Page 48 of The Wrecked One

“Don’t do that. Unless you want a shiner, I wouldn’t touch him.” Sam circled the couch, Scrappy close at his side. “If he were to accidentally hit you . . . well, we both know he already hates himself enough.”

Sam gestured for me to stand, but I was glued to Oliver’s side. I couldn’t leave him there like that.

“He wouldn’t want you to see him like this.”

“Shouldn’t we help him?” My tongue pinned to the roof of my mouth as I went back to observing Oliver, hating being told not to do anything.

“Just come with me. He’ll work through it. Don’t worry.” At the plea in his tone, I forced myself to stand.

I stole one more look at Oliver struggling on the floor, and it ripped me to pieces to walk away.

“You like tea?” Sam asked once I’d joined him and Scrappy in the kitchen.

Remembering I was only in a tee that went to my thighs and no bra, I took a seat at the table to hide my legs and held my shoulders, blocking my nipples from being visible. “Sure,” I finally said. “Tea was the last thing I had with Oliver before . . .” Yup, not finishing that thought.

“Listen.”

A speech was coming, that much was obvious. I didn’t need to have an overbearing father, a judge no less, to recognize that tone.

Scrappy curled up on a dog bed near the doorway as I watched Sam fill the kettle with water and set it on the stove. Electric, not gas, and I had to assume being in the woods, it was better not to have an open flame.

“I’ve had three black eyes from trying to help him. Seeing him feel guilty about my shiners hurt me more than getting whacked in the face.”

I could believe that. Guilt was such a horrible thing. Nothing hit quite like it. On so many levels.

“I finally listened to my son when he begged me to stop trying to wake him up from his nightmares.” He faced me, wrapping a hand around the nape of his neck. “We now also know not to have lamps near him when he sleeps at night. He’s broken a couple. Not to mention cut his hand when that happened.”

At that mental image, I abandoned my efforts at modesty and pushed away from the table. “He shouldn’t be alone. If that’s how bad things get, then?—”

“What would you do? If you went in there, how would you handle him if he starts to swing?”

I kept my ass glued to the seat at his question. But still, I’d find a way to help. I had my best friends, all of Falcon, and Riley to help me cope with my PTSD, while Oliver had furniture to destroy and his father to . . . Well, I wasn’t sure what his father was doing to help, but I assumed something. I hoped he was doing more than making tea every night and casually hanging out in the kitchen while Oliver groaned in pain on the floor in the other room.

“How often does this happen?” I asked meekly, returning my arms across my chest. It was a protective measure, but against what exactly? I doubted Oliver’s dad would ogle my breasts, but I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by having my nipples on display, either.

“It used to be every night.” He folded his arms, continuing to lean against the counter. “I thought he was getting better. Well, having the nightmares less often. They started up again after his trip last week. I also imagine having you here is quite triggering.”

Guilt was about to pack a heavy punch. I’d be getting that shiner, just a figurative one instead.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he quickly noted, brows drawn. “He needs you.”

And I need him. “His nightmares,” I began, “are they about that day in Thailand?” I had to assume his father knew what happened at this point.

“Mostly. Some have to do with his mother.” He cleared his throat, and my hands plummeted to my lap at that revelation.

“What do you mean?” I sat taller, but then a banging noise from the other room wrenched my attention in that direction and had both myself and Scrappy on our feet.

Before Sam could stop me, I rushed to the living room with Scrappy trailing behind me. The coffee table was flipped over and Oliver was on his hands and knees, breathing hard, gasping for air.

I switched on the lights, not wanting to startle him, but I didn’t want to get hit, either.

Scrappy stayed by my side, barking at Oliver as his tail whipped against my leg.

Oliver slowly lifted his head, eyes open and on me. Recognition of what was going on most likely sinking in.

Sam quietly came around me and chucked a water bottle across the room. Oliver somehow shook off the haze of the nightmare to sit back on his heels and catch it before it smacked him in the face.

With his breathing starting to slow, but eyes still locked on mine, he chugged the water, sucking it dry. Then he smashed the plastic between his hands and rasped, “You shouldn’t be here.”

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