Page 214 of Unexpected Hero

“James, wake up. It’s just a dream.”

His neck whips his head from side to side as he bolts upright. In the process, he brushes off me and raises his fists in front of his face.

He’s not fully awake yet. His normally tranquil eyes are stormy seas. His chest heaves with frenzied deep breaths.

I shuffle across the bed on my knees and lean close to him. “Babe, wake up. Look at me. Look at Lettie.”

He shakes his head as if clearing his mind. “Lettie?” Recognition finally sparks in his expression.

My heart slams in my chest so fiercely it makes me want to convulse from the force alone.

He reaches for me, eyes blinking rapidly. “Lettie baby? You’re okay? He didn’t—”

I interrupt, desperate to comfort him. “Yes, babe. It’s me. You’re safe. It was just a dream.”

Allowing him to take me into his arms, I fold my nude body around his. My thighs spread as I move onto his lap. He grips my waist tightly, holding me fully against his chest. Securing myself to him, I lock my legs behind his back and arms over his shoulders. His heart beats wildly, echoing in my chest. I feel each pounding beat as if it were my own.

We stay there, plastered together, for a long time. His breathing slowly begins to steady, and eventually, we begin to loosen our grips. When he lets me shift back some, I move my face in front of his and cup his cheeks for a quick kiss.

I need the kiss for myself as much as I need it to soothe him. At first, I thought he was dreaming about his coworker’s sister, but now I’m not so sure.

“Are you okay?” I ask as I pull away.

“Yes. I’m so sorry for waking you.”

“I don’t care about that, babe. I only care about you. I’ve never seen you upset like that.”

He doesn’t respond, only holds me loosely for another few moments while dragging his palm up and down my spine. I cup his nape and nudge his face toward my shoulder.

Maybe he should talk about the dream. He’s clearly troubled by it. Sometimes, when I have a nightmare, it helps me to talk through it. Once I hear the nonsense aloud, it loses some of its teeth and becomes less frightening.

“That must have been some nightmare, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s been a few months...” His words trail off, but I get the distinct feeling that he didn’t lose track of his thoughts. That was an intentional shutdown.

“A few months since you’ve had a nightmare?” I prod.

“Since that nightmare,” he corrects, then lets out a haggard sigh.

My next question is shaky and tentative sounding. “You have that same dream a lot?”

He nods, hiding his face in the curve of my neck.

My mind rewinds, attempting to bring forth the words he was yelling. “Someone in the dream was taking something from you?”

His grip on me, which had been steadily weakening, strengthens once more. “Yes.”

I’m fairly certain I already know the answer to this next question, but I must ask. “Was it your dad?”

James’s blistering inhale is a telling response, but he doesn’t give me verbal confirmation.

I poke some more, trying to get him to confide in me. “Does your dad always take things from you in the dream?”

He nods again, and the gesture is simultaneously gut-wrenching and encouraging. I don’t want him to suffer through recurring nightmares about his father — that sounds horrible — and the idea that they might be rooted in a real-life experience sickens me. But the silver lining is that he’s actually opening up.

“Did he take things from you in real life?”

“Everything. He took everything from me,” he answers in a rush like he was bursting with the confession and unable to hold it back. His chest shakes, and his shoulders cave in with a deep sob.

---