She felt the weight of sleep pressing around her, coaxing her eyes shut. Blinking, she rolled over, her body sore and utterly well-used. “Matthew? Are you awake?”
He rolled onto his side so they were facing each other, noses almost touching. “You okay?”
“Yes. Fine.” She ran the tips of her fingers over the valleys of his arm. His eyes closed; a small smile of contentment on his lips.
“Are you okay with me being here?” she whispered. When his brows pinched together she added, “In your bed, I mean. You said you had a hard time sleeping.”
“Oh. Yeah, of course.”
There was so much she wanted to ask him. About his family; about his brother. About why his walls were so bare.
Why was he so isolated?
So sad?
Instead, Allie snuggled into the warmth and protection of his body. “Thank you for tonight,” she whispered. The mood felt reverent, and she was afraid to ruin it.
His arm constricted around her and he placed a gentle kiss over her forehead, battle roughened fingers heartbreakingly tender as they pushed the loose strands of hair away that were stuck to her cheek.
The future was so uncertain between the two of them. It stretched as a great, black maw; their worlds so far apart. Allie could never hope to imagine the kind of life that had left Matthew so hard and yet so broken.
But in this moment, they were of one heart, and it was enough.
***
Allie jerked to wakefulness suddenly, the blood in her veins cold as ice. Disoriented, it took her a few seconds to place her surroundings.
Matthew’s home.
His bed.
Her fingers searched for him, but came away empty. She was alone.
“Matthew?” she whispered to the darkness, her voice tentative and small.
Fear tingled up her spine on spider’s legs, and she wrapped the sheets tighter around her. Fumbling to the side of the bed, she switched on a lamp and yellow light flooded the room.
Matthew wasn’t there.
Trembling, she slid out of the bed and pulled Matthew’s shirt over her head. It hung down, well past her knees, but smelled of him. Made her feel a little braver.
She tiptoed to the doorway and paused just outside the hall.
“Matthew?”
The same crash that awoke her burst through the silence once more, followed by angry shouts.
Chapter eighteen
“Jay, damnit! Come on, it’s just ahead.”
Allie crept down the stairs, keeping to the shadows as Matthew shouted from somewhere below. The smooth, wood railing slid beneath her shaking hands while stripes of grey moonlight stretched across the length of the house.
Who’s Jay?
Another crash.
“Fuck! Come on, bro,” Matthew shouted again.
As her toes hit the final stair her hands covered her mouth and she peeked out from the safety of the shadows.
“Oh, no.” Her hands clamped harder over her lips, her eyes wide to the horror of what was playing out in the family room.
Matthew crouched at the base of one of his expensive, leather couches, which was now tipped up on its side. The moon’s rays highlighted the side of his heaving chest and shoulders, but kept his face in darkness. He wore nothing but his boxer briefs, while a blanket tangled around his feet. His eyes were open, but the look in them belonged oceans away.
A night terror, Allie thought. But too intense. She swallowed around a lump of fear. Flashback fit better.
Heavy breath was forced through Matthew’s flaring nostrils, thin lips pulled back over barred teeth, and his arms jerked through the air, not quite connecting to whatever violence he was reliving in his mind.
What to do?
She took a cautious step toward him, barely breathing, not wanting to startle him in any way. She’d heard that waking up a sleepwalker was bad; who knew what could happen if she woke Matthew? Sleepwalking had nothing over on this situation. This was more like approaching a wild animal.
Arms winding around her chest, she sent up a silent prayer for some kind of Devine guidance. All the while, her limbs trembled like leaves in a windstorm.
Be brave.
It’s only Matthew.
Crap, that so did not help.
“Matthew?” She took a few more creeping steps forward. He was muttering something under his breath as he hunched in on himself, but she couldn’t make out what it was.
“Matthew?” she whispered again, finally making it to his side and laying a tentative hand against the clammy skin of his shoulder.
His hand flashed out faster than she could have thought possible. Eyes met hers, black-green and cold as frozen lake water. He jerked her arm over his back, the tendons in her shoulder popping in protest, while at the same time his leg swept out and kicked her feet out from beneath her.
“Uumph,” her breath burst from her lungs as she fell hard onto her back and her head smacked against the floor.
Thank goodness it was only carpet. The room was spinning.
Matthew straddled her, his feet hooking into her sides so she couldn’t so much as wiggle while his hands wrapped around her throat. “Motherfucker,” he snarled and his fingers dug in.
Black dots swam around the edges of her vision as Matthew kinked her carotid against her esophagus like it was a garden hose. The blood was trapped in her head; her brain felt like an overinflated balloon.
She was going to pass . . . out. . . .
“Matthew,” she tried to plead, but his name came out a garble without any air to push the words past her lips. Fingers clawed at his steel grip on her. Shit; he was strong.
I am not going to die here.
She forced herself to stop fighting and focused on his vacant eyes, willing him to return to her, to break free from the terrors he was fighting. As the circle of black grew thicker around her she locked onto those green eyes.
Come back to me, Matthew.
