Page 36 of Evermore: Heart of the Raven

“It’s all right,” I offer softly, still rubbing at my sore wrist.

“No, I’m sorry. Please come here. I’m so sorry.”

I make my way back to the bed and Connor instantly envelops my body against his. I can hear his heartbeat hammering against his ribs and the fast pant of his breath. Every muscle in his body quivers nervously.

“Connor, what’s wrong?”

“I have nightmares sometimes. I’m sorry. I should have told you. It’s just that I haven’t had one whenever you’re with me. I thought … I thought maybe, with you, they might be gone. Where did I touch you?” Connor’s hands immediately begin searching my arms and hands for marks. I hide the place where he touched me, not wanting to upset him further.

“You grabbed my wrist, it’s nothing.” He bares the tender skin and then kisses it softly, his lips trembling slightly.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice quavers.

“Not much, you mostly scared me,” I reply. “Connor, what do you have nightmares about?” I try to ignore the bruise forming on my wrist. He certainly didn’t do that on purpose.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, Lainey Bird. Just lie here with me for a while. I’ll be OK in a minute.” I click the light off again and slide into the bed beside him. His body is sticky with a sheen of perspiration.

“Connor, please tell me.”

He lets out an apprehensive sigh. For several long heartbeats, he says nothing. I notice his breathing and heart rate slow considerably as we lie spooned together in the dark.

“Years ago, I was in the Army. A Ranger. We were on a mission overseas … Afghanistan. Some of the other special forces guys we were with … there was an explosion. I managed to get a couple of them out. But … there was so much blood and three of them … they didn’t survive.”

“Oh, God. Connor. I’m so sorry.” My heart clenches for him in a way I can hardly describe. It feels like it’s breaking.

“It was pretty bad,” he says. I can tell that’s a tremendous understatement, but I allow him to tell his story in his own words, in his own way.

“And you have nightmares about it?”

“Sometimes.” Connor offers simply.

“What can I do for you when that happens?” I ask. I want to offer him the same support he offered to me in the RV when I was forced to disclose my dislike of sex.

“I don’t know. But I can get separate rooms for us from now on if you want. I want you to feel safe. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Connor.” It’s only half a lie. The mark on my wrist doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as my heart that’s breaking for the man who still carries the ghosts from war with him.

He rolls away from me, and I’m face-to-face with the lion inked onto his back. The room is dark, and I’m unable to see the tattoo clearly. I can only make out a faint trace of the haunting blue eyes visible in the ambient light. But I know the lion is there. Just like in the shower at the spa, my fingers reach for him again and I feel the pads of them skate along his bare skin over the lines where I suppose the lion lies sleeping.

Connor’s muscles twitch under my touch, his skin rippling as I pet the lion and attempt to soothe him back to sleep. A long, soft sigh escapes his lips.

“That feels so good, Raven. Thank you.” His voice is heavy with need. This is what he needs. He doesn’t need to be abandoned in a separate room in his brokenness. He needs someone whose heart can glue the cracked and shattered pieces of him back together again. I don’t know if that’s me, but I want to try.

“Why the lion?” I ask quietly. I force myself to remain quiet for his reply despite the awkward silence that seems to engulf us for so long. I’m just about to give up hope that he’ll respond at all when a single quiet word lifts through the darkness.

“Aslan.” He offers simply.

“From the Narnia books?” I think back to that sleepover the night of his birthday and the stack of books he keeps beside his bed.

“Yeah. One of the spec ops guys in the bombing had a copy of it on him. I read it. It’s an allegory of the Bible, you know.”

“I didn’t.” I continue to quietly and softly stroke the lion’s mane. I can feel Connor’s heartbeat slowing and the tension in his shoulders relax a tiny fraction.

“It’s the story of the Bible. Of Jesus. How he forgave Edmund his betrayal, equipped the Pevensie kids with weapons to defeat evil and then offered up his own life to save everyone. Aslan is Jesus.”

“I never made that connection before. But I admit it’s been a long time since I’ve read it.”

“I’ve read it dozens of times,” Connor said. “Aslan has my back.”

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