Page 7 of Mail Order Bride for the Scrooge

“Slade, my brother,” he gave me a pointed look and I found myself smiling, “has a best friend he grew up with. Their family kind of adopted him after I went into the service and wasn’t around anymore. The Langs are the closest thing I have to family in town.”

I could have squealed with excitement because it felt like a huge victory getting him to share, but I kept it under control. There was something kind of sad about what he wasn’t saying. Something I recognized.

I hummed and nodded and took a few bites of stew, wanting him to be a little off balance by me not continuing to lob questions his way. The silence between us wasn’t awkward, which was a totally new sensation for me.

I’ve never been great with silence. Probably because I grew up with a lot of it around me. When I was alone, hating the silence because it made the feeling of no one caring about me reverberate through me, I would listen to music.

There were a lot of depressing soundtracks in my past, but also ones full of joy and happy songs for the times when I wasn’t wallowing in my loneliness. So many of my classmates had parents who breathed down their necks. I just had an overbearing brother. In some sense, I was lucky; at least it’s what I told myself.

When we were almost done with our dinner, I asked softly, “Do you think it was Hollis’ parents who put out the ad?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” he growled without even looking at me.

I figured he was done with talking for the night and we slipped back into silence, even as we cleaned up after our meal. He tried to wave me off when I went to help him, but I wasn’t having it. I can be stubborn as hell when I need to be.

If he wanted to be alone, he was going to have to say it. He didn’t and it felt like a win, like I was getting a little peek over the wall the mountain man had built around himself.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to climb his walls completely. He might not even give me the chance to try.

The thought makes me sad.

I came here resolved to get married. The thought of not having the opportunity, strange as it may have been before I found myself in this position, doesn’t sit right with me.

I know Gannon and I could be good for each other. It’s a bone deep surety I’ve never felt before with another person.

Do all marriages have to start with love? I think I could love the man given a little time. Hell, I’m halfway there just because he feels so solid to me.

A pained sound, a mix between a moan and a groan, has me sitting straight up in bed. What the fuck was that? It didn’t quite sound like a wild animal, but it wasn’t all that far off either. I strain in the dark, listening it to happen again.

The moment it does, I know it’s coming from Gannon’s room. If there wasn’t so much pain in the sound, I might think he’s jacking off, but there is no pleasure mixed in it. When I hear it a third time, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end and I’m out of bed before I even realize I’m moving.

He needs me.

I don’t know how I know, but those words repeat in my soul as my heart beats in time with them.

He needs me.

I open the door to his room a crack and peek into his room. His large body is covered in sweat while his face is contorted in a grimace which has tears filling my eyes while he twists and writhes on his bed. He’s kicked the sheet and quilt off his body, leaving all of him exposed to me.

When I say all of him, I mean it. All. Of. Him.

He’s naked and it’s a glorious sight.

But I should not be ogling a man who is clearly having a nightmare.

Not the time, Lake.

Does that mean I won’t file the image away for my own personal use later? I absolutely will.

My footsteps are heavy as I make my way into his room. Storm, who is sitting on the other side of the bed with his head resting on the mattress as he watches Gannon, looks at me with the saddest fucking eyes I have ever seen on a dog. He looks like he’s about to cry and I’m not even sure dogs can cry.

I shake my head knowing I’ll be looking that shit up later. The internet is a wonderous place.

Fuck. Focus, Lake.

Gannon makes the sound again and it makes me want to curl into a ball and sob. For him. For his pain. For the torture he’s clearly enduring while trapped in his own mind.

I don’t tiptoe closer to the bed; I plod and try to make as much noise as possible. I want to wake him, but there are warning sirens going off in my head to not get too close. I don’t think Gannon would ever hurt me, but by the expression on his face, which should be smoothed out in sleep, I have a feeling he’s not in his right mind right now.

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