Page 67 of Take Hold of Me

He is sweating, his arms and legs jerking. I jump off the bed to avoid a fist to my abdomen. In what I hope to be an authoritative voice, I state, “Wills.”

He says a garbled mass of syllables, pushing at the air. His hand is curled as if holding something. Probably an imaginary gun.

I inhale and try again, with even more force. “Wills. Wake up.”

He stops moving, his chest rising and falling with shorter breaths. He rouses. I place my knee onto the bed and repeat, “Wills.”

His eyes fly open. “Angel.”

Joining him fully on the bed, I wipe the sweat from his brow. “You were having another nightmare.”

He shuts his eyelids tightly, his cheek jumping from the inside.

“You are okay. I am here. Do you want something to drink? Tea?”

He shifts his head on the pillow, head facing away from me. He responds, his voice strangled, “No, I’m good.”

My eyes rake his prone form. The veins in his arms bulge from the tension he just suffered. “Want to talk about it?”

When I am sure he will remain silent like he did before, he surprises me. “It’s the same as always. Starr. Only in my dreams, after she kills my partners, she turns her gun on my sister.”

I gasp. “Oh, Wills. No.” My tears are the only ones that flow.

He huffs out air, raking his hand through his hair, which causes it to stand in all directions. He attempts a laugh, but it sounds more like a stab of agony to my ears.

“I know it’s just a dream. Sorry to have woken you up.” He reaches down and pulls the sheet over our naked bodies and turns to face me. “It’s late. Go back to sleep.”

When I do not move, he kisses my lips. “I’m okay. Really. You don’t have to worry about me. That’s my job to do for you.”

My eyebrows pull together. People in love worry for the other, and I know I love him. The Agency’s admonition not to frown comes to my mind, causing me to smooth out my features. “I want to make things better for you.”

Strong arms come around my body. “You do.”

I tug him to me. I know—know—I do not have the skills to help him overcome his demons. I need to try again. “You should talk with a therapist. I can get you some good recommendations—”

He cuts me off before I can finish my thought. “No. I can handle this.” His voice is hard. Harder than a stage manager’s bark during a fashion week. He reaches over me and shuts off the lamp. “Get some sleep.”

I close my eyes, but sleep eludes me. This conversation is not over.

---