I nodded, knowing we didn’t need answers just yet. We could take this slowly, even as we were careful.
I grabbed my pajamas, slid them on, did my best not to worry about tomorrow, and then slipped back into bed next to her, holding her close.
She fell asleep first, and I listened to the sounds of her breathing before it lulled me to surrender.
I should’ve remembered that I did not get happily ever afters.
I didn’t get peace.
I should’ve remembered that my nightmares were real.
I had lived them, and they were not letting go.
Chapter 15
Dakota
The groan woke me, pulling me from my dreams of heat and Macon. I turned over, only to sit up sharply as I looked over at the man next to me in bed. He tossed and turned, his fists clenched at his sides, his jaw gritted so tightly I was afraid he might crack a molar.
I didn’t know whether to wake him or let him sleep through the nightmare. I knew you weren’t supposed to wake sleepwalkers, and I always tried to wake Joshua out of his bad dreams—but this seemed like a night terror.
Would trying to help make it worse?
When Macon whimpered and whispered Cross’s name, I knew I needed to wake him up. I soothingly put my hand on his shoulder. “Macon. Baby. Wake up. You’re safe. I’m here. You’re okay.”
He didn’t wake. Instead, he thrashed again, sweat covering his body and the sheets.
Tension slid through me, and I bit my lip. “Macon.”
He sat up, his fist coming at me. I ducked, but I needn’t have bothered. He stopped his motion before he got even close to me. His eyes went wide as he stared as if not seeing me until he blinked.
“Jesus Christ. Are you okay? Did I get you?” His voice was gruff as if he had been screaming in his dreams and had somehow ravaged his throat.
I let out a breath and then tentatively put my hand on his cheek. He flinched, and my heart broke just a little. But then he leaned into the touch and let out a breath.
“Dakota. Did I hurt you?”
I shook my head, grateful for the light coming through the curtains so he could see me. “You didn’t even touch me, Macon. You weren’t close to me. I promise. I was afraid to wake you in case something happened, but when you kept thrashing, I knew I needed to pull you out of your dreams. You’re safe. I’m only sorry I startled you.” My pulse continued to race, but not out of fear that he’d have hit me coming out of his nightmare, but because there was nothing I could do to make them go away completely.
“Jesus, Dakota. I could’ve hurt you.”
I kept my hands on him, needing to anchor myself as much as he did. “But you didn’t. You’re the one who was hurting. I’m so sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. We both know that sometimes nightmares don’t need to be spoken aloud.”
Macon stared at me, blinking away his sleep, or perhaps the nightmare he struggled to pull himself away from completely. “I don’t know what I was dreaming. Not really. But they’re usually the same each time.”
I kept my hand on his face and his chest, needing to touch him and know that he was whole. I hoped maybe he needed my touch, as well.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say.
Macon shook his head. “No need to be sorry,” he said softly. “I know you’ve been through hell and back.”
“Perhaps. But we all have our versions of hell. It doesn’t make anyone’s less traumatic.”
He stared at me for a long moment before he pulled away slightly, his eyes going blank for a bit as if he were pulling up memories instead of staying in the here and now. “I remember everything about that day. I know they say sometimes you forget the most painful parts of your life, that your body and mind protect you. But that’s just bullshit.” He let out a laugh that held no humor.
“I remember things they told me I shouldn’t, either,” I whispered.
He met my gaze, the pain in his eyes palpable. “You understand. Not a lot of people would, but you do.” He reached out and tucked my hair behind my ear. He leaned forward and kissed me gently, and I pressed into him, knowing that he needed the touch as much as I did.
He pulled away and then let out a breath. “You know, other than Arden being sick, we had a normal life growing up. Nothing too scary.”
I looked at him and let him speak, knowing he needed to get it out.
“Arden was sick a lot as a kid, although I don’t know if it was just a weak immune system, or if her lupus had flared even then. Most people say you don’t deal with things like that until you’re older, but I don’t know. She was pretty sick when we were growing up. It only got worse after she got older and we tried to figure out how to help.”
“She’s doing better now, though.” At least, I hoped so. I didn’t see Arden as much as the rest of Macon’s siblings, but when I did, she was always smiling, if a bit tired sometimes. But perhaps she was far better than the rest of us at putting on a brave face during the pain or when the world seemed to be breaking around us.
“She is, with medicine, therapy, and being kinder to herself in the way she lives and endures. She closed herself off from the rest of the world for so long, and it wasn’t until she met Liam that she finally found a way out—if only for a little while.” He shook his head. “She wouldn’t let us pull her out. She hid from us just as much as she hid from the rest of the world, and I
