Page 76 of Holding The Reins

I hear the sound of sirens and everything fades to black.

“No! Fuck, No!”

My eyes fly open and I look around. Dark everywhere except for the orange glow of a clock. 3:14 am.

“Noo!”

I’m up and I’m running, despite the fact that my head is pounding. The layout of his house is fuzzy because I was definitely still drunk when I went to sleep. I see Nash’s figure on the living room couch, lit by the moonlight and I am to him in seconds.

“Nash.” I reach for his arm at the same time he sits up and grips me so hard I fear he’ll leave my skin bruised. His eyes fly open but he’s staring right through me.

“Nash!” I yell louder, placing my palm on his face.

He blinks and grabs my face on either side with his large hands.

“Rae?” he says, loosening his grip on my face.

He’s visibly shaking and sweating. I’ve never seen this kind of night terror before so I have no idea what to do. I just kneel down beside him, swiping his damp hair off his forehead and pull his shaking body to me. His arms wrap around me and he holds me. So tightly I can barely breathe, but I don’t protest. I let him.

“I was so selfish,” he says. “All I cared about was myself, I was rushing them and we had plenty of time to get there,” he almost whines.

“Shh. It’s okay. I’m right here,” I say, not sure what else to offer him. So I start to hum—Shania, of course—as I hold him.

I never understood how Nash ever survived the trauma of that day. A drunk driver drove down county 23 in the middle of the afternoon, and within seconds he witnessed both his parents die in front of him, in a gruesome way. I remember my mom saying they had to remove his mother from the dash of the car. She was part of it. I can’t imagine what he saw.

Afterwards, he had nothing, no other family. He was still a minor, so he couldn’t even stay in the house, nor could he afford it. The estate lawyer sold it and he ended up with a little money from it, but my parents stepped up and immediately took him in when the sale closed. He moved into Wade’s room the week after their funeral. He missed his draft chance with a broken leg and some broken ribs but still managed to go to the U of K and get drafted to the NHL—it just took until his senior year to get there.

The blink of an eye. That’s what my father said when Nash lost his mom and dad. One moment they were here, and the next moment they weren’t, and Nash was at the center of it.

“It was my fault. I couldn’t save them. I couldn’t move.”

I grip him tighter and continue to hum quietly, I feel his breathing start to return to normal.

“It wasn’t your fault, Nash. It wasn’t,” I coo in his ear, stroking his hair as my heart breaks for him.

He grips my waist tighter and lifts his head so his eyes meet mine. They’re hollow, vulnerable like I’ve never seen them and I wonder how often he dreams like this. How often he re-lives this nightmare. I kiss his forehead.

“Come,” I say, detaching his arms from my waist and I stand. He follows me as I lead him by the hand through his bedroom door.

I lay down in his bed and without saying a word, he gets in beside me. I lay on my back and I pull him and the covers up over us gesturing for him to come close. He does, his head is resting at my collarbone. I feel his strong arms wrap around me, molding me to fit his body. I kiss the top of his head and stroke my fingers through his hair as he breathes out a relaxed sigh.

“Don’t let go, Rae,” he whispers, and I feel tears sting my eyes.

“I won’t,” I reply as I lean my head back into the pillows and continue to hum until sleep takes us.

So hot. Too hot. I open one eye and I’m blinded by the sunlight streaming through the crack in the dark drapes just enough to hit my eyes. I squeeze them shut. I’m on fire and pinned to the bed by Nash’s large naked torso. We’re laying in the exact position that we fell asleep in, his arms still wrapped around me.

“Nash,” I croak. “Can’t breathe.”

He stirs and my hand slides down his smooth, strong arm, He presses his morning erection into my hip unknowingly, stirring something in me, even though I feel awful. I need water or death whichever I can get first.

Nash sits up in bed and stretches like he’s had the best sleep of his life. My pounding eyes still register how insanely beautiful he is. His wavy hair is falling over his forehead and his inked muscular body is a clash against the soft creams of his duvet and dark gray sheets. These sheets. I move my legs for the first time and realize I feel like I’m engulfed in silk.

“Gatorade and Tylenol beside you,” he grunts out, still half asleep himself, rubbing his eyes.

I turn and focus on the lifeline he thought to leave me last night. I chug the Gatorade and swallow down two extra-strength Tylenol.

He chuckles from beside me. “Feeling rough, darlin’?”

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