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Orion’s arm wraps around my back, and he gives an amazingly decent hug. “You’re not responsible for the actions of others,” he murmurs, his breath warm as it blows over my forehead. “You have people who will fight your demons with you, even the ones in your dreams.”
I hiccup as my tears overflow, running down my cheeks.
Orion rubs my back slowly as I break down. “In my head, this would allow you to cry less,” he says, his voice amused and perplexed.
Girls are rough, dude. Sorry.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, sometimes when I have intense feelings and interactions, I do this,” I tell him, my breath stuttering as I cry.
“Then do whatever you need to so you can purge these feelings saying you were in the wrong,” Orion growls. I shiver for another reason, and my body twitches from the conflicting stimuli. His growl shouldn’t do anything to my body, and yet it does.
Huh, weird. I’m unsure how to feel about this, but I’m coming down from high emotions, and I’m shaky. I push the confusion aside, deciding to enjoy the moment. I’ll process the rest later, I need this damn hug right now.
“Lennon, you stopped breathing,” Orion says, his voice cracking in strain.
I realize he’s right, forcing myself to breathe. For some reason, it feels odd to pull air in, and my hand fists his shirt. The intake of air makes him relax a little, and Orion sighs.
“You confuse me, tie me up in knots, and make me want to protect you. I don’t have the slightest fucking clue what to do with all of that,” he says, his chest rumbling as he speaks.
“I’m not an easy person,” I say tearfully. “I’m a lot of fucking work.”
I’m a damn mess. If Roark saw me, he’d bundle me in his arms and snuggle me. Sometimes you just have to cry it out.
“If you’re work, I don’t mind learning. Lennon, why are you under my skin? I’m trying so hard to fight it, but watching the men out there worship the ground you walk on makes it hard. I want to help… I hate that you don’t feel well. I can’t fix this, but I can hold you so you can sleep,” Orion says, his words slightly disjointed, as if he’s struggling to find what to say.
I’m remembering more and more of my time over the last two months, though there are still hazy parts. His attachment has to mean something, we had to have shared something that I cannot remember. So, I’m willing to give Orion a chance.
Laying here in his arms, my tears dry, my breath regulates, and I feel a little lighter.
“Will you hold me as I sleep?” I ask softly, yawning. I have a feeling I’ll be sleeping a lot, but I’ll take this over puking or migraines.
“Yes,” Orion breathes, and it feels as if he’s promised so much more.
Eyes heavy, I drift off to sleep, my hand still clutching his shirt.
ORION
The girl, Lennon, confuses me. She’s so soft, smells like lavender and vanilla, and is so damn fierce. Even in her dreams, memories that are tormenting her, she thrashes and screams.
There’s no doubt in my mind, if Lennon could have fought the fuckers who hurt her, she would have. Her skin is still warm, almost too warm, and I rub her back as I hold her.
Her breathing is slightly shallow, but she’s sleeping alright. I wish I had more medical knowledge to know if she’s okay or not, because my insides are twisted up as I watch her. When people talk about feeling anxious, I wonder if this is what they mean.
It’s been two hours since she curled up in my arms and fell asleep after I asked to hug her. I can’t tell you what prompted me to do it, but being able to feel her breath and her heart beat beneath her skin was worth the moments of uncertainty as I waited for her answer.
Miranda pops her head into the room and I lift mine in response. I don’t know when everyone is sleeping, but I’m pretty sure the guys are dozing as they wait for this fucking fever to break.
“How’s she doing?” she asks as she comes in to check on her.
“I think she still has a fever, honestly. Lennon’s skin feels too warm. Is there anything we can do for her?” I ask.
I don’t really care if I’m showing my cards, Lennon O’Reilly is under my skin. I don’t know everything about her, but what I do see calls to me.
“Damn,” Miranda mutters under her breath. “I’m going to push more antibiotics into her IV hub. Come on, Lennon…”
She administers the medication, and I brush Lennon’s hair off her forehead.
“How much longer is she going to be going through withdrawals?” I ask, careful not to wake her.
