I sat in a patch of sunlight beside a window that opened onto what counted as a green space. A grassy patch with a few spindly trees. Bare of leaves this time of year, nothing disguised the anemic reach of their skeletal branches toward the swatch of open sky above. The trees hadn’t quite given up the fight for freedom. I couldn’t say the same for most of my companions.
They sat in corners or huddles or shuffled around the common room in the slippers that were as close as we came to real shoes. Everything in here was neutral—white or gray or beige. Lifeless. As if the place itself were sucking the will to live out of all of us.
I didn’t know how much longer I could stand this and stay me.
The familiar rattle of the medicine cart pulled my attention from the window. Step. Step. Rattle. Pause. Step. Step. Step. Rattle. Pause.
I kept my head down, hoping the orderly would pass me by. I didn’t want the pills that made me feel like a zombie. I’d begun hiding them in my cheek, weaning myself off, but I wasn’t sure I could pull that off in here.
Step. Step. Rattle. Pause.
“Time for meds, Wilhelmina.”
They never called me Willa here. That was my father’s doing. “That’s your name. I gave it to you.” As if by contributing half my DNA, he had a right to dictate who I was.
I curled in on myself, praying that turtling up would somehow protect me.
“Wilhelminaaaa.” The orderly’s sing-song voice seemed to echo in the abnormally quiet room. He shook the little paper cup full of pills.
No. I couldn’t do this anymore. I wouldn’t.
Exploding up from my seat, I struck out at the hand holding the cup, sending the pills flying like so much confetti. Darting past him, I made for the door out of the common room. But it wouldn’t budge when I shoved at the bar.
“C’mon. C’mon!” I threw my full weight against it, to no avail.
The orderly was closing in. I bolted to the left, past Mrs. Tate and her endless knitting projects. She lifted rheumy eyes and rose, dragging her partly finished blanket as she began to shuffle after me. Pete and Maisey abandoned their game of checkers as I flew by. Their faces were too pale, too lax. That grayish cast wasn’t from months without the sun. They looked… dead. But that didn’t stop them from joining Mrs. Tate and the orderly in herding me toward one corner of the room. Suddenly, all the other patients were on their feet, part of the mindless, zombie-like pack.
No. They wouldn’t take me! They wouldn’t pull me in again.
There were no other doors, so I backed toward the window, frantically searching the furniture for something I could hurl to break the glass.
A splash of crimson drew my attention to another man shambling in my direction. His mouth hung slack, and his eyes were vacant. Blood trailed down his face and soaked the front of his shirt, dripping onto the floor as he kept coming, coming, coming. One hand reached out to touch me—
“No!”
“Willa!”
Someone I couldn’t see wrapped me in restraints, and I fought back, lashing out with everything I had, trying to break free.
“Wren, wake up! It’s me. It’s Sawyer. Wake up!”
The sound of his voice dragged me out of the dream. Like a swimmer breaking the surface, I gasped in huge lungfuls of air, still sobbing with terror. Roy was bouncing on the bed, barking. And Sawyer… Sawyer was right there, arms wrapped around me.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
I sagged into him, burying my face against the warmth of his chest and holding on for dear life, because he was real, and I wasn’t back inside. There was no room for mortification or regret. I didn’t care that he was getting a front-row seat to my brokenness, because he was my safe place.
He rocked me for a long time, until the tears stopped, and my breathing finally leveled out. “That must have been one hell of a nightmare.”
“You could say that.” On a sigh, I pulled back far enough to scoop a hand through my hair. “I should have expected it after today.”
“Your time off-island?”
“With an added zombie chaser. Literally. That was new.” I remembered the bloody guy who’d nearly touched me and shuddered.
His wince was sympathetic. “I’m guessing the chances of you going back to sleep are probably close to nil.”
I glanced at the clock. 2:24. “Not likely. I can read for a while. Or stream something on my laptop. That’s what I usually do.”
“I’ll do you one better. Come on. Let’s go downstairs.” He slid off the bed and held out a hand with a look that was reminiscent of Aladdin offering Jasmine a magic carpet ride. I wanted to follow him anywhere when he looked at me like that.
“You really don’t have to stay up with me. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. My stomach did. I want a snack. I’ll fix us something.”
