: Start ’em young.
My thumb hovers over my phone, as I contemplate a response. Nah, better not text him in the middle of the night.
Ravage: CB is dead. Closing early.
I’m not as concerned about waking Rav, so I respond with “good call.”
The bedroom door swings open and I set my phone down.
In the weak lamplight, I study Emily’s pinched expression. “Are you all right?” I ask.
