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“Hey,” I murmured, coming up behind her and wrapping my arms around her. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
I rested my chin on her shoulder and said nothing. I knew she was having flashbacks almost nightly. Cass had nearly blackened my eye a couple times when I had tried to calm her. The way she would utterly recoil from my touch, the way she looked at me with a mixture of fear and revulsion…it was enough to break my heart. She would wake screaming or shaking, trapped in that room with Teagan again. I wish I could kill him again. In those moments, I knew she was right back in that awful room, fighting a long-dead attacker who continued to find her night after night where I was helpless to protect her.
Not that I had done a damn thing to protect her from it in the first place.
I gently rubbed Cassidy’s back, and she leaned into my touch. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She smiled up at me, but even in the dim light, I could see it was strained. “It’s nothing, really. My wrist hurt a little and I couldn’t sleep. I figured I’d come out and get some work done before Jerome and Teresa come over this afternoon.”
Her friends. I hated that she’d had to lie to them once again, explaining the bruising and the cast away as the result of a car accident. I’m pretty sure Jerome didn’t buy it. My gaze dropped to her left arm. I hadn’t seen the damage yet. It had been wrapped in a bedsheet when I found her, and since then it had been concealed behind layers of bandages, but I could only imagine how much it was hurting her.
“When’s the last time you took your medication?” I asked.
“You know I don’t like taking the pain pills, they make me loopy. I know Dr. Whitley says they’re safe to take with the baby, but I still don’t want to take that chance.”
Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn.
I idly traced down her arm, carefully watching her expression. “You know, Dr. Long called again and left a message. She seems really nice…it might help to sit down with her, you know…maybe talk about things.”
She scoffed. “I don’t need some stranger telling me what I should and shouldn’t be feeling and that it’s okay to cry. I’m fine, Connor. Really.”
And so, it went. Day after day. The same conversations, and the same answers.
I didn’t dare push her any harder than he already did. As it was, I felt like I was constantly nagging her. Smothering her. Right now, I was the only one she would actually open up too, as infinitesimal as that was, and I felt like if I pushed her too hard, I would push her right over the edge.
I supposed I should be grateful that she was even okay with me touching her. I had been so afraid that my touch would trigger her, especially after those first couple nightmares that had left her confused and disoriented.
That wasn’t the case, though. Cassidy had latched onto me instead, and I wondered if it was a subconscious way of seeking physical comfort when she mentally couldn’t handle confronting her trauma yet.
“Are you hungry? I can make you something.”
She hesitated, and I decided to push. “You need to eat, sweetheart. Dr. Whitley said you’re not eating enough, and you need to keep up your strength for the baby.”
The baby. That was my one trump card over every argument she gave. Without it, I feared she would shut down completely or work herself into exhaustion, running away from the horror she had survived. I hated manipulating her like that, but I knew Cassidy would do anything to ensure the baby’s health and safety, even if it meant giving in and letting someone help her for once.
“Okay, maybe just some eggs and oatmeal.”
“And some fruit?”
“Okay.”
“Comin’ right up.” I kissed her temple and moved into the kitchen, stifling a yawn.
I was still reeling about the fact that I was going to be a father. I simply hadn’t had any time to process it. It had been so unexpected and to find out the way I had…I supposed I was using the baby as an escape, something positive and wonderful to hold on to when everything else was just so uncertain.
“When’s your next appointment?” I asked. “You have one coming up, right?”
I already knew, of course, but it was a way to draw Cass into the conversation and out of her own head. If I couldn’t get her to talk about it, at least I could help distract her from it.
“Friday,” she said. “Sloane going to stop by afterwards with some of your old baby things.”
I blinked. “Where the hell did she get those?”
Cassidy smiled faintly. It was just the ghost of a smile, but it was there. “She found them in the attic at the summer house. In Maine. Apparently, Callum stored a lot of your parents’ things there after you came over.”
I hadn’t known that. I wondered what else I didn’t know about the time around my parents’ death, blinded by grief and guilt as I was at the time. I suddenly felt the burning need to go talk to Callum.