Her palm flattened against his heart, tracing his tattoo like she did so often after they made love. Her touch stirred something inside him and the fog seemed to lift. His hands uncoiled while his face crumpled with an expression of pure agony, his brows crushing into each other, the skin tight around those haunted eyes.
“Jayce,” he was able to choke out just before he buried his head into Allie’s chest and his massive body collapsed beneath the weight of great, racking shudders of silent emotion.
Allie didn’t know if he’d actually woken up. She didn’t think he had. Eventually, his breathing calmed, grew deeper, as he cradled around Allie like she was the only thing anchoring him to this world.
She dragged huge lungful’s of air down into her chest, coughing around her raw throat. Her heart thundered inside while the surge of adrenaline that flooded her system shook every inch of her being. She gulped down more air, trying to calm herself, fighting against the need to scream. Instead, she brushed a lock of bronze hair away from Matthew’s forehead as she watched the outline of his nose, lips, and chin against her breast. As the pain in his face was washed away by dreaming, her cheeks warmed with the trickle of salty tears. Careful to keep from waking him, she tugged the blanket he’d most likely intended to use to sleep on the couch with up and over them both.
It was a very possible reality that she may have died beneath his hands just now.
But, oh . . . that look he’d given her right as he’d released her.
What kind of hell could he have possibly been through to have brought so much torment into that face? What demons swirled behind that gaze? In what ways were they tearing at his soul?
Matthew was so strong and powerful.
He was her hero for heaven’s sake.
How could he be so broken inside?
Allie cradled his head into her, wrapped him in a protective cocoon against her heart. Her fingers softly combed through the bronze silk that was his hair, traced the shell of his ear, and felt the steady tick of his heartbeat below his jaw. Even in sl
eep he looked haunted; his brows refusing to release their hold on the pinch of skin between them.
A sane woman would leave. Now. Before she lost what was left of her heart. Heaven knew he’d probably not stop her when he realized what had happened tonight. He simply had too much honor.
She couldn’t do it, though.
She couldn’t turn and run.
Matthew, so strong and battle-hardened, was broken and bleeding inside.
Her hand stopped at the curve of his cheek, sticky with the sweat his fear had leached from him—and she vowed to herself she’d set him free from the hellish hold of his past. Or die trying.
***
Allie squinched her eyes closed against the assault of morning light on her face. Pulling back from sleep, she lay still as the events of the night rushed through her mind with terrifying clarity.
Oh . . . no.
Her hip and shoulder were stiff from sleeping on the floor. Her fingers traced where the carpet’s pattern had been mashed into her cheek. When she tried to roll over a whimper rushed between her lips. Her arm and the back of her head were especially tender.
She blinked her eyes while they tried to adjust to the light, until finally she could crack them all the way open.
Matthew was sitting only a few feet away on the one couch that hadn’t been tipped over.
Her heart sank instantly.
He looked so beaten. Spine curled over his knees, hands gripped his hair.
And the look on his face . . . pure hell.
His head swung toward her as she pulled herself up a little on her elbows and she winced at the dark, red-lined eyes that met hers. As that gaze locked with hers he tipped the long neck of a beer bottle against his lips and took a lengthy drag. Three more empty bottles lay at his feet.
“Getting an early start this morning, aren’t you?” Geeze, her words were raspy. Her throat felt sore and puffy as she tried to clear it.
Matthew carefully set the bottle down with a trembling hand before he stood up and walked into the kitchen. When he came back a few seconds later, he was holding some Ibuprofen and a glass of water.
“Here. This’ll help.” He got under her arm and gently pulled her up into a sitting position while she tucked her feet beneath her and stretched his tee-shirt over her knees.
“Thanks,” she croaked as she took the pills and then chased them with the water.
The silence that passed between them was filled with all they had to say, but also everything that Allie feared hearing. She was petrified of what Matthew’s reaction would be.
It’s over. She couldn’t stand to hear him say those words to her; and yet, she saw them on the tip of his tongue even now.
Eyes squeezing tight shut, she tried to will some kind of bravery. “Are you okay?”
Matthew ignored her. Thumb and index finger took hold of her chin and turned it to the side so he could look down at the mess that was her throat. A curse slid off his lips as a hand plunged back into his hair.
Her fingers quivered over his shoulder. “Matthew, it’s okay. I’m alright. Please. It was an accident.”
He pulled back like he’d been sucker punched. “Don’t say that . . . Don’t. Fucking. Say that!” His voice cracked, barely able to get the words out. “Just don’t.”
Allie sat up on her knees, desperate not to allow any distance between them right now. Afraid that if she did he’d keep pulling away until he was gone forever.
“Listen to me, Matthew. It wasn’t you. I know that. Whatever happened, whoever Jay is—”
“—Don’t. Say. That. Name,” he clipped, tightening up like a bowstring ready to snap.
“I just—”
“—Look.” He stood and turned away, like he couldn’t stand to look at her, the muscles in his back bunched up.“I think you should leave.”
Allie felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. “Don’t do this, Matthew. Don’t shut me out. We can get through it. Make it work.”
Matthew spun around, eyes wide. “Are you crazy, Allie? Look at yourself!”
She dropped her eyes to her lap, and tried to ignore the bruises covering her wrists and legs.
