The Return of the Rebel

The afternoon sun filtered through the sheers on the windows, casting a golden glow over the room. The couch beckoned to him. If he just sat down here for a minute, he’d be fine. Putting his feet up on the coffee table, he leaned his head back against the smooth leather upholstery and closed his eyes. This felt so good...

* * *

“Jax.”

He turned down a dark alley. Rapid footsteps sounded behind him. A gunshot pierced the night. He flinched. His legs moved faster.

He glanced around. The alleyway was empty. His heart pounded harder. No place to hide. No place to rest.

His muscles ached. His lungs burned. Still, he couldn’t stop. He had to keep going.

“Jax.”

The female voice was growing closer. Where were they? He couldn’t see them. He had to keep moving, keep one step ahead of the man in black.

A brick wall reared up in front of him. He stumbled. Fell. Before he could get to his feet a hand clutched his shoulder.

He jumped.

“Jax, you’re safe.”

* * *

One second he was in the alleyway and the next he was staring into the most amazing forest-green eyes. He blinked, trying to make sense of what was real and what was a dream. He jerked himself away from her touch and sat upright.

Cleo knelt down in front of him with concern etched across her face. “You were having a nightmare. Are you okay?”

“Um, yeah.” He ran a hand over his forehead. “It’s a bit warm in here.”

She grabbed the cold water bottle from the coffee table and handed it to him. “Have a drink. I’ll adjust the thermostat.” She moved across the room and adjusted the touch pad on the wall. “Sorry I’m late. I had to pick my cat up from the vet.”

“No problem. I wasn’t in any rush.” He raked his fingers through his hair.

The nightmares had started when he’d been diagnosed with cancer. With both of his parents dead at an early age, he didn’t hold out much hope for himself. He’d lost count of how many nights he’d woken up with his heart racing and drenched in sweat, but back then the dream had been a blur. As time went by he remembered more of the details. Thankfully he didn’t have them every night, only those times when his illness was weighing heavily on his mind.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” She sent him a questioning stare. “I could call a doctor.”

“What? Why would you do that?”

It was impossible for her to know about his medical condition. There were no loose ends for her to pull. No stones for her to turn. He got to his feet, stretched and headed to the minibar for a fresh bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and took a long drink.

“If you’re sick—”

“Why do you keep insisting I’m sick?”

“Because you’re pale and perspiring. And obviously exhausted if you didn’t hear me knocking on the door.”

“It’s just jet lag.”

“Jet lag? Three days after the fact? I don’t think so.”

She had a point, but he kept quiet. Let her think what she wanted. He wasn’t about to tell her that he’d just finished up a round of chemo and was now awaiting test results to see if he was in the clear or if the dreaded disease was still lurking within him.

“Maybe you should sit back down and take it easy.” She fluffed a throw pillow before returning it to the couch.

He’d been taking care of himself since he was a kid. He didn’t need her mollycoddling him like...like his mother used to do when he was sick. And this illness was not something that you shared casually over coffee. He could barely admit to himself the changes that had taken place in his life over the past year.

Now he just needed to be treated as if he was normal. And maybe then he’d start to feel normal, too.