Wayward Wolf

Baby Ray

Evelyn

Sleep isn't coming as easily to me tonight as it did last night. Last night, I reveled in the way Ray's scent seemed to ease every muscle in my body and make me sink into the mattress like it was made of clouds. I've never slept so well in my life, and I can just imagine how nice it would be to have him lying next to me. It's a little presumptuous, but Ray is different from any man I've met before. He's a little taciturn and grumpy, sure, but he's also sweet and kind in his own surly kind of way.

Tonight, sleep isn't coming nearly as easily. I stare at the ceiling and can't stop picturing him standing in front of the punching bag in his garage, his shirt plastered to him like a second skin, showing how his broad chest and back heaved with every breath, sweat trickling down his temple and dripping off his sharp jaw. His dark eyes were fierce and full of so much fire they made my insides ache even now, hours later. If I hadn't noticed his poor swollen knuckles, I definitely would've made a fool of myself, drooling in the doorway.

After his fight with Frankie about going to visit Joey, Ray was a grumpy pants the rest of the day. I mean, I get it. I could imagine how stressful it would be to have to move around a strange house with my eyes permanently glued shut. I didn't bring up his brothers again and just let him shower and read and hide away in the garage as long as I didn't start hearing the thumping of him hitting that punching bag again.

We ate dinner, the frozen meals that fill the entirety Ray's freezer, and he disappeared into his room just like he had the night before. It's only been a few hours since then, but I kind of already miss him a little. God, Eve, stop being so needy.

I sigh and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force sleep to come. The house is completely silent, the only sound the rustling of branches outside the window. Then I hear groaning mixed with a slight rumbling growl from down the hall. I should definitely leave him alone. Yeah, definitely.

Oh man, I can't help myself. What if he's having a nightmare? Or he fell and hit his head? I roll out of bed and pad as quietly as I can across the hall and knock softly on Ray's bedroom door. Now that I'm closer, I can hear him moving around and his deep voice mumbling, "Stop."

Pushing open the door, my heart breaks a little when I see Ray. His legs are tangled up in his blankets and his head is thrashing back and forth. His chest is rising rapidly as he struggles to drag in enough air. His dark brows are pinched in discomfort and his lips quiver as they form silent words. I'm not sure if I should go to him until he whispers a barely audible, "Please."

I sit next to him on the bed and brush his hair back off his forehead. It's surprisingly soft, and I melt a little inside when his head tilts back to press more firmly against my palm. "Ray," I whisper, "it's okay. It's just a bad dream."

He groans again, the sound mixing with a deep, but soft growl. His jaw clenches and his teeth grind, almost like he's in pain. My heart aches, like a phantom hand has wrapped its fingers around it and is squeezing. I just want him not to hurt anymore.

"Come on, baby, wake up," I whisper, again running my hand over his hair.

Finally, his eyes flash open with a gasp and he wraps his thick, calloused fingers around my wrist to stop my movement. His dark eyes flit around, like he's looking for something he'll never see. He stills after a moment, his eyes going blank while heaving a deep sigh. He looks so tired and so much older than he should. Dropping his fingers from my wrist, he scrubs his hands over his face.

"What're you doing here?"

I clasp my hands tightly in my lap to resist the urge to start running my fingers through his hair. It's just so soft. "You were having a nightmare." It's quiet for a moment and I begin to wonder if I should just leave, but I hate how empty Ray's eyes are, and I know I'm just going to go back to the guest room and keep wondering what if. "Do you... want to talk about it?"