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He flinches violently, his eyes snapping open, wild and unfocused.

“Nick, it’s me.” I keep my voice low and calm, my heart thundering in my chest. “It’s okay. You’re here. You’re safe.”

It takes a moment—long enough that my throat tightens with worry—but recognition finally bleeds into his gaze. His chest heaves as he scrubs a trembling hand over his face.

“Sorry,” he rasps, his voice raw. “Bad dream.”

“It looked more than bad,” I say quietly, my heart breaking as I watch him sit forward, elbows on his knees. Sunshine stirs at our feet, sensing something’s wrong, and she pads over to rest her head on his lap. Nick strokes her absently, his hand still shaking.

“Does that happen a lot?” I ask softly.

He nods once, his shoulders rising and falling with a slow, heavy breath. “Used to be worse. It’s better now. Or… it was.”

I hesitate, then rest my hand gently on his knee. “Nick, how can you heal when you’re not even sleeping?”

“I’m fine, Charlie,” he says reflexively. But then he stops. His shoulders sag, and he runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Or… I guess I’m trying to be.”

There it is. Honesty. He doesn’t try to push me away this time, and that feels like progress.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” I say, my voice soft.

Nick looks down at my hand on his knee, then back up at me. Something shifts in his expression—something that feels like gratitude, like relief.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he murmurs.

“And I’m glad you didn’t have to go through it alone.”

He swallows hard, his jaw working as he nods slowly. For a moment, I think he’s going to argue. But then he exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging as he nods. “Me too.”

THIRTY

Charlie

As Nick’s anxiety fades, the soft hum of the TV fills the room, a movie we’re both barely watching flickering on the screen. I snuggle into his side, his arm wrapping securely around me, and hope—pray—that if he drifts off again, the nightmares won’t find him this time.

The weight of his arm is solid and grounding, but my mind won’t settle. How often does this happen to him? That raw fear, that torment…

It was so much worse than I imagined.

My heart tightens at the thought of him suffering like that, alone in the dark.Does anyone else see this part of him? Or does he carry it all by himself?

I shiver at the memory of his face—tight with panic, lost somewhere I couldn’t reach. Nick shifts closer, pulling me tighter against him. His warmth sinks into me, easing the chill, but not the ache.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he whispers, his voice low and rough in my ear.

I glance up, his face softer now, though shadows linger in his eyes.

“They’re running deep tonight,” I murmur, my voice just as quiet as his.

“The good kind of deep or the hard kind of deep?” His brow furrows. If I know anything about Nick Hutton, he’s probably worried his nightmare upset me.

I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. “I’m just… sorry for what you went through.”

The furrow in his brow deepens, and I hurry forward, afraid he’ll shut me down. “I mean, I don’t really know what happened. I know the broad strokes, but I don’t know the details. Maybe that’s how you want it, I don’t know, but I just realized tonight… it’s more than I’ll ever deal with in my whole life. And I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry you had to carry so much.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his hand moves slowly up my back, steady and sure, his touch gentle enough to make me ache. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and his voice comes quietly, words threaded with something that sounds like resignation. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “It’s over now, and that’s what matters.”

“It’s not over, though.” I sit up, leaning just far enough away to meet his eyes. My fingers trace the edge of his jaw, rough with stubble. “Not if the dreams still wake you and the panic still pulls you under.”

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