Page 113 of What Hurts Us

“I just want it to go away,” she whispered into my chest.

I rubbed Layla’s back, silently pleading—begging any higher power to let me take this from her. To have me carry it instead.

She sighed in frustration. I felt it, too. There was almost no reason to go back to sleep when all that waited was hell.

I slid my hand beneath the edge of the t-shirt she had stolen from me. I needed to feel more of her. Needed that human touch to ground me.

Her skin was flushed and warm. I stroked my thumb along the soft curve of her waist and hip. She nuzzled into me, seeking the same connection.

“What do you need, honey?” I mumbled. “Want me to make you some tea?”

Layla nodded. I kissed her head and eased out of bed.

Since the nightmares had crept into her psyche, I started making her tea to help her calm her nerves.

I set the chai to steep while I fumbled around the dark for a mug. Layla usually drank her chai out of a clear glass teacup, but I went with the ridiculous frog on a lily-pad mug just because I knew it would make her smile. I checked the teapot, and when the liquid brewing inside was the color of chestnuts, I poured it into the mug.

She often sweetened her chai with saffron rock candy, but it was late, and I didn’t know if the sugar would keep her awake. I snagged a stick ofNabatto pair with the tea and carried it upstairs.

Layla was sitting up in bed, scrolling through her phone. Her eyes lifted, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Hey.”

I pecked her lips. “Maybe this will help,” I said as I placed the mug into her hands.

She took one look at the frog and laughed. “Thank you, baby.” I eased into the bed and pulled the blankets up to my waist. Layla stirred theNabatin her tea for a moment before setting it on the saucer. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be sorry.” I laid down and kissed her hip. “Don’t ever apologize for needing me. I want you to need me.”

Layla sipped her tea for a few minutes, then resigned to staring at her reflection in the cup.

“You gonna try to go back to sleep?”

“I’m a little wired,” she said regretfully. “I might go downstairs and read.”

“Wanna go for a drive?” I yawned.

She laughed under her breath. “So you can fall asleep and send us over a cliff? No thanks.”

“I’m good,” I said. “You done with that?” I pointed to the mug.

Layla handed it over. I downed the rest of it, enjoying the warmth of cinnamon, cardamom, and ginger.

We dressed, donning enough layers to ward off the frigid temperatures. While Layla stood by the door and pulled on a Tarheels hoodie before sliding into her leather jacket, I slipped back upstairs and rummaged through my sock drawer.

The knit hat she pulled on to cover her hair and ears was cute as fuck. We grabbed our helmets and slipped out into the night.

I took the scenic route up Highway86. We cut through the blackness, letting the ambient rumble of the engine soothe us in ways nothing else could. It was meditation on a hundred horses.

Layla squeezed my middle as she hunkered down closer, her hips rocking with mine through each turn and curve.

My headlight flashed across a small white sign pointing toward the entrance to the McMann cattle farm's back forty. I turned off the two-lane road and bumped along packed gravel.

Layla patted my shoulder, her way of asking what I was up to or where I was going when we couldn’t speak over the roar of the engine. I reached back and squeezed her thigh.I know what I’m doing. Trust me.

Light danced across the pond, illuminating the mist that floated in the air. I parked the bike beneath a weeping willow whose branches grazed the glassy water. In the distance, cattle lowed a gentle lullaby.

“Where are we?” Layla asked as she pulled off her helmet and looked around. “Are we trespassing?”

“Only slightly,” I said with a chuckle. “Bernie McMann lets me fish back here. Pretty sure he meant during the day, but he won’t be awake for a few hours. Not unless the cows tattle on us.”

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