Page 69 of The Chance

His fingers curl around my ribs, his other hand getting tangled in my hair.

“More, if you’d let me.”

“Jordan,” I whisper, my throat too clogged with emotion.

What if.

Just once. Just to see what it was like.

“Just rest for now, Vida. I’ll be here until you kick me out for real.”

Would I be able to survive it?

Chapter Forty-Six

Mac

I would say thatthe twitching is what woke me, but that’s a lie. It would’ve required me to have fallen asleep in the first place, and that’s not at all where my mind has been.

Instead, I’ve been stuck in that space between. Not quite cognizant, yet nowhere near under. That place between reality and dreams where nothing, and everything, makes sense.

Just falling without the end in sight, but no bungee cord to rip me back to reality either.

I find that I don’t much hate that space between, where things are easier. Lighter, even.

At least, until Jordan gives a full body jerk, the arm he had draped over me flinging out and smacking into the mattress beside him.

It’s what snaps me back, making me realize he’s covered in sweat, yet shaking. His skin has gone cool to the touch, his lids squeezed shut, his jaw ticking with its harsh grind.

“Jordan,” I whisper as I watch his eyes fly around behind his lids, the rest of his features pinching like he’s terrified of what he’s seeing. “Jordan.”

My chest deflates when his hands grip tight on the sheet, and on me, and then he kicks at the air like he’s breaking down a barrier in his way.

Fuck, what do I do?

I’m frozen with indecision as I watch the pain twist up his features even more.

The fear.

The helplessness.

“Tyro, c’mon.”

With my stomach in my throat, I lean up and brace an arm next to his head, causing his hand to fall away from my hip easily.

The lack of contact seems to only make him worse, his head flinging from side to side, his breaths coming in deep and uneven.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

“Wake up. C’mon, wake up.”

Snapping in front of his nose does nothing to bring him back.

I straddle his waist, hopeful the weight of me will bring him down.

All it does is pull the softest, yet most anguish-filled sound from somewhere deep in his psyche that my eyes start to burn.

Grabbing his shoulders, I shake him. “Jordan!”

---