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“No, stay.” I caress his cheek, waiting for his answer. “Please?”
Prescott watches me for a moment before he lets out a shaky breath. “Sure. I can stay.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, laying my head on the pillow next to him.
Prescott just nods, so I keep brushing his hair, my hand gentle as I stare at those brown eyes. For a while, we just lay like that, in silence, neither of us saying anything.
What demons are you fighting, Prescott?
The words are on the tip of my tongue. I can see the darkness swirling in his eyes. It’s etched into every line of his face. Whatever it is, it has to be pretty bad in order to upset him so much. No, not just upset him. Break him. Because the man lying next to me is broken, his spirit is completely shattered.
Like calls to like.
Isn’t that what people say?
Is that what this feeling inside me is? Recognition of somebody who’s more like me than I’d ever imagine?
Pushing away those thoughts, I concentrate on here and now. “Prescott?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you have nightmares often?”
There’s a beat of silence, and then, “Sometimes.”
I nod absentmindedly. His skin is warm under my touch, his heart beating wildly. No matter how calm he pretends to be, whatever he dreamed about unsettled him. “Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”
“Past,” he clips, his voice distant.
Okay then.
My throat bobs as I swallow. His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer. We just lay like that for God only knows how long. But no matter how much I try to convince myself I should go to sleep, I can’t.
I let the words hang in the air between us. I don’t want to pressure him to tell me about it, but damn, I want to help him.
What must have happened to make Prescott Wentworth have nightmares like this? I thought his injury was the cause of the demons hiding in his gaze but after tonight... After tonight, I’m not so sure.
Prescott just stares forward, his face completely devoid of any emotion. His body is here, but his mind? It’s gone. Lost to whatever happened in the past.
What happened to you, Prescott?
“Prescott?” I whisper softly, unsure if he’s even listening to me.
“Hmm?” he murmurs sleepily, his hand sliding down my back.
I nibble at my lip, debating if I should ask it, but curiosity gets the best of me. “Who’s Gabriel?”
At first, I couldn’t remember why the name sounded so familiar, but then it hit me.
The night when his father punched him after the game.
He mentioned Gabriel too.
Prescott goes completely still under me. The hairs at the back of my neck raise as I wait for an answer, unsure of how he’ll react or what to expect.
The silence stretches between us, making me uneasy for some reason. It’s like I’ve just entered a cage with one very pissed-off lion.
Why couldn’t I just leave it alone? But of course, I had to be nosy…
