Page 103 of Strictly the Worst

Then he shouts out again. “No!”

The noise echoes through the wall next to my bed. It’s plaintiff and scary. Zoe’s eyes catch mine.

My heart plummets into my stomach. The nightmare. The one I never got to the bottom of in Exuma. Because I’m pretty sure he’s not talking to anybody in the middle of the night.

“Go back to bed,” I tell her. “I’ll deal with it.”

“Is he hurt?” she asks.

He calls out again and I climb out of bed. “No, but I think he’s having a nightmare. He’ll be fine. Go back to bed, sweetheart.”

“What if he hurts you? I’ve heard of men killing their wives while they’re asleep.”

Oh Zoe and her imagination. “He won’t hurt me,” I promise. “But it’s late and you need your sleep.”

She hugs me before she finally does as I ask, padding back down the stairs to her bedroom.

I pull on a robe and walk to Linc’s room, tapping on the door even though he won’t hear me.

And then I push it open.

He’s laying on the bed, curled up like he had been on the sofa bed in Exuma. He’s naked, his body curled up in the fetal position, his arms wrapped around his chest like he’s trying to protect himself. He’s stopped shouting. Now, he’s groaning, loud and gutturally.

Softly closing the door behind me, I walk over to his bed. The sheets have been kicked into a rumpled mess at the base of the mattress. One of the pillows is on the floor. I pick it up and put it beside him, then I reach out to touch his hair.

“It’s okay,” I soothe. “It’s just a dream.”

His throat rumbles as he lets out a whimper. It cuts right through me. The sound is such a contrast to this strong, virile, funny man.

It hurts me to know he’s hurting.

And then his eyes fly open. He’s staring right at me, but not seeing me. “Mom?”

I let out a lungful of air. “It’s Tessa,” I tell him. “You were having a nightmare.”

His brow is damp with sweat as I touch it. His whole body is glowing in the moonlight. He presses his lips together, then looks around his bedroom, as though he’s trying to work out where he is and what’s going on.

He sits up, his shoulder muscles rippling, then his gaze lands on me. “Did I wake you?” he asks me.

“You woke Zoe.”

“Shit.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “She’s gone back to bed. And I should probably go back to bed too. Will you be all right?”

He reaches for me, pulls me against him. His body is overheated but I let him hold me. Maybe we both need it. And that’s how we stay for at least five minutes. Not talking, just holding. Linc pressing his face against my hair.

It’s only when I get back into bed that I realize he never answered my question. Will he be all right?

I hope so.

We’re sitting on the roof terrace of his apartment building the following evening. The moon is almost full and the night sky is unblemished by clouds. We’re all alone up here. According to Linc, half of the apartments in this place are empty. Owned by investors looking to diversify their portfolio.

They’re missing out because it’s beautiful up here. I’d rather be snuggled up to this gorgeous man and staring at the heavens than counting the money in my index funds.

Not that I have one. So it’s a good thing we have this.

I dropped Zoe off at her dad’s about three hours ago. We stopped off at home first, so she could grab her gym clothes and I could make sure everything is ready for tomorrow’s bathroom demo. The water is still off and the contractor has agreed to keep me updated, but he thinks I should have a working toilet and shower by Thursday, ready to move back in.

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