Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek #2) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,95
heard Mariah’s voice. “Daddy?”
I fucking panicked—she was there somewhere in that stinking dark, and I had to protect her. But where was she? Where was she? I started to scream for her.
“Daddy!”
I woke up in a pool of sweat, my heart pounding, adrenaline pumping.
Mariah was standing at the foot of my bed. “Daddy, you’re scaring me.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” I rubbed my face. “I had a bad dream. I’m okay.”
“I heard you yelling. It woke me up.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” I checked the clock—not even two. “I’ll take you back to bed,” I said, swinging my legs over the side of the mattress.
“Okay.”
In her room, I tucked her in and kissed her forehead. She gave me a hug, but recoiled a second later. “Ew. You’re sweaty.”
“Sorry.”
She lay back. “Was it a really bad dream?”
“Yeah.”
“Was I in it?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to scare her. “There was a monster.”
“Did he want to eat you?”
“I think maybe he did.”
“You told me monsters aren’t real.”
“They’re not.”
“But just in case, you gave me Prewitt to protect me.”
“Prewitt?”
“Yes.” She leaned over the side of her bed where several stuffed animals had fallen to the floor. “Here he is. He’s a platypus. You said monsters were only scared of one thing—platypuses.”
I had to smile. “That’s right.”
She handed me the stuffed animal. “Here. You can sleep with Prewitt tonight. He’ll protect you.”
“Thanks.” I kissed her forehead. “Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I took Prewitt back into my bedroom and tossed him onto the bed. Then I stripped off my sweat-soaked T-shirt and yanked on a new one before climbing under the covers again.
Fuck. What the hell? I hadn’t had a nightmare like that in years. As a kid, I’d had bad dreams about the usual stuff—a monster under the bed, a bogeyman in the closet, a shark in the lake. But I’d learned to combat the fear of something bad happening to me by always telling the truth, always doing the right thing, always standing up for people. And eventually, the nightmares had stopped.
Of course, later I learned that nothing you did could prevent bad things from happening. You could never be one hundred percent safe.
My pulse began to race again, my chest growing painfully tight. I was hot and sweaty, but chills racked my body. My breathing was quick and shallow.
I wanted to reach for my phone and call Cheyenne, ask her to come over and hold me. Let me hold her. Beg her to sleep right next to me so that I would know she was safe.
But that wouldn’t be the reason she wanted to hear. She’d probably be upset if I said that. She’d tell me I was being paranoid. She’d probably suggest I needed therapy, just like Jessalyn had.
But I wasn’t going to fucking therapy. Spilling my guts to some stranger wasn’t going to help. I would conquer this bullshit on my own, one way or another, because I wasn’t a six-year-old boy, I was a grown-ass man.
I fought it off alone, like a man should.
Twenty-Six
Cheyenne
Sunday morning, I woke up early, full of energy and spark. I jumped out of bed, put on some workout clothes, and practically skipped down to the kitchen.
My mother was drinking coffee at the table in her robe, reading her newspaper just like always.
“Morning, Mom!” I sang.
“Morning, dear. You’re up early.”
“I’m too excited to sleep.” I poured some coffee, smiling like an idiot as I recalled the way Cole had said he wanted to make it for me in the morning.
“Why?”
Turning around, I leaned back against the counter and took a breath. “Cole asked me to move in with him last night.”
“He what?” My mother’s jaw dropped, and she set her mug down.
“You heard me.” For once, I wore the smug face as I sipped my coffee.
“Well. My goodness.” Her expression was something between shock and happiness. “That was fast.”
“I said the same thing, and I asked him if he was sure, and he said yes. He said he’s too old for games and he knows what he wants.”
My mother sat up even straighter. “Really? Good for him.”
“But Mom, I don’t want you to freak out about this. He didn’t propose.”
“But he will, don’t you think?” She cocked her head. “I mean, if you’re going to have kids, you’ll want to—”
“Oh my God, Mom! I’m not pregnant! We’re just going to live together.”
“For now.” She took the smug back as she picked up her coffee cup again.