Christopher laughed.
“It’s not like it’s mint flavored,” Christopher said. “It’s sanitary. And it won’t break off into little infectious threads.”
“Damn.” That sounded logical. I reached over and took Ryan’s hand. He squeezed reassuringly.
“Want some booze?” Ryan asked.
“We’ll see,” I said.
“This will hurt,” Breno warned me.
He was right. It hurt like a bitch.
*
I don’t know how long I had been asleep before I felt the bed dip as someone climbed in next to me. I grunted. It was the best greeting my sleep-drugged mind could come up with.
“I heard you smacked a bitch,” Ryan said. “Not a tussle,” he imitated Breno. “But straight up smacked a bitch.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Christopher and Reese talked. They only loathe each other now, instead of being mortal enemies.”
“Good.”
“You can go back to sleep now,” he said.
“’Kay.”
And I did.
I hadn’t had the dream since I’d found Ryan. My subconscious had been blissfully quiet. I hadn’t really thought about it either. It’s strange how easily nightmares can be ignored when you don’t want to face them. But they always come back. Always. Until you deal, I guess. I hadn’t dealt, though.
It was the same as always. Blood seeping into my shoes, sucking at my feet, seeping between my toes. It climbed my body, weighed me down. I waded, swam, lunged for Reese. The gun. That fucking piece of shit gun. I pointed it at Tommy. It turned on Reese. She was silent. In death. In recrimination. Her cool gray eyes glaring even after the life had gone from them.
“Please, please, I’m sorry. Come back. I’m sorry.”
“Coop, Coop. Wake the fuck up.” Warm arms were around me. A muscled body pressed close. My tears streamed into a warm, soft shoulder. He held me close and rocked me. “It’s okay. I got you. It’s okay.”
“Shit.” I sniffled. My throat was raw. I must have been screaming.
“What the hell?”
“Fucking dream.”
“Dream? What the fuck kind of nightmares are you having?” Ryan asked softly.
“They…It started in Mexico. After…”
“Tommy.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Shit. What’s it about?”
And I started to talk. Didn’t even consider not telling him. It was time. I told about the first dream and how Reese ignored me. I told him about the pot farm in Mexico. How Marco had covered for me. How fuckin’ terrified I’d been. How terrified I was of myself.
It started slow. A jumble of thoughts and images that made no sense. Then they began to take form. I found the chronology. I remembered the names of the men Esau had killed. I told Ryan how I had watched them slowly die, kept alive by the hope that they might make it through the night. But Esau didn’t leave survivors.
Ryan didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to. At that point, I was just spilling my story. Like blood falling to a cement floor. Tentative drips at the first cut, gushing by the last, until the heart ceases to beat and there is nothing left except a cooling body.
I stopped crying at some point, started again at another. Felt the tension begin to drain as my tears mingled with his sweat. He didn’t stop me when he started to cry. He just rested his cheek against the top of my head and let my hair dry his tears.
When I told him about Alexis, he tensed up. By the time I got to the trafficking, his muscles were so tight it was like leaning against a wall. Good. I was glad someone else was as horrified as I had been.
This time when I told him about Christopher and Breno, I didn’t gloss over details. There was no need to protect myself or them. I wasn’t arguing for some relationship between father and children that would never come to fruition. ’Cause there was just me and Ryan.
We fell asleep like that. With the afternoon sun slanting across our bodies, warm in the aftermath of the truth.
Chapter Nine
I wasn’t asleep long. The sun hadn’t moved. Neither had Ryan. For the first time
“It’s not like it’s mint flavored,” Christopher said. “It’s sanitary. And it won’t break off into little infectious threads.”
“Damn.” That sounded logical. I reached over and took Ryan’s hand. He squeezed reassuringly.
“Want some booze?” Ryan asked.
“We’ll see,” I said.
“This will hurt,” Breno warned me.
He was right. It hurt like a bitch.
*
I don’t know how long I had been asleep before I felt the bed dip as someone climbed in next to me. I grunted. It was the best greeting my sleep-drugged mind could come up with.
“I heard you smacked a bitch,” Ryan said. “Not a tussle,” he imitated Breno. “But straight up smacked a bitch.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Christopher and Reese talked. They only loathe each other now, instead of being mortal enemies.”
“Good.”
“You can go back to sleep now,” he said.
“’Kay.”
And I did.
I hadn’t had the dream since I’d found Ryan. My subconscious had been blissfully quiet. I hadn’t really thought about it either. It’s strange how easily nightmares can be ignored when you don’t want to face them. But they always come back. Always. Until you deal, I guess. I hadn’t dealt, though.
It was the same as always. Blood seeping into my shoes, sucking at my feet, seeping between my toes. It climbed my body, weighed me down. I waded, swam, lunged for Reese. The gun. That fucking piece of shit gun. I pointed it at Tommy. It turned on Reese. She was silent. In death. In recrimination. Her cool gray eyes glaring even after the life had gone from them.
“Please, please, I’m sorry. Come back. I’m sorry.”
“Coop, Coop. Wake the fuck up.” Warm arms were around me. A muscled body pressed close. My tears streamed into a warm, soft shoulder. He held me close and rocked me. “It’s okay. I got you. It’s okay.”
“Shit.” I sniffled. My throat was raw. I must have been screaming.
“What the hell?”
“Fucking dream.”
“Dream? What the fuck kind of nightmares are you having?” Ryan asked softly.
“They…It started in Mexico. After…”
“Tommy.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Shit. What’s it about?”
And I started to talk. Didn’t even consider not telling him. It was time. I told about the first dream and how Reese ignored me. I told him about the pot farm in Mexico. How Marco had covered for me. How fuckin’ terrified I’d been. How terrified I was of myself.
It started slow. A jumble of thoughts and images that made no sense. Then they began to take form. I found the chronology. I remembered the names of the men Esau had killed. I told Ryan how I had watched them slowly die, kept alive by the hope that they might make it through the night. But Esau didn’t leave survivors.
Ryan didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to. At that point, I was just spilling my story. Like blood falling to a cement floor. Tentative drips at the first cut, gushing by the last, until the heart ceases to beat and there is nothing left except a cooling body.
I stopped crying at some point, started again at another. Felt the tension begin to drain as my tears mingled with his sweat. He didn’t stop me when he started to cry. He just rested his cheek against the top of my head and let my hair dry his tears.
When I told him about Alexis, he tensed up. By the time I got to the trafficking, his muscles were so tight it was like leaning against a wall. Good. I was glad someone else was as horrified as I had been.
This time when I told him about Christopher and Breno, I didn’t gloss over details. There was no need to protect myself or them. I wasn’t arguing for some relationship between father and children that would never come to fruition. ’Cause there was just me and Ryan.
We fell asleep like that. With the afternoon sun slanting across our bodies, warm in the aftermath of the truth.
Chapter Nine
I wasn’t asleep long. The sun hadn’t moved. Neither had Ryan. For the first time
Similar Books