Shocked to realize I could actually eat, I put my hand in his.
The house was dark and quiet but for our soft footfalls and the click of Roy’s claws on the hardwood as we went down to the kitchen. It struck me that there was nothing creepy about the house. I didn’t feel weird being here, despite the incredible age of the place. It just felt… comfortable. I didn’t know how much of that was the house and how much was the fact that Sawyer was here with me.
He opened the fridge. “Sit.”
Because I didn’t want to be as far from him as the breakfast nook, I boosted myself onto the counter opposite the stove and watched him. He pulled out cheese and butter from the fridge, then snagged a loaf of bread from Panadería de la Isla.
“Grilled cheese?” I asked.
“Midnight snack of champions.” He set a skillet on the stove and turned on the burner.
I watched him move, admiring the efficiency as he sliced the bread and put together the sandwiches. Only when he laid them into the skillet did I register he wore only a pair of low-slung, cut-off gray sweatpants. The handful of lights he’d switched on highlighted the dip and curve of the muscle he’d packed on during his naval service. He’d tended a little toward skinny growing up, but now all that height had bulked out into a package I couldn’t help but admire.
He was walking by to put the cheese and butter back into the fridge when I noticed the ink on his left shoulder.
“You have a tattoo.” Instinctively, I reached out to run a finger over the intricate compass with a quartet of swallows. “It’s beautiful.”
He glanced over his shoulder at me, and I realized he’d stopped with the cheese still in his hands. “All four of us got one right before we shipped out from basic training to our first postings. A reminder we’d always be there for each other.”
“I like that.” Aware I was practically petting his shoulder like a cat, I dropped my hand.
Sawyer continued on to the fridge, putting the food away. “What about you? Do you have any ink hiding somewhere?” His teasing smile told me he didn’t expect the answer to be yes.
“Actually, I do.”
“Oh, really?” Looking more than a little intrigued, he flipped the sandwiches.
Because it was the middle of the night and felt like a time for confessions, I slid off the counter and turned my back to him, lifting my hair to reveal the nape of my neck. His finger gently traced the design, and I shivered at the touch.
“A wren,” he murmured.
Dropping my hair, I turned to face him. “More specifically, a wren taking flight. I got it after I came back to the island.”
“Why a wren?”
“You were always the one who didn’t treat me like I was broken. You gave me strength, so it was sort of my way of keeping you with me after you left.” After the words were out, I realized they probably revealed more than I’d intended. But I could see that it meant something to him that I’d effectively inked our connection onto my body. Made him a part of me.
He took a step closer, closing the distance between us to mere inches. I had to tip my head back to keep his gaze. The air between us felt electric and raw. Intimate. Testing the moment as much as myself, I laid a hand on his chest, feeling the smooth, warm skin beneath my palm and the thudding heart beneath. When I licked my lips, he tracked the motion. His eyes darkened, his pupils springing wide as they drank me in. One hand curled around my hip, and he began to lower his head… only to jerk to a stop, his nostrils flaring.
“Shit.” He leapt toward the stove, shoving the pan off the burner and saving our snack from ruination.
I ached at the loss of the moment. At what might have happened without that interruption. And it was an interruption. Whatever had been happening between us was over, as evidenced by Sawyer efficiently plating up the sandwiches and offering one to me. “A little crispy around the edges, but still edible.”
“I’m sure it’s fine. Thank you.”
We kicked back against opposite counters and ate standing up, chasing the food with glasses of milk. I gave Roy the last bite of mine, which he nipped delicately from my fingers and promptly chomped in one bite. I did feel better, and that was more than I’d expected, given my usual response to nightmares.
“I think maybe I could go back to sleep.”
“Okay then.” He made sure the stove was off and escorted me back upstairs.
At the door to my room, I hesitated. “Sawyer?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you stay with me?” Now that I was up here, I didn’t want to risk falling back into the dream.
“Sure.”
He followed me inside. We crawled into bed. Maybe it was pushing the envelope, but I reached for Sawyer’s arm, tugging it over my waist. He shifted, tucking around me as a proper big spoon. Roy assumed his position on my other side.
Sandwiched between my two protectors, I slid into a blessedly dreamless sleep.