Page 45 of Nightmare

I just keep moving.

Stopping in front of him, I tip my head back and look up at the man who is so torn apart inside, it radiates from his soul, stabbing you with pain and heartache the moment you get close enough. It’s as if you can feel just how much he’s hurting, simply by being in his presence.

“I’m not scared of you,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

“You’re a fuckin’ liar,” he grinds out.

“Okay,” I admit, my fingers trembling as I reach them out slowly to touch the cross hanging down from his neck, “sometimes, I am afraid of you, but it’s not because I think you’re a murderer, it’s because I don’t know how to read you. I don’t think you’re a monster, Western, I think you’re broken.”

His hand moves up, and I wait for him to shove my fingers away, but instead his large hand curls around mine. My breath hitches as I meet his eyes, and something between us roars to life, a kind of need that I’m praying he’s feeling because it’s overwhelming for me. My legs are shaky, my skin is prickling, and my heart is racing. I want him, as unconventional and wrong as that is. I don’t know why, I can’t make sense of it, but I want him.

“What if you’re wrong?” he grinds out, his voice tight, but his hand remains on mine. “What if I did do it?”

“I’m not wrong,” I breathe.

His hand moves, slowly travelling down my wrist, over my elbow and there, he slides it up my arm until he reaches my shoulder. Holding my breath, I don’t move as he brings that big hand up to my neck, where he curls it around the back, pulling me forward. My body presses against his and a spark of something soars to life inside me. Breath hitching, I swallow and wait. I just wait.

I don’t know what he’s about to do.

“I haven’t kissed a woman in over twenty years.”

That shocks me.

It truly shocks me.

He’s married.

He hasn’t kissed his wife? Not even once?

“Hazel,” I whisper, my voice shaky.

“Never.”

Oh, god.

I can’t breathe.

Is he going to kiss me?

Do I want him to?

God, yes, I do.

I really do.

Reaching up, I place my hand on his arm and slowly move my fingers over his flesh, up his bicep, and to his chest when I splay my fingers out. I can smell the whiskey, he’s so close, and I can feel the warmth of his breath tickling my face. Does he want to kiss me? I know, that right now, in this moment, I want to kiss him.

“Do you want to kiss me, Western?”

His eyes lock onto mine, and his breath hitches, just the slightest amount.

“I’m married.”

The reality of that has me closing my eyes and exhaling.

He’s married.

It might not be the kind of marriage one would envision growing up, perfect with the love of your life, but it’s marriage all the same and, because of that, I can’t get in the way. I can’t ask him to make a decision that will only make his life that much harder, even if every single inch of me wants to drown in him right now.

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