The Rockstar's Redemption

3. Nightmares.

3. Nightmares.

I laugh in front of the TV, my favorite episode of The Big Bang Theory playing before my eyes.

It’s incredible how much a cup of hot chocolate, a fuzzy blanket, and my wool beanie can improve my day. Oh, and of course… let’s not forget Sheldon. The smart and hilarious Sheldon Cooper.

Another laugh escapes my lips when yet another of his ridiculous comments comes up on the show. I needed this—some time to disconnect from the hospital and forget how tragic life can be.

I’ve often doubted whether nursing is really my calling. Watching people suffer and die definitely isn’t for me. But I thought it would get easier with time, that I’d get used to the tears, the pain, and sometimes, even the loneliness. It hasn’t gotten easier. Not at all.

For me, there have always been two options: do something to help, or simply ignore it. But, in the end, it doesn’t matter if I witness pain or not—it will always exist. There will always be people hurting, patients in hospital beds, families crying over their losses. It’ll never go away.

Ignoring something as present as the air itself isn’t something I’m capable of doing. So the other option is to help. Because no matter what happens, I can’t turn a blind eye when someone needs a little kindness.

A single minute of help can change more than one life.

And ignoring it can ruin many.

“Can you turn down the volume?”

Reid’s voice comes from behind me, and I turn slightly to look at him. My gaze runs over his body, covered in the secondhand clothes I managed to find for him. Sweatpants and a cotton T-shirt barely protect him from the cold. I want to tell him to put something warmer on, but I don’t. I don’t want to sound… weird. Well, weirder.

He hasn’t told me why he’s still here.

I haven’t told him to leave.

He keeps me guessing.

And I don’t complain.

I need a psychiatrist.

“Did I wake you up?” I ask, trying to sound friendly.

His eyes roam carefully around the tiny living room, as if it’s the first time he’s really looking at it. When he’s done scanning every detail, his gaze falls back on me.

I blow over the steaming liquid in my mug and lower my eyes because Reid’s gaze is too intense. There’s too much hidden there—and that unsettles me.

“Your laugh’s too loud.”

I shrug at his words and turn back to the TV. I grab the remote, lower the volume a little, then cradle my mug with both hands and blow softly over it again.

“There’s hot chocolate in the kitchen,” I murmur absently, my attention back on the show.

I don’t know how much time passes, but at some point Reid carefully drops down beside me on the couch, as if his injuries still hurt. They probably do.

It doesn’t escape me that if I move just an inch to the right, my thigh would brush against his. I shake my head, dismissing the thought.

Why should I care if we touch?

I’m definitely going crazy.

He stays beside me, saying nothing. I feel his eyes on me every time I laugh, but he still doesn’t speak. Two more episodes go by… and he stays silent.

He doesn’t laugh once.

Not even a small smile.

No matter how funny my dear Sheldon is, the rock star doesn’t let out so much as a single chuckle.

Feeling curious, I give in to the silence between us and ask, “You don’t like the show?”

My eyes stay fixed on his profile; for some reason, I can’t look away as I wait for his answer. Reid doesn’t turn to look at me; his dark eyes remain glued to the screen. And, as always, he takes his time to respond… and when he finally does, it’s not to answer my question.

“What did you put in the chocolate?”

Why does he never answer what I ask?

I stare at him, trying to figure him out, to understand him, to find any trace of something real inside him.

I find nothing.

I turn my face back to the TV, not looking at him either.

I want to ignore him the way he ignores me, but I can’t help it. That’s just not who I am.

“Vanilla extract.”

Minutes pass, long and silent.

I don’t understand what we’re doing. I don’t understand why I’m helping him, or why he hasn’t left yet. I don’t understand why I haven’t told him to.

I stay there on the couch, eyes fixed on the screen, even when, some time later, he begins to get up. He moves carefully, a little awkwardly—but even awkward, he doesn’t lose an ounce of that masculine strength.

Reid Colleman is the most powerful man I’ve ever met. And I don’t mean because of his fame or his career, but because of what his presence is. He intimidates anyone with nothing more than his eyes. That blank, emotionless stare of his… but I see the sadness there. As much as he tries to hide it, I can see the melancholy that lives inside him.

Maybe that’s why I’m helping him.

“Good night,” I murmur to his back.

I don’t expect an answer. I say it because I mean it. I do wish him a good night. It’s that simple.

But Reid never does simple. I know because he freezes the moment he hears my words. His broad back stiffens, and I keep my eyes on him. What am I waiting for? I don’t know… something. Anything to show that he at least acknowledges my existence.

My breath catches in my throat when he turns his head slightly, showing me his profile. His jaw is tight, but he opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something.

He doesn’t.

A second later, he closes his mouth, turns his head away, and walks straight into my bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

I know I won’t hear from him again for the rest of the night.

And that’s fine.

|…|

I wake up abruptly to a scream.

A raw, painful scream.

I rub a hand over my face, disoriented for a few seconds.

What the hell is happening?

“No!” he screams again, a choked sob following, coming from my bedroom.

My feet move before I can think, running toward the room. I throw the door open.

Reid twists and turns on the bed, the sheet lying crumpled on the floor as his body convulses in pain. His scream is gut-wrenching to hear—but watching him suffer… that hurts even more.

My breathing turns ragged, my heart pounding in my ears. I don’t know what to do.

I just stand there, frozen, watching him, feeling completely out of my depth.

And then he sobs again.

Before I can think about the consequences, I rush to his side and cup his face in my hands.

“Reid,” I whisper softly.

I try again, saying his name in a gentle voice, trying to pull him back into reality.

I sweep a hand across his forehead, brushing away his long, sweat-damp hair. His face twists at my touch, a faint grimace of pain, so I start to pull back.

Before I can, long, strong fingers wrap around my wrist.

Then his dark brown eyes meet mine—blue against brown.

I stare at him, breath quickening, waiting for him to speak with his usual indifference, to tell me to get out.

I brace myself for that familiar feeling of being the intruder… when, in truth, the intruder here is him.

But none of that happens.

My eyes widen when he tugs me gently down onto the bed, pulling me beside him. With a smoothness I don’t understand, he moves my body until our legs are tangled together.

I let out a shaky breath when he molds my back to his chest.

His hand slides under my messy T-shirt and settles on my hip, his fingers grazing my bare skin, almost like a caress.

He holds me there, pressed tightly against him, leaving no room to escape.

I count my breaths, staring at the dark wall in front of me, a soft tremor running through my body.

I want to move away.

I don’t want to move away.

But it doesn’t matter what I want—Reid isn’t giving me a choice.

Soon, a sheet slips over us, and I feel the soft touch of his nose nuzzling the back of my neck.

Another tremor runs through me.

Reid’s hand tightens slightly on my hip.

And, as always, he says nothing.

This time, neither do I.

I stay awake for what feels like hours, and when his breathing finally evens out behind me, telling me he’s asleep, I manage to wriggle free from his iron grip and go back to the couch.

But no matter how much time passes, the feel of Reid’s touch doesn’t fade from my skin… It stays with me for the rest of the night.