Page 33 of Catching the Mistletoe

I tried to scream, to tell them I was right here and I could hear them, but my voice was a silent gust of air, a futile whisper. Panic surged through me and my heart pounded, painfully hard, against my rib cage.

“Arabella! Hey!”

I tried to answer. I knew that voice. It pulled at me.

But my heart still hammered as the walls of the hospital room closed in on me. The panic that gripped me in the dream world still had its claws sunk deep. Just as the room began to fade, a distant sound broke through the terror—my name, called out in a voice tinged with urgency.

“Arabella!”

My eyes snapped open, and the first thing they met was Mack’s, clouded with gentle concern, in the dim light. For a split second, I was disoriented, the lines between dream and reality blurred. Was I still in the hospital? I reached up, running my fingers down Mack’s stubbled cheek. He was real. I wasn’t dreaming.

And this had happened before. Me waking, distressed and upset, Mack leaning over me. Holding my hand. Exactly like he was doing now.

“Hey, are you okay?” Mack’s voice was a soft rumble, grounding me back to the here and now, making me lose the train of thought.

I took a deep breath, dispelling the last tendrils of the nightmare. “Yeah, just a bad dream.”

He let go of my hand and I wanted to protest. It felt so good, wrapped around mine. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for waking me up.” I sat up. The oven clock blinked 2:43 AM. Fuck.

Mack moved across to the counter and filled the kettle.

“I can do that.”

“It’s fine.” He made the tea. Chamomile, nice and soothing. Handing it to me, he looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Tell me about the dream.”

I looked away. “Oh, it’s a regular one, nothing to worry about.”

“Tell me.” He leaned on the counter, folding his muscular arms across his broad chest and watched me, waiting. There was no denying him.

I huffed out a breath and climbed out of the bed, suddenly hating the feel of it underneath me. Figuring that if I was gonna do this, I may as well be comfy, I grabbed the light blanket, wrapped it around my shoulders, and moved to sit on the couch. The whole time, Mack’s eyes followed me, and I felt his gaze in the goosebumps that raised on my skin. I wrapped my hands around the hot mug and breathed in the light, flowery scent. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Then you won’t mind sharing it.”

He had me there. Why was I being weird about it, anyway? “It’s just that I used to hate waking up in the hospital, especially on my own. The first thing you notice is the smell. That sharp, antiseptic smell that gets in your nose and stays there. Then there are the machines. The constant beeping, the green lights that you can see even when your eyes are closed. After that, you feel the mattress, all plastic and noisy und—” I cut myself off, gasping.

Mack shot me a look. “What is it?”

“It’s the mattress.”

A frown creased his brow. “What is?”

“That mattress,” I said, pointing my finger at it like an accusation, “is like a hospital bed mattress. You know that vinyl covering they have? It’s like that. It feels exactly the same.”

“You’re saying the bed is giving you nightmares?”

“Yes!” I felt a weird rush of relief at the realization, because it meant I wasn’t going crazy. All the restless discomfort of the past few nights had an explanation.

Mack’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You’ll take the main bed, then.”

I shook my head. “No way. You’re too tall for my bed.”

“I’m not leaving you to sleep in a bed that gives you nightmares,” he insisted.

“Well, what do you suggest then, we share the main bed?” There was a tinge of sarcasm to my tone, because as if he’d ever go for that. It was edged with panic, too, though, because there was no way I could sleep out here, now that I knew about the mattress.

“Yes.”

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