Sarah's Seduction (Men of August 2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

It was Brock’s nightmare that woke her up the next night. His cry shattered the night and her security in one bleak instant.

“No! God, No!” He jumped from the bed, crouching on the floor like an animal, his face white, his eyes so dark they terrified her as he stared around in dazed horror.

“Brock.” Sarah came to her knees, fear washing over her as he jerked to his feet, his hands shaking, his body shuddering from the remembered terror as he raked his fingers through sweat dampened hair.

“Fuck. I have to go outside.” He acted like a man with claustrophobia, stuck in a small room rather than the cavern sized bedroom he inhabited. “Go back to sleep.”

He pulled his sweat pants on, nearly tripping in his haste, then grabbed cigarettes from the dresser and rushed from the room. Oh yeah, she was really going to stay put. Sarah donned her short, silk robe and moved after him. She didn’t rush, giving him a chance to realize he was no longer trapped in the dream. She went to the family room first, poured them both a drink and then walked out the open front door.

He sat in the large, cushioned lounge chair at the end of the porch, deep in the shadows. His long legs were braced over the side, his elbows propped on his knees, his hands covering his face. A lit cigarette was clamped between his lips and he drew on it with the desperation of a man dying for ease.

“Here.” She set the stiff whisky and ice on the table beside him.

Her brows raised as he tipped it to his mouth, draining it, then went back to the cigarette. She set her glass beside him then.

“Go back to bed.” His voice was rough, savage. “I’ll be up later.”

“Would you leave me alone with such demons, Brock?” she asked him, sitting at the end of the lounger, pulling the robe over her thighs as she watched him.

“I don’t want you to know my demons, dammit.” He drew on the cigarette with a harsh motion. “You’ll suffer enough for them. Get back to bed.”

Sarah couldn’t imagine suffering for him, as bad as he was suffering with it. His muscles were so tight and bunched she hurt just seeing it. His eyes were dark, his face creased with bitterness.

“I already suffer knowing you hurt, Brock.” And she was. It was breaking her heart, seeing him, so strong, so alone, his eyes bleak and hopeless.

“You’ll suffer worse before it’s over with,” he growled, tossing the filter to the yard, then lighting another cigarette. “Just like Marly suffers.”

And yet, in no way the amount he was suffering right now. Sarah felt tears come to her eyes. If he were a weaker man, he would be rocking in misery. Instead, his body was tight, corded with tension and despair, his eyes bleak and hopeless. It was breaking her heart, tearing a piece of her soul from its mooring to see him like this, hurting so desperately.

“Brock, don’t shut me out,” she whispered. “If you shut me out, how am I supposed to understand?”

She could barely suppress her cry of rage when he looked up at her. His eyes were hollow, his face ravaged by pain.

“You don’t want to know, Sarah,” he denied her, his voice gentle, heart-breaking in it’s agony. “I wish I didn’t know.”

“But you do,” she told him, touching his face, her fingers easing over the lines sorrow had edged into it. “I love you, Brock. Very much. You can’t shut me out like this.”

He turned his head away from her. He drained the second drink, breathing harshly as the whisky burned a path down his throat.

“I told you what happened,” he reminded her. “I won’t go over it again.”

He couldn’t go over it again, Sarah knew, and she didn’t know if she could bear it if he did. Her heart would shatter from his pain.

“What’s the nightmare about?” She edged closer, relieved when he pulled her desperately into his arms, holding onto her as he braced her back against his chest.

“Cade.” He buried his face in her hair. “It’s always about Cade.”

“What about Cade?” She felt his lips in her hair, a dampness that shouldn’t be there falling from him. Sweat, or tears? She was terrified to turn back and look.

“How that bastard hurt him. How he made Cade hurt us, or watch him do it. It was always Cade’s choice.” He held onto her, a lifeline, Sarah thought. He held onto her as though she alone were keeping him sane.

“Which did you prefer, Brock?” His arms tightened around her, his breath was harsh at her back. “Would it have mattered which it was?”

He drew in a shocked breath.

“Cade tried to protect us.”