“Daniel?” she said softly as she walked over.
Across the way, he had stretched out on top of the queen-sized bed, his body so long, he’d had to angle himself to keep his feet on the mattress. He’d doubled up on the pillows, his head propped on a stack, his arms clasped over his abdominals. With his eyes closed, he looked dead.
Like he was in a coffin.
Staying quiet, Lydia tiptoed to the base of the bed. When he was awake, he was so vital, so masculine, so strong, that anything less than that vibrancy was … not something her brain could make sense of: He seemed exhausted to the point of a coma.
She pictured him out in that tent in the woods.
And was glad he had a roof over his head and was dry and warm.
“Good night, Daniel,” she whispered.
Lydia sat up in her bed in a rush, heart hammering in her chest, her gasp echoing in her silent room. Fumbling for the lamp on her side table, she turned the light on—and then blinked when she blinded herself.
Slipping her legs out from the sheets, she put her bare feet on the floor and tilted forward. As her eyes stopped stinging, she listened for footfalls. Talk. Lights out on the lawn. Cars—
The groan was soft and far off, but it got her right to the vertical. Scurrying to her door, she ripped it open and leaned out.
That was when she heard the sound again. A low release of pain. From the guest room.
Rushing down the hall, the light from overhead shined into the space and fell on the bed, on Daniel: On top of the duvet, he was churning, his legs sawing as if he were running in his sleep, his head going back and forth on the pillows, one hand gripping the covers in a fist so tight that it shook. With his mouth open, his chest was pumping up and down—
“Daniel?” she said. Then louder, “Daniel—”
Just as she had done, he shot upright, but as his eyes met hers, he did not see her; there was no recognition in his stare as his lids peeled wide and his face stretched with terror.
“Daniel.” She went around to him. “Daniel, it’s okay, you’re all—”
“I can’t breathe.” His hand let go of the comforter and went to the front of his chest. As he twisted the T-shirt he’d changed into, his face turned to her, his opaque stare finally locking on her even as he seemed not to know who she was. “I …”
“You’re breathing.”
“I am?”
“Yes, here.” She put her hand on top of his own. “See? You’re inhaling and exhaling. You’re okay.”
“Am I?”
“I promise you. Let’s breathe together.”
Now his eyes clung to hers, as if she were the only thing keeping him on the planet, as if gravity had decided to forget about him and he was in danger of floating away without her.
“I can’t breathe … ,” he choked.
With no warning, he caved into her, his full body weight crashing against her torso. He was so big, she scrambled to hold on to him as he lurched forward—and she had to get up on the bed or she was going to drop him. Instantly, his heavy arm came around her and he pulled her closer. Then he curled up in the fetal position. The shaking that came over him was so intense, it rattled the headboard against the wall.
Repositioning herself, she tucked his head into her neck and stroked his thick hair. “Shh … I’ve got you. You need to just let it go, let it out. Whatever it is you’re holding in, just let it go …”
“I can’t,” he croaked.
“Yes, you can,” she whispered. “Give it to me. Let it go and give it to me.”
The moan that came out of him was like a piece of his soul had broken off the whole, and now, abandoned and lost, it was crying out in the darkness of fate to find its way back.
“Give it to me, Daniel. I’m strong enough for your burden. I can carry whatever you need me to. Give the burden to me—”
“I can’t breathe.”
“You’re breathing—”
“I can’t breatheIcantbreatheIcant—she’s not breathing. Oh, God, she’s not breathing …”
“Tell me.”
There was a period where he didn’t speak, nothing but his sawing inhales filling the entire house, the whole world. And then, when he at last talked to her, his syllables had pounding hooves, his words trampling over the distance between his past, where he was alone, and the present, which they were both in.
“She’s in the water. She’s fallen from the bridge into the river. Her head’s under the surface. It’s dark out, I can’t see where she is … the current is fast … the water is muddy … I can’t see—I’m jumping. I’m jumping. I’m hitting the cold water. It’s hard as stone and it’s … in my mouth and my nose. I’m choking … I’m swimming. I’m calling her name …”