Page 56 of Never Your Girl

18

Bridger

Rain patters against the window. It’s a soft rhythm that pulls me from sleep. For a handful of seconds, I lie there and stare at the shadows that dance across the ceiling, listening to the steady sound of water hitting glass. It’s calming, almost hypnotic, and I’m about to let it lull me back to sleep when I hear something else. It’s a faint sound, sharp enough to stand out against the rain.

A whimper.

I blink, half-convinced I imagined it. But then it happens again, quiet and muffled. My pulse kicks up as I roll onto my side and glance toward Holland. She’s facing away from me, her frame curled tight under the covers. The sound repeats, low and almost broken, and I realize with a jolt that it’s coming from her.

She shifts slightly, her head turning toward me, her lips parting as a faint, shaky “No” slips out.

Shit.

I push myself up on one elbow and lean closer. Her brows are furrowed, her breathing quick and uneven. The sight has something clenching in my chest.

Holland Tate—sarcastic, sharp, and untouchable—is having a nightmare.

My hand hovers hesitantly over her arm. She’s not exactly the kind of person who welcomes comfort, but seeing her so vulnerable and fragile pricks at me. Carefully, I lay my hand on her back. The heat of her skin seeps through the thin fabric of her tank top.

“Holland,” I murmur. “Wake up.”

She moves again, her features twisting as another whimper escapes from her. “Nooo,” she whispers, her voice thick with fear.

“Holland,” I say more firmly before shaking her arm. “You’re all right. You’re safe. Wake up.”

Her eyes fly open, wild and unfocused, as a soft sob tears from her throat. The fear and confusion within that cry hit me like a punch to the gut. This isn’t the Holland I’ve gotten to know over the past three years. It’s not the girl who can slice me in half with a single look or leave me speechless with her sharp tongue.

This Holland is raw, exposed, and I really fucking hate that I’m seeing her like this.

Without thinking, I pull her into my arms. She stiffens for a heartbeat before collapsing against me. Her fingers clutch at my chest, as if I’m the only thing anchoring her to reality. I rest my chin on top of her head as my hand rubs soothing circles across her back.

“You’re okay,” I whisper, kissing the crown of her head. “I’ve got you.”

Her breathing slows as her sobs quiet into shaky inhales. We lie like that for a long time. The rain outside is the only sound that fills the room.

“You want to talk about it?” I ask before tacking on, “They say it helps.”

She releases a shuddering breath, her voice muffled against my chest. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“I have no idea. The experts, I guess?”

She shifts slightly, her head tilting to look at me. Her face is pale, her eyes red-rimmed, but there’s a flicker of humor in her expression. “You don’t strike me as the type to listen to experts.”

I smirk. “Don’t let it get around. I have a reputation to uphold.”

There’s a hint of a smile that tugs at her lips before it fades, leaving something softer in its place. “Do you think we could pretend for a little bit that we don’t hate each other?”

Her words catch me off guard, but my response comes easily. “I don’t hate you, Holland. I never hated you.”

She snorts, but there’s no real venom behind it. “Could’ve fooled me.”

My fingers drift to her hair, sifting through the soft strands. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I pushed you away after we slept together because I was scared.”

It’s so much easier to admit the truth in the darkness that blankets us.

She lifts her head again until her gaze can lock on mine. “Scared of what?”

“You,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper before forcing myself to say the rest. “What you made me feel. By the time I realized I’d made a mistake, it was too late. The damage was done.”

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