CHAPTERONE
Three Months Later
Shane
A scream jolts me awake. I try to orientate myself, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Who is screaming?
Another scream sounds throughout the silent house. Shit.
Snow.
Pulling on a shirt, I rush out of the room, with the sound of London’s feet pounding on the hardwood behind me. He must have heard her, too. Pushing open the door, I peer inside to find her curled in a ball on the floor, hugging her body like she’s trying to protect herself.
Fuck.
I tiptoe farther into the room and kneel—so as to not frighten her—noticing her forehead is drenched in sweat. It’s a bad one—her nightmares seem to be getting worse.
“Snow,” I murmur calmly, reaching out to smooth her hair. When my hand makes contact, she thrashes and cries out, like someone is hurting her. She’s reliving her nightmare all over again, and it pains me.
London reaches for her hand. “Snow, it’s all right. No one can hurt you here.”
She opens her almost violet-colored eyes, and blinks, trying to focus on who’s talking and where she is. When she realizes she’s at the homestead and safe, she starts sobbing.
“I’m so sorry,” she cries, big, fat tears rolling down her face.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” I say softly.
Carefully lifting her into my arms, I sit and cradle her on the bed, as London sits on the other side. My heart breaks for her, and I feel helpless that I can’t take her pain away.
“I keep you up all the time,” she sobs. “I’m a nuisance.”
“Sweetheart, you’re not. We’re here for you.” London strokes her hand in soothing circles. “You went through some shit that we have no idea about. But just know we’re here for you.”
“Maybe it’s time to talk about it?” I suggest, meeting her gaze.
“Maybe,” she agrees, her voice still a little raspy from crying.
We sit there like that—in silence—letting her rest for a bit. When she’s fallen asleep again, I kiss her temple. We tiptoe out of the room, and quietly shut the door, not wanting to wake her. Every time we go through this, it never gets easier, but I won’t let her go out on her own again. She’s safe here.
“I’ll make the coffee,” London offers, clapping me on the shoulder.
Nodding, I watch him make his way downstairs. He’s already dressed, having taken over some of the chores on the homestead, and he’s been a big help to me. Memphis shows up every once in a while, but he has his own animals to tend to, as does Lincoln.
“I’m going to grab a shower,” I say to no one in particular. Guess I’m just making notes for myself, since London is already rooting around in the kitchen. There was a time when he wouldn’t even go into “my domain” unless I was in there. Anyone who knows me is aware my kitchen is a sacred space. I finally told him to make himself at home, and he did.
Ivy is probably still asleep, and sneaking back into the room seems like the smart way to go so as to not wake her. Things have been off with us for a while, but when I ask what’s wrong, we end up in an argument. In all honesty, we haven’t been happy for a while. We’re just faking it for Ever’s sake since they’re friends.
And it’s gotten worse since Snow’s been here. Ivy acts like a jealous She-Devil when we’re only helping her out. One time she went as far as to snap at Snow for something trivial, like coffee, and I about lost my shit. That was an argument for the decades—her telling me I loved Snow and not her. When I told her she was delusional, Ivy went on a tirade for three hours. I almost moved out just to have some peace.
“There’re facilities for people like her, where they understand trauma,” Ivy mutters, rolling over in bed.
“What?” Freezing in place, I wait, unsure if I heard her correctly.
“She should go to a women’s center—somewhere better equipped for what she’s going through.”
“So, have her committed?” What the fuck?
“It would be better for all of us,” she continues, and I’m blown away.