Page 34 of Never Say Yes To Your Boss

I haven’t been truly happy in a long time either, but tonight, despite the few lingering worries I have about my sister and what this contracted marriage is turning into, I can’t pretend there isn’t a bubble of blissful radiance that surrounds me.

Chapter thirteen

Everleigh

Everleigh

Abrief shake to my shoulder from a warm hand has me leaping out of bed and tumbling to the floor, but I land on all fours like the feral cat my mom and sister have claimed as their own. I go into a deep crouch, channeling my inner ninja. I’m going to fuck up that big shadow in front of me, and I’m going to do it now.

But then that shadow moves, and the lamp clicks on from the nightstand. It’s just Hans. In my room. In the dead of night.

What the fuck?

“Sorry. I’m sorry I scared you.” He holds both hands up in a veryI swear I’m not here to hurt you or do any other funny businessstance. The only thing that stops me from screaming isthe black wall of desperation painted over his face. He’s not his usual playful, asshole self, and there is no trace of an accent in his voice at all. Okay, maybe just a little. German, I think. “I had to come get you. It’s serious.”

“What?” My heart goes pitter-pattering down the corridors of my chest, and shadows line those walls—panicked, monstrous shadows. “What’s serious?”

“It’s Darius.”

Now my heart doesn’t beat at all. It just stops cold. “What about Darius?” I can barely get the words out, and they’re mostly just my breath. I’m so scared of bad news. Primed by my past, when someone looks at me the way Hans is currently looking at me, it always, always, always means something shitty is going down.

“He has these nightmares. Usually, I just wake him up, but sometimes, it takes days before he’s right again. He’s good at hiding it and falling back into a routine, but it’s…think about that minute in the car multiplied by a thousand. He doesn’t talk about them, but it’s pretty obvious he relives the accident.”

“And you think I can make a difference?”

Hans shrugs. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” I’m scared. This sounds personal on a level we haven’t yet reached. Intimate. Way too intimate. Even more intimate than what we did in the kitchen. I’m worried because I don’t want things to spiral downwards when we’ve got them under control and neatly tucked into something we can both understand, but then I think about Darius’ tear-stained face in the garage. Those tears were frombeforehe faceplanted, not after. Whatever was going through his head was obviously powerful enough to hurt him like that.

“What if he gets surly about me being there? He’s not going to want it.”

“I don’t think you can make things worse.”

I want to laugh at that, but I control my laughter because it’s inappropriate. “In my experience, things can always get worse. And they do get worse.”

“Just don’t pity him,” Hans mutters and sighs. “I don’t think, in this case, you can make things worse than they already are. Just don’t make him feel like his head is broken because that’s not going to get him anywhere.”

“I don’t think his brain is broken!” I stalk over to the closet, tug open the door, and wrench a fuzzy sweater off the hanger. It’s some designer brand, and it probably costs more than what I make in a month working those two jobs I had. It’s so freaking soft, and it fits perfectly. “Jesus, Hans, I’ve been telling him over and over that he’s not wrecked.”

“Good.” Hans nods, satisfied, and it’s obvious I’m coming with him now. “Just had to check.”

“I don’t pity him either because he’s not some sad thing.” It wasn’t pity I felt when I wiped his face clean with the sleeves of my hoodie. When he was aware I was doing it, I could feel how much he hated it, but he didn’t take his shame out on me by being mean. He has never once been unkind to me.

“Even better.”

“I’m not here to save him, Hans. I don’t have the power to do that. I’m just a friend.”

“Excellent. Let’s go.”

By the time we open the door to Darius’ room, my heart is a writhing entity inside me that I have no power or hope of controlling or settling. I don’t know what I’m expecting. But probably one of those trashing, noisy, sweaty, screaming nightmares I see people having on TV or read about in books. The room is still, and it takes me a minute to realize why. Darius isn’t sleeping. He’s standing at the window—the heavy drapes are peeled to the side—with his hands on the windowpane. Outside, the moon is a crescent in a sky the color of a darkbruise, and the sky feels like ink spilled across my heart. The shadows in the room hold Darius in their confidence, lining his huge, impressive form with further nuances. He’s so beautiful standing in front of that window—a living statue carved out of the most raw, perfect materials the earth could offer up.

Hans squeezes my shoulder and shuts the door behind me with almost a soundless click. Almost, but not quite. I brace for Darius to hear it, but if he does, he doesn’t move. He’s only wearing a pair of sleep pants, the kind that looks like gray sweats with pockets. Okay, maybe they are just sweats.

There’s not enough light from the hallway since the door is closed, and also not enough moonlight now to illuminate the scars on his arm.

All my fears about this being way too off the hook at a level we’re not ready for just evaporate. Yes, okay, I’m still in his room, and I’m still worried about how many invisible lines are going to be crossed, but the sight of Darius’ broad, powerful form settles me, easing away the doubts and calming the butterfly wings slapping at my stomach.

He doesn’t move when I walk across the room. My throat is closed up, and my body is tense, not for a fight or flight, but for something. I don’t know how I’m supposed to help. Dang Hans and his brilliant freaking ideas.

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