“How do I ask you to stay to just…sleep?”
To imagine, even for a moment, that she thought I might not stay if the only option was sleep breaks me a little on the inside.
I grab her hand, weave our fingers together. “Baby, if you wanna sleep, we’ll sleep. Tonight, tomorrow night, every night, it doesn’t matter. End of story.”
“Okay, maybe noteverynight,” she teases, the tension in her shoulders easing a bit. “But tonight, yeah. Then maybe we can play it by ear, if that’s okay?” Hesitation fills her words like tar running through a sieve.
There’s something she’s not telling me. And I haven’t forgotten what happened a few nights ago.
“Of course it’s okay. You decide, Hannah. But please talk to me.”
Her head bobs as deep grooves form between her brows. “Right, okay…so…I-I’ve had a hard time sleeping since…”
Since the night I beat Daniel’s face in—she doesn’t need to say it. My jaw clenches at the memory of him pinning her to the car.
The admission spills out softly as she continues, her gaze bouncing around in the void behind me. “It’s like the quiet is too quiet and the dark is too dark and my mind starts playing these tricks on me. Kristen stayed over last night and that helped, but?—”
“You called Kristen?”
Hannah nods. “I didn’t plan to. I was getting some work done to take my mind off…everything…and I ended up calling her and…” Her tired shrug fills in the rest.
I don’t need to ask why she didn’t call me when I already know the answer. She didn’t want to be a burden. She thinks it’s not a big deal, that she’s fine, and she shouldn’t bother others with her problems.
Telling her she has it all wrong or how badly I wish she would’ve calledmeisn’t what she needs right now. She needs a friend, a shoulder. A safe place to rest her head.
I take the keys from her hand and kiss her forehead. “Let’s go to bed.”
One eye fluttersopen under the weight of Hannah’s stare. Over her shoulder, the clock on her nightstand, partially obstructed by her mass supply of chapstick, reads almost 1:00.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” I murmur.
She shifts closer on the mattress, and I set a hand on her hip to brace her against me.
While I showered the smell of algae-ridden carnival water off earlier, she popped my clothes in the dryer. Her “generous offer”—literally her words—to let me wear my own hoodie to sleep in was quickly shut down. I’d rather see her in it anyway. So I slid into my boxer briefs for bed, but decided to throw my shirt back on at the last minute because I didn’t want to make things more difficult than they already were. The less access to bare skin under the covers the better. For both of us.
Wrapped in the thick fabric of my sweatshirt, she pulls the sleeves down over her palms and tucks one under her pillow. “My brain won’t turn off.”
I push the hair off her neck. “You’re safe. I promise.”
“I know. My mind’s just going a mile a minute.”
The stove light down the hall glows dimly beyond the bedroom door. I told her it’s safer to sleep with it closed in case of a fire, but she was adamant it stay open. I didn’t push.
My vision adjusts to the dark until I can make out the shape of her face and the contrasted whites around her eyes, the round tufts of her cheeks.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
She traces the ink on my bicep with the pad of her finger. “I wanna know what all your tattoos mean.” Her touch glides lower, delicately grazing the puckered flesh on my forearm. “And how you got this scar.” Her eyes stop following the path of her finger and lift to mine. “And how you like your eggs in the morning.”
I find her hand under the pillow. “Over medium”
The shadows above her cheeks darken atop her smile. “Same.”
“I’ll tell you anything you wanna know. Just ask.”
Her lashes dip and she goes quiet. I think she might have dozed off until she squeezes my hand and says, “What were you thinking when that little boy came up to you at the carnival?”
When you join the military, there’s no course on how to handle interactions with strangers in public. Ostentatious guys like Dubs eat up the attention like bottomless wings and beer on Pay Per View fight nights at the bar, while I’ve always found them to be a little uncomfortable.