Page 62 of One More Chance

Lucas kisses me on the forehead. It’s unexpected and tender and sends a thrill trembling through me. “Stay with me tonight, Trouble.”

I pretend to consider his request. The truth is, I don’t have the energy to move. “Since your bed is comfier than the guest bed, that can be arranged.”

The responding smile on Lucas’s face is enough to heat my blood during the coldest winter nights.

I have no idea what stirs me from my sleep. Exhaustion clings to me thanks to the two additional rounds of sex during the night, but I manage to pry my eyes open. The early moments of dawn stretch through the slits in the blinds.

There’s a muffled grunt behind me. The mattress moves beneath me like a series of small aftershocks.

I flip over to find Lucas twisting and squirming on the bed. It’s nothing like what happened last night before dinner. Then, he seemed to be frozen in place, struggling to breathe and trembling.

This time it’s as if he’s fighting an invisible enemy. Invisible to me. My heart splinters at seeing Lucas this way. And I feel so helpless. Helpless not knowing how to save him.

“Lucas,” I say softly so as not to freak him out.

He keeps squirming, oblivious to my presence. The bedding tangles around his legs like a deadly serpent working its way up for the kill.

I lightly grab his shoulder. “Lucas. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

He groans, the sound pained. My heart breaks some more.

I try again.

His eyes snap open, but even in the dim light I can tell they aren’t focused. Terror stares back at me. He’s not seeing me. He’s not seeing anything in his bedroom. A sheen of sweat covers his naked body.

His arms flail, catching me off guard. A fist lands in my face. A sharp pain cuts into my cheek. A surprised yelp escapes me.

I press my hand against the stinging.

“Simone?” The terror on Lucas’s faces switches to horror. “Shit, did I hit you?”

He sits up and reaches for my face, his hand shaky. I flinch away from him. He curses under his breath.

Wetness trickles down my cheek. I wipe it with the back of my hand, and wince at the sharp sting, at the blood smeared on my skin. “Were you having a nightmare?”

He rests his forearms on bent knees, his head drooping forward, and nods.

I kneel next to him. “Do you often have them?”

“Not really. Not until about two months ago. I’ve had a few since then. The same with the flashbacks. I was a mess when I returned from Afghanistan. It took time, but with therapy the nightmares and flashbacks became less frequent. To the point where they almost went away.”

“What are they about?”

He shakes his head once more, only this time harder. More adamant.

He won’t tell me, no matter how much I want him to. It’s the same stubbornness I recognize from growing up with him. All I can do is be here for Lucas.

“Okay,” I whisper. If he doesn’t want to tell me, he must have his reasons. I’m not a therapist. I can’t expect him to open up as if I am one.

His gaze studies my face, the guilt and shame in his eyes piercing my heart. “Shit. I can’t believe I hit you.”

“It’s okay,” I say, doing my best to soothe him.

“It’s not okay.” His tone is sharp, and the bite of his words punctures through to my bones. “I fucking hit you, Simone.”

“You didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”

He scoffs. “Said every abused wife.”

---