By the time I have Cuddles fed and put away in the bathroom, Ali is already fast asleep on the couch. I consider waking her up, so she can move to my bedroom, but decide it’s not worth disturbing her. As she sleeps, Ali’s expression is troubled, but it’s not at all fearful. I think this is the first time I’ve seen her like that, and I’m not going to mess it up.
I grab a few blankets and lay them over her, careful not to wake her.
“Sleep tight,” I murmur as I retreat to my room.
18
ALI
WHEN I WAKE up, my muscles are so tense they hurt, and my throat is strained from screaming. Something slams repeatedly against my chest, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s my frantic heartbeat. It’s not a fist, like it was in my nightmare.
Arms wrap around my shoulders, and I open my mouth to scream again. But before I can make any sound, a hand gently cups my face and tilts my chin up. I find myself staring into blue eyes, their color clear and sharp like gemstones. Despite their boldness, there’s something soft about them, gentle.
“You’re okay,” Jace says, his other hand stroking my cheek. His fingers are calloused from all the years he’s spent playing the guitar. “You’re okay,” he repeats, and then he says it again and again and again. I watch his lips closely, not wanting to tear my eyes away from the words.
I can tell from his nervous expression that he doesn’t know what else to say, but I don’t want him to say anything else. I just want him to be here.
Jace swallows hard and finally stops repeating the words. His gaze drifts away from my eyes, focusing instead on the place where his hand touches my cheek. He pulls away and stands from where he was crouched beside me. Then he runs both hands through his hair, making it stick out at all sorts of angles.
He stares at me. Hard.
My face heats up as I realize how pathetic I must look. I’m seventeen, way too old to be screaming from a nightmare, and definitely too old to need any kind of comfort. I’ve dealt with these bad dreams on my own for years, and I’ve never run to anyone for reassurance. So why should that change now?
Because he ran to me. The answer is so simple, but it still makes the air whoosh out of my lungs. I didn’t go to him; Jace came to me.
He stands there, still unsure what to do, and then edges toward me without meeting my eyes. He sits on the couch next to me and takes my trembling hand in his own. My entire body shakes, like it’s trying to dislodge the last remnants of the nightmare. I remember my dad coming closer, his fist clenched, his expression stormy, his footsteps—
Jace nudges my shoulder, jarring me from the memory and making me gasp. He pulls me close to his chest, and the moment his arms wrap around me, panic sears through my veins. I shove at him, yanking out of his embrace.
Jace frowns, his eyebrows furrowing into an expression that’s both confused and rejected. He leans away and signs, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I can’t breathe, and my lungs burn with a mix of relief and gratefulness and painful uncertainty. Before I can stop myself, I throw my arms around him and press my face against his chest.
He doesn’t react, and I tense, but just as I’m about to pull away, he slowly wraps his arms around my waist and starts rubbing the small of my back. I smile shakily as I realize this is the second time in just a few hours that we’ve ended up like this. But it’s not like I’m going to complain. His touch is light and soothing, like he’s trying to brush away the fear leftover from my nightmare.
I press closer to him, not even caring that he’s only wearing boxer shorts. I close my eyes and rest my cheek against his warm chest. His scar is rough against my skin, but his rhythmic heartbeat is soothing. It pounds fast, and his muscles are so tense that I know he’s uncomfortable being this close. But he doesn’t move away, and just holds me, his arms warm and strong.
Soft, steady bursts of air brush against my ear, and I guess that he’s murmuring words, probably something to comfort me. I relax into him, and after a few minutes pass, my shivering stops, leaving me drained and exhausted. My breathing slows. The adrenaline is gone, and the memories are all that’s left.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to think of the fists and pain and tears. Jace just keeps whispering to me, his breath warm against my neck, his hand still rubbing slow circles on the small of my back. Part of me hates him being this close, but the other part needs him. I think I’ve actually needed him for years, and now that I finally have someone to comfort me, it feels strange and scary and right.
I soak in his presence, trying to memorize the feel of his touch so I can remember it the next time I have a nightmare. Finally, when my breaths slow to a more reasonable rate, I gently push away from him. He lets go of me, but slowly, and I can feel his reluctance as I slip away.
I look up at him and give a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” I sign, unsure what else to say. My hands falter, and then I hesitantly add, “I have nightmares sometimes. I guess I should have warned you.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”