Chapter 16

sixteen

Kane

I fly out of bed, her scream like fire under my ass, ice carving the lines of my bones as I run from my room to hers. Like I do every night when she screams, I burst through the door, and hurry to the side of the bed. Like every night, she keeps screaming—keeps thrashing as though she’s fighting demons—until I slide my palm under the little tank she sleeps in, pressing my skin against the flesh of her belly, grounding her.

“I’m here,” I whisper, knowing that even though she doesn’t know I’m here and isn’t conscious to hear me, that my words calm her. I calm her.

Like every night, her screams become a whimper that almost break me until even the whimpers fade into the glow of the ensuite light she leaves on each night. It takes a few minutes before her body stops twitching and her breathing returns to something that resembles normal, peaceful.

Still, I sit with her as I do every night for the next hour. It’s not long after she settles, free of whatever grip whatever nightmare had on her that she flips onto her side, tugging a pillow into her chest and holding it tight. My hand, like it does every night, moves from her belly to the small of her back.

I’d give anything to crawl into bed with her—to tug her into my chest and hold her so tight I suffocate the demons that haunt her. I want to carve them out and live in their place, ready to slay at even the first glimpse of them.

I want to kill her ex for what he’s done to her.

She thinks she’s sleeping so well. I’d overheard her and Candace talking about it the other night when everyone was over, telling her that she hadn’t had a dream since Candace had left.

But before she’d left, Candace warned me about the nightmares that attacked Nevaeh every night. I still hadn’t been prepared to deal with them myself. That first night had fucking terrified me, because no matter what I’d done, I’d been unable to wake her. In the end, it had been my skin against hers that had steadied her—defeated them—and left me to sit in the silence of the aftermath, my despair murderous.

I swear it, if I ever see that sorry excuse of a boy who plays at being a man—I’ll snuff him out and never think of it again.

Fuck, I might even stop losing so much goddamned sleep.

As it is, I’m going to have to make bed sharing a condition of the marriage. I’m not sure how much longer I can do this.

How do people with kids wake up multiple times a night? I’m starting to feel like a zombie.

Fuck. I’ve always liked kids. Always wanted my own.

My gaze hasn’t strayed from where Nevaeh sleeps, holding her pillow. I wonder, does she want kids?

Shit, I’m clearly sleep deprived if I’m thinking about having babies with the fake-fiancée I’ve yet to convince loves me for real.

With my free hand, I rub my brow. As I peer through the dim of the room, my eyes burn. But I’ve learned if I leave her too soon, the nightmare will start again, and we’ll be back at square one.

So, sitting on the side of her bed, eyes on fire, sleep deprived, with my hand on her back, I stay.

She’s worth losing sleep over, anyway.