He started pacing, hands rubbing over his face. “I tried to make this work, okay. I knew it was wrong, but I wanted you . . . more than anything I’ve wanted in my life.” When he faced her again his expression begged her to understand. “My head is a complete mess. Shit, Allie, I can’t even stay in the same house, let alone the same room with you at night. I’m dangerous. How can you be happy in that kind of relationship?”
Her voice was weak, “Maybe we can get you some kind of help. Like a therapist or something.”
“Been down that road, and it didn’t work, okay. The shrink said I was too screwed up to help and decided to just dose it out of me. Lexapro. Xanax. Trazodone. I’m not going to go through life as a damned zombie.”
Her heart was breaking while, as she looked up at him, her arguments got weaker and weaker. She had no idea what he was going through. How could she? “Well, maybe someone else—”
“—Stop. Please.” His voice was softer now—barely a whisper. “Just go, baby. Go.”
Chapter nineteen
Reconnaissance.
That was the name of the game here, and Allie had some serious work to do. Seeing the mess that Matthew had been when she’d woken up that morning nearly stripped her heart from her chest. He was so broken up. Killed her to see him like that. She’d never felt so strongly for another human being before, not even for her mom. Seeing him in so much pain had left her bleeding.
He was just so haunted.
The way he’d looked at her that morning, the self-hatred in his tortured face as he assessed her bruised, aching body . . . .
His mossy gaze never could meet hers.
So, yeah, she was sporting some bruises, and yeah, he’d scared the ever-loving hell out of her. But he was obviously sick. And not as in a case of swine flu, either. Whatever was going on with him was psychological. Which could be so much worse. She had a feeling Matthew had never confronted whatever horrors he’d lived through—hard ass, super soldier that he was, he’d probably only taken care of all the physical scarring. No Big Deal, there. From the gruesome history map of scars he carried across his body, it was obvious he didn’t mind pain. But confronting a battle that waged inside your own head? Yeah, he’d work to keep himself in tip-top shape—but the emotional stuff? He’d just let that fester. The wound had simply become too much, so that it had started manifesting itself anyway it could. And when better than while he was sleeping? The only time he could let his guard down. How on earth did he ever relax knowing what awaited once REM hit? Talk about your own personal Freddy Krueger.
One thing was for sure. She wasn’t planning on going anywhere, no matter how stubborn an ass Matthew wanted to be. She’d been down that road with him from the very beginning, had a feeling it was a self-preservation mechanism. A way to keep people at a distance; keep them safe, too. So, she’d figure out what she was up against, get some research under her belt, while giving Matthew some time to lick his wounds. The walk of shame out of his house had been more than a little demeaning, but she knew if she was going to see this thing through to its end she was going to have to pick her battles.
Mission Alpha would consist of getting a good understanding of what Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was.
Up to this point her exposure to PTSD had come primarily through the TV. She’d seen shows where vets came home from the war, not really ever leaving the battlefield behind, and ended up shooting their town all to hell . . . but that was TV, where reality was often smothered beneath a healthy dose of entertainment bullcrap.
She drove to her mom’s living facility, clicked her engine into silence and slumped into her seat, fingers rubbing her temples. She was seriously under qualified for this stuff. Only twenty-four, for heaven’s sakes. All she had going for her was persistence, and tenacity could shift to idiocy in the blink of an eye.
/> When had the damn sun gotten so damn bright?
Muttering a curse to herself, she flipped her visor down and snatched her shades off its top. She was getting a damn headache.
Right over her one eye.
Popping the top of the bottle of Tylenol from inside her purse she tossed a few back, swallowed them dry. After a grimace and a full body shiver, she dropped the pills onto the passenger seat and crawled out of her car, choking as one powdery tablet stuck in the back of her throat when she slammed the door closed.
Allie had given up any pretense that Matthew was just some kind of thrill ride to punch her “V” card on. Cupid had ambushed her way back at the UMMA and taken a two-by-four to her head, right between her eyes. And boy, had she fallen hard.
It was love, damn it.
And now, here she was, standing outside her mom’s home, ready to do whatever it took to help him.
She’d looked up PTSD on the internet but didn’t find much. A lot of articles on how to help your vet. Ambiguous at best, and mostly intoned the need to be there for them.
Well, being there had about gotten her strangled.
So, first things first. She’d decided this morning to get up, pull on her big girl pants, and go in search of help . . . from the last person she particularly cared to see at the moment.
***
Adam was just coming out of the lunch room when she locked eyes with him.
The big A-hole.
It was hard to mask her satisfaction at seeing the fading bruises beneath both eyes, as well as the swollen nose that was stuck on his face at a wrong angle.
I can’t believe the jerk kissed me!
Looking properly abashed, Adam trudged over to her, shoulders curled over his chest, hands fidgeting at his sides as if he were ready to get tagged by a Taser.
“Hey.”
He winced when Allie’s eyes narrowed.
“Hey, yourself.” Her voice could have dropped the thermostat by twenty degrees. When she tipped her head up so she could look at him, his eyes tightened.
“You wanna go somewhere we can talk?”
Captured at Nightfall (Capture My Heart Love Story) Page 14