Page 35 of Always Will
“I just found out you don’t hate me five minutes ago. Gimme a minute to adjust,” he teases.
I expect him to refuse, to pull his superhumanI-can-handle-anythingbullshit. Instead, he rubs the back of his neck and nods. “Okay. I’ll stay with you tonight. But I’m finding a hotel for tomorrow.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TREVOR
This couch is longer than most, but my head and feet hang off the ends as I try to get comfortable enough to sleep. I readjust my durag and turn toward the cushion, finding the perfect divot to wedge my shoulder into, when Willa shouts from her bedroom. I pause to be sure of what I heard, but after the second yell, I throw the blanket off and scramble to my feet. When I reach her door, the anguish in her voice is heart-wrenching enough that I don’t even knock.
Willa’s lying on her bed, head whipping back and forth as she thrashes around the tangled sheets, wailing, “No! Not my…”
Leaving the light off, I kneel at her bedside and rub her upper arm to wake her gently. “Willa. Hey. Wake up, sweetheart.”
She jolts upright with a soul-shaking gasp, slowly taking in her dark bedroom. I squeeze her shoulder to make her aware of my presence, and she jumps.
“Hey”—I say, holding up my hands—“it’s Trev. It’s okay. You were having a nightmare.”
“I know that!” she snaps. The scrunch in her forehead melts, and she covers her face with her hands. “Ugh, I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“I was still awake. Let’s get you back to sleep.” I reach to replace her comforter, but she stays my hand.
“No.” She fixes the hair scarf threatening to slide off her head. “I can’t sleep now.”
“What do you mean?”
“The first night this happened, I just went right back into it.”
“The first night? How long has it been happening?”
She sighs and wrinkles her nose, pulling her comforter off her feet. “Almost two weeks.”
“Willa—”
“I know,” she huffs. “I should have told you. I’m sorry, okay? But they’re nightmares, Trevor. Not exactly something you can fix.” She swings her legs over the side of the bed and flips on the Tiffany lamp on her nightstand, bathing the room in a stained-glass glow. Her dark purple comforter and sheets are a wadded mess.
“And you’re having them every night?”
She nods and rubs her face.
“What do you do when you have them?”
“I usually watch TV until it’s time to get up for the day.”
“Well, that stops now.”
She leans away from me with a glare. “Excuse me?”
“TV is overstimulating. You’re making it worse.”
“Okay, well, I’m not going back to sleep just to be tortured awake again. What am I supposed to do?”
“Talk to me about it.”
“Ew,” she whispers, swiping her twists to the side so they cascade over her shoulder.
I shift off my knees, crossing my legs as I sit in front of her. “I’m serious. What happens in your dream?”
“I’m minding my business, holding the baby, and then a gale-force wind rips her away.”
