Page 32 of The Groupie

Rylee

As I come awake, I grip the arms holding me and the hand on my face, but the burning in my chest doesn’t let me breathe.

“Zak, it’s okay. You’re alright. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare. You’re okay.” The sweet breathy voice goes on like that as I struggle to completely escape the confines of sleep. I grip a tangle of hair that brushes my arm and hold on.

“Take it easy, Zak. You’re okay. Everything is fine.” The soft familiar voice penetrates the panicked fuzziness in my head, and I finally shake off the remnants of the nightmare and open my eyes fully.

I see her in the dim light and loosen my grip on her hair and arm. The here and now hits me all at once, the warmth of her skin against mine, those gorgeous dark-lashed eyes, her sensual scent, the night, falling asleep with her—and fuck, the nightmare.

“Sorry,” I croak, feeling like I swallowed a desert.

“No need to be sorry. Must have been a bad nightmare.” She softly caresses my cheek, wiping the tears I know are there. Fuck. This has only ever happened a handful of times in my life—since Billy’s death. I have no fucking idea what the trigger is, and that’s the worst fucking part because I’d sure as hell avoid it at all cost if I knew.

I give her a weak version of my usual smirk because I’m not quite feeling it yet, but I am feeling her, so I pull her close so she’s draped along my side, looking down at me, her warm curvy, killer body up against mine, her energy seeping into me. And she has a damn mountain of energy.

“You okay? You’re heart’s beating real fast.”

Now my smirk goes to full wattage. “That’s not from the nightmare, Buttercup.”

She laughs, and I hear some relief in it. “Now, I know you’re fine.” There’s an awkward beat of silence, and I doubt she’ll ask me what it was all about. After all, it’s probably against her stupid rules. No feelings. No crying.

“Fuck. I just broke your number one rule.” I grin at her. “I cried.”

Her eyes go wide, and then she cracks up into a peel of laughter. “Oh my God. You did. That’s so ridiculous. I never thought—I mean.” She laughs again and then settles down. “Seriously, you know I didn’t mean you couldn’t cry about something unrelated to me, to our… to…”

“To our non-relationship?”

She nods and still doesn’t ask what the nightmare was about.

“Who says my nightmare wasn’t about us? Maybe I was crying because I didn’t want you to leave in the morning.”

She raises her brows in challenge, but she still doesn’t ask.

“Okay, if you really want to know, I’ll tell you what it was about. But I have to warn you, it’s a downer.”

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“What if I want to? What if I need to talk about it to get rid of the despairing after effects?” I’m serious as the pope now as I realize it’s true. I need to dispel the gloom, expose all the dark thoughts to the light of day—so to speak since it’s still dark. I glance at my phone. Five a.m. Not for long.

“I’ll listen to you then. Tell me.”

I watch her physically brace herself, withdrawing from me as if she doesn’t want to catch the bad vibes. But her eyes stay on me, compassion still lighting them, a softness like empathy showing through. I take a deep breath.

Unsure of what I’m going to say, I let go, only sure that I need to tell her, that I can’t help telling her, even if it means showing her who I am, exposing everything. It’s only for two weeks. It’s safe. Right?

But my racing heart tells me it’s about more than that, whether I want to listen or not. I don’t listen. I talk.

“I come from a good home. The best. I have two loving parents and three pesky sisters who would walk on fire for me.” She nods slightly like it’s what she guessed. “So, my nightmare isn’t about some dark childhood. I glided through life without ever having a problem. I was gifted and lucky.”

“Past tense?”

“Still am.” I flash a smirk, but it’s weak. My heart protests with faster thudding than before, knocking around my rib cage like an animal that needs escape. My hand automatically goes to my chest. Then I clear my throat and swipe my hand through my hair, pretending I’m cool. I don’t know why I bother since I’m about to bare myself, become more vulnerable than I’ve ever been.

But it’s like a dip in the icy ocean; you’re in and out in a flash. No harm, no foul. Right?

I don’t wait for my conscience to answer while my heart continues to clatter.

“I’m still very lucky. What brought this home to me was the day after I turned eighteen, the day after I accepted a full boat to Minnesota to play hockey. Me and my best friend Bill were supposed to meet at Tony’s Pizza, our town’s local hang out, to celebrate.” I pause and take a breath, willing my heart to quiet, trying to get control of my jumping nerves. But when I speak again, my voice catches, and then watching her, staring into those perfect eyes that speak to me, saying all the things I’ve ever wanted to hear, I continue.