Page 47 of Return to Us
More banging noises are heard. I keep my eyes on Jacob’s and force myself to do my job.
With a strangled voice I tell him the last words I’ll ever speak. “Brace, brace, brace.”
“Jessica, Jess, wake up.” I hear Grayson’s voice beside me. Feel his hands shaking my shoulders. “Jess.”
My eyes open, and tears flood my vision. God, this happened again. It was bad. I was there, on the edge of being awake, but couldn’t stop it. I must’ve been yelling loud enough for him to rush in.
Without thinking, I grab on to him, holding on to him, seeking comfort.
Grayson’s hand cradles my head against his chest. The steady sound of his heartbeat is what I focus on. I breathe with it, using the thrum under my ear to measure my own, and allow it to coax my own into slowing. “It’s okay, Jess. You’re safe. It’s okay.”
I clutch the fabric of his shirt, fingers wrapping with all their strength to stay tethered to something real and steady.
He settles beside me, pulling me even closer. “You’re okay,” Grayson reassures me over and over.
I am okay. I know this, but the dreams, they don’t allow for rationalization. As I come back to myself, relaxing a little more with each breath, shame and embarrassment wash over me.
Here I am, lying in this bed, holding on to Grayson for dear life.
My fingers relax, and I attempt to push myself up, but he doesn’t relinquish his hold. “I’m okay now,” I say.
His arms loosen enough that I can sit up. “You were screaming.” His voice is layered with concern.
“I have this dream. Well, more like a nightmare.”
“The crash?”
“Yes.”
He sits up, back resting against the headboard as I tuck my legs under me. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
Why is this man so damn sweet? Why couldn’t he be an asshole who hates me? It would be so much easier. Yet, he heard me crying out, and he came. He stayed, and even now, he’s being kind.
“Not really,” I admit. “Thank you for coming and waking me.”
He laughs once. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I hoped I wouldn’t dream.”
Grayson shifts and clears his throat. “How often do they happen?”
Even though he probably can’t see my face well, I turn away, shielding myself from his view. “Every. Single. Night.”
I feel the bed move, and then his hand is on my back. He moves it up to my shoulder, squeezing gently before pulling me against his chest. My need for this man knows no bounds. I should push him away, tell him I’m fine, and read until the sun comes up. Instead, I lean into his body and let his strong arms wrap around me.
“What can I do?”
I bury my head in his chest, inhaling his musky soap scent. “This is enough.”
This is everything.
I have my mother, but she stopped coming in weeks ago to wake me. It did no good, and I was still so angry then. I would wail at her, scream about how unfair this is. There’s Dr. Warvel, but no amount of talking has kept the dreams away.
In Grayson’s arms, it feels as though I’m protected from it, which is absolutely ridiculous because . . . we’re nothing.
“Do you want me to stay?” he asks.
I tip my head back to look at him. “Stay?”
