Page 187 of Branded
“And we’d finished…” My cheeks went hot. “I…it was good. Really good, and I was trying to summon the energy to attack you again.”
That had his lips turning up.
But he didn’t say anything. He just waited for me to speak again, and I did my best to wind my way through the blackness of my memories. What the hell had happened?
“You got stiff, sugarpie,” he said softly. “Then went into the bathroom.”
My stomach began sinking. “I did?”
“Yeah, honey.”
Shit.
What had I?—?
The sliding glass door whirred open, and I jerked my head to the side—and God that hurt—to see Hazel moving into the space, a woman in a pale blue sweater and a badge around her neck trailing behind her.
Oh no.
Now my stomach was twisting itself into knots.
“Raph,” I whispered. “Wh-what happened?”
“Sugar—”
“Raph.” Panic began squeezing my insides. “What did I do to you?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m fine.”
This didn’t seem like nothing. Being in a hospital bed with tubes in my hands, machines beeping around me, and Hazel and Raph and the woman with the badge all staring at me in concern. Definitely not nothing. This was?—
“Breathe, honey,” Hazel said gently, closing the distance between us and weaving our fingers together. “Everything is okay. The babies are good. You’re good. Raph is good. This is my friend Marin Stewart. She’s a licensed clinical social worker and we’re going to step out so you can talk to her.”
Oh, God.
Hazel was using her gentle voice.
Her Beth-is-going-to-lose-her-shit, or maybe her Beth-had-already-lost-it voice.
Jesus Christ.
What had I done?
“No,” I said, hand squeezing Hazel’s. “Don’t leave. Please. I’m fine. I’m sure this was all just stress and fatigue and pregnancy?—”
“And PTSD,” Hazel murmured.
“I—” I clamped my lips together. “What?” I breathed. “That’s not—” A shake of my head. “I’m not—I’m fine.” I forced a smile. “It was just?—”
Raph squeezed my hand. “You were shaking and begging me not to hurt you.”
Oh, fuck.
“I was there for the nightmare, honey, and I let that slide, thinking I wasn’t in a place to demand anything from you.” He touched my jaw. “But, fuck, baby. I can’t let this slide. You need to talk to someone about what’s going on, and we need to get you the help you need—whether that’s from me or Hazel or Marin.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m just?—”
“You spent an hour huddled into a ball, not in the present, but somewhere dark.”
