Page 106 of Take It Offline

It’s still dark, but I know immediately I’m not in my own bed. I can’t hear the upstairs pipes groaning, and everything smells like Charlie, deep and cool.

I blink my eyes open and instantly know what woke me.

“Charlie?”

He’s sitting up, intensity rolling off him in waves. Even his breathing is loud and fast.

“I’m here, okay?” I soothe, sitting up. “You’re safe.”

He blinks in the dark, his eyes unfocused, as if he’s not quite here.

My heart rate picks up as I watch him. Shit. What does he need? I think back, remembering the weight of Charlie’s hand on my chest, of being covered and kept. It’s worth a try. So I wrap my arms around him and blanket his back, leaning into him. Willing the burden to let him go, hoping to drain it out with my touch.

The moment stretches out as he takes a long slow breath, then another. The rhythm is oddly grounding. So soothing I find myself matching him. In, out. In, out.

His breathing slows.

“That’s it,” I say. “You’re okay. It’ll be okay.”

Bit by bit, the tension leaks out of him, until he’s reaching up, covering my hand with his own, our palms slotted neatly over his heart.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, his voice as ragged as shattered glass.

“I don’t care about that.”

His eyes are clearer, the fogginess lifted for now. How often are his dreams haunted?

Heart aching for him, I ask, “Do you want me to go?”

“No.” It’s quick. Certain. “Stay,” he adds, softer.

“Reese told me some stories at the shelter. Of what it was like for her.” I leave the blanks for him to fill.

“She’s always been braver than me. Always found it easier to talk about it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it. You don’t owe me anything.” I only want what he’s willing to give. “We can go back to sleep.”

“It’s not like that. I mean, some of it was. But it wasn’t all bad…” He takes another long, slow breath. “Some just kept to themselves. Treated me like a tenant. Only one or two were the kind of bad you’re thinking of.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t press. Just the idea of what he’s been through makes that ache more acute. But his scars are enough to tell me it’s better left unsaid tonight.

“I got lucky with Mom and Dad. Luckier than a lot of other kids get. Reese was what saved me, though.”

Squeezing a little tighter, I ask, “What was the dream about?”

“The usual shit. Someone’s in trouble, and I can’t get to them.”

“Reese?”

“Usually,” he says, locking eyes with me. “Not tonight.”

Instantly, my heart trips over itself. I’m eager for every crumb of his attention. Every place we’re touching heats up, a stark contrast to the cold night.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper.

It’s not just about the way my body lights up when he touches me, the way my mind comes to life when he challenges me, or how every little piece of information I learn about him makes my chest swell and ache.

I used to avoid Charlie at all costs, and now I can’t get enough.

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