Grit (Dirty #6) by Cheryl McIntyre Read Free Book Online Page B

Unrelenting. But she doesn’t complain. It’s unspoken, but she knows I need to cling to her. To know she’s here. Safe. With me.
    Mine, though I never claim her as such. Mine, though I never allow her to claim me.
    But she is mine. And though she doesn’t know it, I want to be hers. I just don’t know how.

 
    Nine
    Rocky
     
     
    I’m startled awake. My heart hammers in my chest as I hold my breath, listening, trying to understand what roused me. The mattress bounces. A sound shatters the silence, and though I know it’s Link, it isn’t his voice . It’s an awful noise, full of torment, remorse, and sorrow. A guttural cry that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
    It’s happening again.
    More and more frequently these past few days.
    I roll into him, wrapping my arms and legs around his body to keep him still, and then I whisper into his ear. Soft, slow, soothing words I’m not sure he even understands in the dark depths of his mind.
    I tell him it’s not real. I tell him everything is all right. I tell him he’s just dreaming.
    I repeat it over and over until his breathing slows and his muscles loosen. I repeat it until the creases in his forehead ease and his face is peaceful once again. My fingers brush over his lips, smoothing the last remnants of a frown.
    When the morning comes, I won’t mention it, just as I haven’t mentioned it any of the other times. If he remembers, he won’t bring it up either. He never has—not once in the past few weeks.
    I don’t know what nightmares plague him. I’m not sure I even want to know. The only thing I’m sure of is he’s in pain and I’m unable to help him.
    There will be no more sleep for me tonight. The sheets are damp with sweat, but I ignore it. I stay where I am, clinging to the man who taught me how to live again. How to trust, love—and I wish I could take all his pain away. Absorb his agony into my flesh, freeing him from his mental prison.
    I wish a lot of things that will never come true.
    The muted cadence of Link’s breathing is comforting. My body is worn-out, fatigued from the daily self-defense lessons. I should be able to close my eyes and drift to sleep, but I can’t.
    Some nights, all I can do is think.
    Some nights, all I can do is cry.
    I want a drink. I want a lot of drinks. I know Link cares about me. He tells me. He shows me. I feel it. But it’s so damn hard to come second to his dead girlfriend. He dreams of her, and I lay in bed with him, holding him. Comforting him. He makes love to me, but it’s her name on his chest. Over his heart. In my face.
    I’m selfish. So fucking selfish. I can’t help it. I want all of him. I want him to myself. I don’t want to share him with a ghost.
     
     
    ~*~
     
     
    On my lunch break, I take advantage of Link’s distraction with a client and leave the gym premises for once, taking a chilly walk to the boutique down the road.
    Though my mom raised me like a lady, I’ve never been all that lady-like. Then, after the attack, I had zero interest in looking pretty. It’s been that way since.
    Until now.
    We’re going out tonight. It’s a group outing, but this is the first time Link and I have ever really gone out. I want to look nice for him.
    I find a rack of dresses and start finger-walking through the hangers. I wear a lot of skirts—not because I’m trying to be feminine, but because I haven’t bought many new clothes since my mom did most of my shopping in high school—but I don’t wear dresses very often. Especially not dresses like these, meant for dancing and club hopping.
    I don’t know where to begin.
    The woman behind the counter eyes me a couple of times. I don’t want her to come over and, like, talk to me. Even though my cheeks are still cold and I can hardly feel my frozen fingers, perspiration begins to bead across my forehead. I must look like a sweaty deer caught in headlights.
    “Rocky?”
    I turn at the sound of my name. My eyes meet a pair of kind, blue