Page 45 of Perfectly Complicated
Reality crashes back as Rourke comes into focus in the dark room. Silver moonlight cuts across his cheekbones, and his hair is disheveled like he scrambled up from the floor.
I sit up abruptly, my whole body shaking, my breath coming in quick gasps. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”
“Don’t.” His hands frame my face, forcing me to look at him. “Are you okay? You were crying out…” His brows knit. “You sounded like you were in so much pain.”
I can tell he’s worried about me, and it almost makes me crumble completely. “I saw Nick…” I touch my ribs, where the pain from the dream still lingers. “It felt so real. Like it was happening all over again.”
Rourke moves onto the bed without asking, his hands holding me as if he’s afraid that I might fall apart if he lets go.
“You’re shaking.” His thumbs brush away a few stray tears before his hands steady my shoulders. “Talk to me. What do you need?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I just—I can’t stop seeing it.”
“Then look at me instead.” His voice is soft. “Right here. Just focus on me.”
I meet his eyes and it seems to help having something to focus on. He’s here. He’s real.Thisis real.
“That’s it. Breathe with me. I’ve got you.” One of his hands takes mine. “You’re safe. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
I press my lips together to hold back a muffled sob, and suddenly his arms are around me, pulling me against his chest. One hand cradles the back of my head while the other wraps around my waist, anchoring me.
“I’ve got you.” His mouth brushes against my hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I bury my face in his chest and tell myself he’s nothing like Nick.
“Why are you being so kind about this?” I ask, keeping my face tucked against his shirt.
His hand strokes my back. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Most guys would run from this kind of baggage.” I pull back just enough so he can really see me. “I’m a mess, Rourke. I have nightmares about my ex-husband. I have a baby. I’m?—”
“Stop.” He cups my face with one hand. “You’re not a mess. You’re someone who got hurt by someone who didn’t treat you right. That’s not baggage. That’s proof you survived something hard.”
I shake my head, blinking back tears. “I don’t feel like I survived. I feel broken beyond repair.”
“You’re not.” His gaze holds mine. “Whatever you’re carrying, I want to help. Even if I can’t take it away completely.” His thumb traces along my cheekbone. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
I stare at him, seeing a side of Rourke I didn’t know existed. This is the man who hates Christmas—and here he is, holding me together while I fall apart. “I don’t think I can fall asleep after that.”
“Then I’ll stay awake with you.”
“No, I meant—” I take a breath. “Will you just…stay? Until Ifall asleep again? I know you were on the floor, but I can’t sleep?—”
“Whatever you need.” He nods, not questioning it for a second.
He shifts back against the headboard, opening his arms for me. I curl in to his side, tucking myself against his chest. His arms come around me, and I’ve never felt so held.
“Thank you.” My body is starting to relax, the dream slowly fading from memory.
“You don’t have to thank me for this, angel.”
I give him a sleepy smile, too tired to argue about the nickname. His hand smooths over my hair as he brushes the strands away from my face.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
“You shouldn’t promise things like that,” I murmur.
“Why not?” His hand tucks another strand of hair over my ear. “I keep my promises, angel. Always.” His hand stills. “Now sleep. I’ve got you.”
