Nick glanced, for the umpteenth time, at Trisha's hair spread over the pillow next to him. Curiously, she wasn't a snuggler after s*x. She'd driven him mad, given him the best s*x of his life, then rolled over and slept.
He wanted to touch her again.
Tearing his gaze away, he stared at the ceiling. She hadn't shown any signs of sleepwalking or nightmares yet. He didn't have the heart to put the alarm back on her ankle, not that he'd sleep anyhow.
What happened to settling in a sleepy town and attempting to get over the damage back in Milwaukee? It was like the horror had followed him, just in a different form. The incidents here in Small Rapids didn't make any damn sense. Nightmares. An abandoned house. Phone calls.
Murder.
It was all tied to Trisha somehow. He should've resisted her
