When she heard her name, she jolted awake.
Prentice was crouched before her beside the couch, his hand on her arm shaking her, his face a mask of alarm.
She jumped to her feet, nearly knocking Prentice off his.
She wasn’t thinking. Her mind was in turmoil as it always was after those dreams.
He surged up and caught her on the run. His arm curving around her waist, he pulled her in front of him, his arms locking tight around her.
She struggled violently. His arms grew tighter.
“Jesus, Elle, what the f**k?”
Suddenly, she felt his warmth, his strength, his arms holding her captive against his solid, strong body.
Feeling all that was Prentice, Isabella collapsed in his arms.
Grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, she buried her face in his chest and burst into body-wracking, silent sobs.
She felt one arm leave her waist then the ponytail holder was pulled gently from her hair; her hair tumbled into his hand and he ran his fingers through its length.
“Baby,” he said softly.
At his sweet endearment, she could take no more.
She’d been holding it in for years, the grief, holding it in so her father wouldn’t see. Keeping it secret. Keeping it silent. Keeping it inside so her father wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t get angry.
She had to get it out.
“I hate it! I hate it when I have those dreams! Hate it!” she cried into his chest through her sobs. She tilted her head back to look at him and continued, “Dad hated it too. Said I was weak. Said I should get over it. He didn’t find her! He didn’t find her dead in… that… fucking… tub!”
Vaguely, she felt Prentice’s body go solid against hers but she was too far gone to process it.
She buried her face in his chest again and sobbed, “I’m so tired of those dreams, Pren. So tired. So damn tired.” She tipped her head back and cried fiercely, “Why can’t I stop having those dreams?”
His hand cupped the back of her head, carefully twisting it so he could press her cheek to his chest as he replied gently, “I don’t know, baby.”
“I’m…” She hiccoughed through her tears. “I’m so tired.” She clutched his shirt tighter. “So, so tired.”
His thumb was drawing soothing circles against her temple, his fingers curled into her hair. She held onto him, arms wrapped around him tight, weeping.
He felt so good. Tall and solid and strong. Warm. Safe. His arms so tight.
He felt so… very… good.
He pulled her head from his chest and dipped his chin to look at her.
She looked back. His handsome face was full of concern.
And he was handsome.
So… very… handsome.
It made her heart skip.
His thumb rubbed along her cheek, trailing through the tears but his beautiful every-colored eyes never left hers.
“We need to get you to bed,” he murmured. “You need sleep.”