Dark Child (Wild Men 5)

Dammit, Gigi. “It’s just dreams.”

“It’s never just dreams.”

“You know what I mean.”

“So it wasn’t something you saw?” He pins me with that dark gaze. “Something that happened to you? You can tell me, man. You know that, right? I’ll keep your trust.”

“Like Gigi did?” It comes out more bitter than I’d intended, dammit.

“Gigi is worried about you.”

“Well, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Merc.”

Just that.

I sigh. He has my back, I know that. From the start, when he met my sister Octavia, he sort of adopted all of us. He’s a great guy.

As for his question… I wanna tell him no. No, there’s nothing to worry about, no, I didn’t see anything, nothing happened to

me—but I hesitate.

Can’t say it.

Why can’t I say it? I’ve been telling Gigi all my life that nothing happened. I take a deep gulp of scorching coffee to fill in the silence and curse when I burn my mouth.

Why did I hesitate?

Because I don’t really know that nothing happened. It sure feels so real in my dreams, every little detail, every sound and image, every stab of fear. But aren’t dreams like that?

Of course there’s the question of why the same dream returns night after night. Is that normal?

Gigi has insisted from the start that it was all real, but I can’t believe that. Don’t want to. It’s probably a dream disorder. Anxiety.

For some fucking unknown reason.

“Okay. Anything else you wanna talk to me about? Girls? Drugs? Sex?”

“What? No.”

He laughs at my grimace. “You used to talk to me more before. As I recall, you had fuckloads of questions.”

“And you answered everything I wanted to know, so now I’m good. Look, got anything for me to work on?” I’m desperate to change the topic from myself to something else. “Just point me at an engine, and I’ll make myself busy.”

“Sure.” He shoots me a curious, suspicious look, and sets his mug down. “Always plenty of work to go around. And Merc…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll talk to you if I need anything.” I flash him a weak smile, because I don’t want him to think I’m ungrateful when he’s done so much for me, for my whole family.

But how can I talk to him about psycho girl or the nightmares when I don’t even know what to ask? Neither she or my violent dreams make any damn sense at all.

“Merc, hey!” My older sister Octavia comes to stand beside me where I’m checking an engine. She has her baby in her arms and she lifts his little hand to wave at me. “Max, say hi to Uncle Merc.”

Straightening, I grin wide at the sight of them. “Hey, guys. What’s up? Hey, Maxy. Whatcha doing?”

The baby gurgles at me. He’s almost a year old now and keeps drooling as more of his teeth come out.

I wipe my hands on a rag. “Give him over.”