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Fork halfway to his mouth, Eddie froze, eyes to Jet. “Cómo?”
She reacted to his tone, his intensity, he knew it because her voice went soft when she shared, “You don’t hurt me.”
He put his fork down, sat back and gave her his full attention. “Tell me.”
“Since that night, since…Vince, it happens. Not every night. But often enough, and it’s not going away,” she explained. She put her feet down, leaned to him and wrapped her hand on his forearm resting on the table. “Baby, I’m all right.”
“I know you are,” he said shortly. “I grab you? Hard?”
She squeezed his arm while shaking her head. “Like I said, it doesn’t hurt.”
“Why don’t you wake me?”
She looked confused. “Because you have an important job. You need your sleep.”
Christ.
His woman.
“Cariño, I grab you hard and I’m unconscious, you wake me so I don’t hurt you not knowin’ I’m hurtin’ you.”
“You grab me harder when we’re having sex. Obviously, I don’t mind that,” she teased.
Teasing wasn’t going to work.
Not this time.
No fucking way.
“I want you to wake me.”
“I’m not going to wake you.”
“Jet.”
“Eddie.”
“Jet,” he bit off.
“Eddie,” she mimicked him.
“This isn’t funny,” he gritted.
“I know it’s not. I also know he can’t hurt me. He’s dead. If you’re still angry with Lee, work it out with Lee. If you’re angry with me, work it out with me.”
“I’m not angry with you.”
“Do you normally toss and turn in your sleep?”
“I don’t know. I’m sleeping.”
“You didn’t before Vince.”
Eddie pulled from her hold, returned his attention to his plate, picking up his fork, and clipped, “Stop saying his fucking name.”
“Eddie.”
He knew that “Eddie” too. It was, “listen to me, I’m worried about you, Eddie.”
