Page 110 of Not A Whisper

My eyelids flutter shut. Whatever Jason wants, or doesn’t want me to do, fine.

Lips brush against the back of my neck. I squeeze my eyes shut as my heart races at the touch.

He just punished you! I scream internally. My body doesn’t respond other than to melt into Jason’s comforting embrace.

Before I can completely drift off, the door cracks open and light from the hallway spills into the room. A shadow steps inside. The door shuts. A moment later, the bed dips in front of me. Someone’s warm breath now hits my face. The faint scent of expensive cologne tingles in my nose, letting me know which of the guys has joined me.

Grant scoots close, his hand landing on my hip.

“You good, dollface?” he asks, speaking so softly I’d hardly call it a whisper.

I say nothing. How do I even answer that after the day I’ve had?

Grant hums, taking my silence as an answer. “Jay’s right, you know. You shouldn’t have run into a burning building. Still… you were so brave. I admire your courage, dollface.”

His breath hits my face before his lips brush against my forehead.

“Sleep tight, wife. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As overwhelmed as I am, a small smile slides across my face as I allow sleep to close in on me.

Twenty-Seven

Waking up feels like I’m swimming up from the depths of the deepest, darkest trench found on the ocean floor.

My thoughts are sluggish, there’s a crushing weight bearing down on my skull, and even trying to suck in a deep breath feels like a chore. When I try to move my limbs, I find even that is nearly an impossible feat.

“Bri?”

A voice calls my name but seems impossibly far away. A hand on my shoulder gently shakes me.

With a groan, I force my eyelids to open. That seems easier than trying to lift my head. The world is unfocused and there’s a stinging around my eyelids. Instantly, I close them. With a deep breath, I try again. Again, the world is a mashup of colors and lines. I blink a few times. My blurry vision clears, giving me a view of Grant kneeling at the side of the bed, his eyes at my level. Concern pinches his brows together, tension brackets his mouth.

“Grant?” My voice comes out as a croak. God, it feels likesomeone shoved a fire poker down my throat. I can tell it's swollen, and I can’t miss how raw and scratchy it feels.

“Are you ok?” Grant asks. “Your alarm has been going off for an hour, someone’s called and left a message, and we’ve been up and moving for a bit and you haven’t budged. That’s unlike you. You’re a pretty light sleeper.”

Am I alright? The question is almost laughable. I feel horrible. My body aches, my face and good hand feel burned, and my bad hand feels like I’m still holding onto that stupid doorknob.

Then the rest of his words filter through my head. My alarm has been going off foran hour? Shit. I push myself up, biting back a moan but unable to keep from wincing. How is it that my whole body is sore?

“What time is it?” I wince at the croaky voice that slips past my lips.

“Quarter to nine.”

Double shit. I swallow in an attempt to soothe my throat before trying to talk again. “Crap, I’m going to be late for work.”

“Ah, about that…” Grant glances toward my phone. “I think it was your boss giving you a call.”

Ms. Barbara called? That’s unusual. Frowning, I reach for my phone that’s sitting on my nightstand. Someone must’ve brought it in here to charge at some point last night. As my fingers wrap around my device, I pause. It’s such a small gesture, yet sweet and thoughtful. Shaking off the consideration behind the act and ignoring the swelling of my heart, I unlock my phone’s screen. Grant’s right. Ms. Barbara’s name sits in my call log as a missed call. She’s left a voicemail; I hit the button to play it as Grant rises.

“I’ll take you to school today,” he offers.

I appreciate it despite the risk it might bring. With all four of my tires slashed, I’m carless for a while.

Grant slips out of the room just as Jason steps into it. In his hand is a steaming mug of something. Like Grant, he’s dressed and ready to go. His hair is damp as if he’s showered, and his familiar smile is spread across his lips. I watch him approach warily as I bring the phone to my ear.

“Good morning, Briella. I’m calling to ask that instead of going straight to work, you come directly to my office. I have something serious to discuss with you, and I would rather not get Jonathan involved right away. I’ll see you soon.”

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