Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I’d left the light on in the master bath, and I’m relieved to see that Barrett isn’t under threat from anything except perhaps a nightmare. She’s sitting up in the bed, covers pooled over her lap, one hand hovering at her chest.
“You okay?” I ask as I move into the room.
Barrett leans over, turns on the bedside lamp, and blinks at me slowly. Her voice is hoarse from sleep. “Yeah… sorry… didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“All good,” I reply and since she’s awake, I take the moment to offer her some food. “You hungry?”
“Weirdly, no,” she answers with a slight grimace.
“You should try to eat something. I’ve got some canned soup I can heat up.”
She shakes her head, grimacing again, which prompts me to ask, “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah,” she exclaims with a falsely bright voice.
I cock an eyebrow. “Truth time.”
“Truth is,” she replies in a slightly quavering voice, “I could use some water. Would you mind?”
“Not at all,” I say, then exit the room. My first stop is the couch to grab my jeans and put them on, since I’m pretty damn sure prancing around in boxers isn’t overly professional. I head into the kitchen, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and then return to the master bedroom.
Barrett fluffed the pillows against the headboard. She’s propped against them, her legs stretched out under the covers. Her gaze is bold as I walk toward her, her eyes scanning my naked torso for a brief moment. She doesn’t look away in embarrassment or chagrin, and it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I’ve never been averse to a beautiful woman checking me out.
I hand her the bottle of water. Without invitation, I take a seat on the edge of the bed, right at her hip.
I’m silent as she uncaps the water and takes a few small sips. Inadvertently, she rubs at her tummy as she does.
“Must have been a really bad dream,” I say.
Barrett blinks in surprise. “What makes you say that?”
“You cried out in your sleep, and you’re anxious right now,” I point out with a casual shrug. “Not rocket science.”
She doesn’t reply, only takes another small sip of water.
“Want anything else? Some ginger ale, maybe?”
“I’m good,” she assures me with pitiful smile. “But unfortunately, I’m wide awake now. Shouldn’t have fallen asleep so early.”
I watch her a moment, wondering just how much the stress of this situation is going to wear on her. “What was the dream about?”
Barrett doesn’t answer right away. Picking at the label on the bottle, she meets my eyes and admits, “My mother.”
It comes back to me in a flash. Her mother was killed in a home invasion when Barrett was just sixteen. She had just left to start her freshman year at MIT, so she wasn’t there when it happened. Beyond that, I don’t know any other details.
“It was weird,” Barrett continues, speaking in a semi-flat voice as she recounts her dream. “It was like a combination of what happened to me yesterday and what happened to her.”
“What did happen to her?” I ask softly. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t push someone to relive a bad moment, but it seems she’s struggling to make sense of things.
“She walked in on two burglars already in the house. It surprised them, and one of them shot her. They were caught and pled guilty. Young guys… early twenties. I don’t think they ever intended to hurt anyone, yet they did all the same.”
“That’s senseless and tragic,” I murmur, forcing my anger down.
“Yes, it is,” she whispers. She gives a slight cough to clear her throat as she puts her water on the bedside table. Her voice comes out stronger when she says, “At any rate, in my dream, she was the one jogging down my street and I was in your position behind her. I saw the man turning to her… knew he was going to kidnap her. And I tried to reach for my gun… the way I know you did, but I didn’t have one. I couldn’t do anything to help her. I even tried to scream to warn her, but nothing came out. All I could do was watch as he grabbed her and pulled her into the back of the van, then it just sped off.”
My chest squeezes tight, aching for Barrett. The stress of her near kidnapping has clearly brought up old feelings of guilt and lack of control that she could do nothing to help her mother. She wasn’t even there—thank God.
There’s no thought in what I do. I just know she belongs in my arms, so I lean forward to pull her into a tight embrace. I’ve only known her a few days, yet because I saved her life yesterday, I feel I have the right to do this.
Because she trusted me with that story, I believe she thinks so, too.