Page 16 of When the Smoke Clears

There’s a click, and then darkness covers the room. The bed dips as he slides in next to me. One strong arm reaches beneath me gently, and he pulls me into him, wrapping me up in his heat. His lips are warm against my temple, and before long, the combination of his steady breaths and the overwhelming fatigue in my body lull me to sleep.

Unlike previous nights curled into Sutton’s arms, my rest is fitful. The throbbing from my wound wakes me occasionally, and when I’m asleep, nightmares plague me. Colt’s angry face as he lunged, the sound of the gun going off, the moment his knife pierced my abdomen; all of it plays out on a movie screen in my mind.

Each time I startle awake, I have to remind myself where I am as I search the darkness for a threat. The rapid beating of my heart is nearly painful. Repeatedly, I snuggle deeper into Sutton’s chest and work to right my breathing.

The final time I fall back asleep, I’m once again telling Colt it doesn’t have to be this way when he lunges at me. The gun goes off high and to the right of him. He smashes into me, the knife penetrates my side, and vile things spill from his mouth against my ear. I fight through the searing pain of the blade to wrestle my arm free. Somehow, the gun goes off again, and I’m crashing backward to the ground. Colt grunts loudly and stumbles my way before falling partially and then collapsing atop me. His hands scrape feebly on the ground, but he never gains traction. He stills and I drop the gun, trying to push myself out from under him. His limp body seems to gain weight the longer he lays on me.

I wake soaked in sweat and panting. A warm hand cups my face, and I shove away from the source, scrambling backward on the bed.

“Maci, wait—” Sutton grunts as one of my feet makes contact with his ribcage right before I fall off the bed onto the floor. “Shit!”

The amber light of his bedside lamp illuminates the space. Before my eyes have adjusted, he rounds the bed quickly and drops to the floor in front of me. “Maci, it’s me.”

“I know.” I pant and lean against the wall of the closet. “I’m sorry.” My throat feels thick, my side is screaming, and I just kicked the man I love in the ribs.

He cradles my face in his hands, studying me. “Why are you apologizing to me?”

It’s an effort not to shriek at him when I respond. “I just kicked you!”

My favorite twitch at the corner of his lips hints that he’s hiding a smirk. “It’s ok, Firecracker. Don’t apologize.” His hands leave my face to grasp mine, which rest on my drawn knees. “I’m going to put you back where you belong now.”

I nod with a sad smile. Gently, he slides one arm under my legs and one behind my back, but he’s on the wrong side to put me into the bed. Instead, he carries me to his side and crawls in on his knees, tucking me against his warm chest.

He’s quiet while our breathing settles, playing with my hair. Hair that’s probably covered in the mixed blood of myself and my attacker. Bile fills my stomach.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I don’t respond at first. I can’t.

In true Sutton fashion, he just waits. My eyes burn with unshed tears and my throat begins to close again. I untangle myself from his arms and slowly push up to sitting. Somehow, I manage not to wince or audibly complain about the ache in my side, but it’s at the expense of my teeth, which are firmly clenched together.

Sutton very obviously wants to help me but refrains. He adjusts the pillows behind me and rolls onto his side, watching me.

“Nightmares.” It seems like such a childish response. Images from my dreams, from my experience, loop in my mind.

His hand rubs over my covered legs.

I lick my lips. “I need to take a shower.”

“Let me help you.” He sits up quickly.

“Sutton.”

“Maci.” His tone leaves little room for negotiating, and I love him all the more for it, but I need to be alone. “You’re not even supposed to be showering yet, but I know better than to think I can talk to you out of it. At least let me help you.”

“Please.” I caress his face, the stubble there a familiar sensation, soothing in its scrape against my hand. He leans into my touch. “Please,” I repeat.

He scrubs a hand over his face and pushes back his disheveled, sandy hair. “Ok, but I really don’t like this. I’m going to help you into the bathroom and be waiting out here when you’re done.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, Cowboy.”

The tightness in his face softens minimally.

I’m grateful for his assistance as my body has gone somewhat stiff, and the ache in my stomach muscles makes it hard to stand fully. A whisper of doubt creeps through my mind, but I ignore it. It doesn’t matter that it’s only been a day since someone tried to kill me. I need to do this.

Sutton turns the shower on before he leaves the bathroom, hanging a fresh towel on the rack closest to the glass door. He pauses, looking me over with a pained expression before he departs.

I’m motionless at first. Steam fills the enclosed space. Using as few movements as possible, I slip my underwear off my hips, and they fall easily to the floor. The shirt is going to be another beast.

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