Page 63 of Dash

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” I whisper the words.

The tears clog my throat. I can’t get air in between the suffocating sobs. I don’t try. I just cling to him, breaking wide open.

“Dayna,” his voice is soft, but I can’t lift my head to look at him.

Because now beneath the fear is shame. My reaction is crazy. He’s going to think I’m too much, that I’m hysterical.

“Look at me, please.”

I dig my fingers into my biceps, the pain of my nails grounding me long enough to lift my eyes.

I expect to see judgement, embarrassment, but that’s not what he gives me.

“There she is.” His fingers find mine, twining together like we’re one. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

His words run together, like he’s had too much to drink.

“I didn’t know. I would have come sooner if I had.” I stare at the blood on his face. The reminder he’s hurt. “I don’t know your name.” I blurt it out.

His brows dance, as if he has no control over that part of his face. “What?”

“When I got to the reception, they asked who I was looking for and, of course, they’re not going to have you signed in as Dash because that’s not your real name.” My voice is thin, raw too. “And I realise I don’t know even that basic thing about you. We’ve been together for weeks, and I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Rhys. Maddox.”

I blink. I don’t know why, but him having such a normal name feels wrong. “Your name is Rhys?”

His lips twitch. “You don’t like it?”

My brows come together. “Rhys drives a Volkswagen Golf and wears shiny tracksuits,” I murmur.

He laughs. “Sorry to disappoint. I might be able to find a tracksuit if you’re into that though.”

I rest my head on his stomach, my hands gripping his hips, half prone on the trolley.

“If you ever want to have sex with me again, you won’t.”

He strokes his fingers through my hair, soothing me. He is the one in the bed, hurt, bleeding, and yet he’s comforting me like it’s my blood on the sheets.

“Glad you’re here,” he murmurs. I snuggle tighter against him.

I allow myself to be vulnerable, to let my guard down, just for a second. “You think there’s anywhere else I’d want to be?”

He squeezes me, telling me he understands even if he doesn’t give the words.

I lie with him while he sleeps, drifting myself. Now that my adrenaline has fled, I’m exhausted, rung out.

I’ve been running on fumes all day, and now, I’m shattering.

I close my eyes for a second, and then someone is shaking me awake. I peel my eyes open and there’s two Riots.

I blink, and he merges into one.

“You’ve been here all night?” he asks.

I peel myself off Dash’s chest, checking I haven’t drooled on him. His eyes are closed, his head tilted to one side, and there is still blood on his face. I hate it.

Sitting up slowly, I grip the edge of the trolley as the cubicle spins around me.

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