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The word hadn't actually been uttered out loud between us. It was always other people saying it, along with plenty of other things.
He took my hand, and played a moment with the delicate bones. I didn't notice it most of the time, but his hands swallowed mine.
"No," he said quietly. "It's not that. I mean...it doesn't make it any easier, of course. But I told you, Red. I forgive you."
Relief washed over me, but it was quickly overtaken by a different concern. If our problems weren't the main source of his sleep problems, then what was?
"Then what's going on?" I asked.
Brandon sighed.
"I used to get them before," he admitted. "When I was a kid. They would come and go. They didn't stop until I had been at the Petersens for a year or two, after they forced me to see a counselor." He blanched. I already knew that Brandon wasn't the biggest fan of therapy, but I wasn't totally sure why.
"What––what are the dreams about?" I asked, hoping he would keep talking.
He shook his head, but lay back on his pillow. I followed him, and we faced each other in the dark.
"All sorts of things," he said. "There were always a few recurring ones. When I was a kid, it was mostly my father, the things he would...do. To my mom and me."
He lay there for a moment, then turned onto his back and stared up at the cold, white ceiling. I didn't know the specifics, but between Kieran and Susan, I had been told enough about Brandon's childhood to know he'd had it bad. Really, really bad.
"He was big," Brandon said in a low voice that was almost a whisper. "Taller than me, if you can believe that. When he'd come home from the bar, I'd see his shadow coming up the stairs before he appeared. I remember crying to my ma, scared that a monster was there. She's just say, no, it's just your pops. And I'd be even more afraid."
"Why?" I asked. "What happened?"
Brandon closed his eyes and shuddered. "Which time?"
I was silent now, afraid to even breathe. There was nothing I could say or do to make those memories disappear. Most of the time I wouldn't choose to erase Brandon's past, since it made him who he was. But this pain, I would gladly vanquish.
Brandon squeezed my hand a little tighter, then turned to me with eyes that were one part sad, one part hopeful.
"They'll go away, Red," he said. "They always do." He pulled my hand to his lips and feathered them softly over my knuckles.
"Come here," I said softly.
I tugged on his hand, and Brandon scooted the rest of the way across the bed so that he could lay his head on my chest. He sighed, long and contentedly as his other arm wrapped about my waist and he buried himself into me.
"God, you smell good," he murmured, his voice already slurring toward a hushed sleep. "I missed you," he rumbled into my ear.
His big body wrapped itself around me, his arm around my waist tight. But slowly, slowly, he relaxed, his breaths growing longer, his limbs heavier. I wove my fingers through his thick hair over and over again, and he sighed.
"I missed you too," I whispered. "I love you."
But he didn't answer. He was already fast asleep.
~
