Home > Saviour Boy (All American Boy)(6)

Saviour Boy (All American Boy)(6)
Author: S.L. Sterling

I took another drink of water and rested my head back on the chair. My neck was also killing me. It had been a while since I had slept sitting up, and it was proving to be a little more difficult than I once remembered. I stretched, hoping to ease some tightness and pain that I was feeling, but to no avail. I was kicking myself for being so stubborn. I should have let Becca get me pillows and blankets before she had gone off to sleep.

Once I had gotten comfortable and the pain medication kicked in, I could feel myself drifting off when I heard something. I sat up and listened hard. I could hear a tiny whimper coming from her bedroom. I got up out of the chair to see that Becca was okay. Right before they discharged me from the hospital, I remembered she had mentioned she’d been having bad dreams in her letters, and I remembered wanting to comfort her. There were many things I remembered wanting to do to her from the other side of the world, yet now that she stood here in front of me, I could barely get up the courage to meet her for a lunch or dinner date.

I hobbled down the hall and stopped just outside her bedroom. She had left the door ajar, and I placed my hand on the door and carefully pushed it open. She lay in bed, wrapped in blankets, thrashing about, whimpering in her sleep. I knew all about bad dreams, and I wondered what it was she was dreaming about.

I watched her for a minute through the cracked door and was about to turn around when I heard what sounded like crying.

“Bec?” I whispered.

Another tiny whimper escaped her, and she moved her arm about, trying to send away whatever was in her dream.

“Bec?” I whispered louder this time, trying to wake her but not scare her.

“No, Jace...” she murmured and began crying again.

I pushed the door open enough to accommodate my enormous frame and walked over to the opposite side of the bed. Should I wake her? Should I leave her to fight through the demons in her dream? I didn’t know. Instead, I stood there trying to decide what to do. I knew she was going to freak if I touched her. Hell she would freak if she woke up and found me standing over top of her as well. Either way she was going to freak. I took in a deep breath and kneeled on the bed.

“Becca,” I said, touching her shoulder and lightly shaking her. “Wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

I turned on the bedside light and was just about to turn back to face her when she surprised me by screaming. I went to grab her and was taken aback by the sharp sting of a slap across my face.

Becca was sitting up, hair all disheveled, breathing hard, staring at me with large, round eyes. Immediately, her hands went to cover her mouth.

“My God, Grant, I am so sorry. I—”

“It’s all right. I deserve it. I heard you thrashing about and wanted to come and check on you. I should have probably just let you sleep, but instead I woke you. It’s my fault. I deserved that.”

“You scared me,” Becca said, running her hand through her hair, her eyes watery with tears.

“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my cheek.

“I was dreaming about—”

“Jace, I know. You said his name. Are you okay?”

She pulled her knees up to her chest and said nothing for a little while. She just sat there huddled in a ball, twirling her fingers in the sheets. I felt oddly out of place being in her bedroom with her, but I didn’t want to move in case she wanted to talk. I watched as her eyes travelled over my bare chest before meeting my eyes.

“Could you get me some water?”


Within minutes, I had returned with a glass of water and set it on her bedside table. She was still in the same position she had been when I had left. I walked back around and sat down on the opposite side of the bed, this time leaning my back against the headboard.

She took a sip of water and placed the glass back down on the table. Once again, she ran her fingers through her soft-looking hair. “I can’t get the nightmare out of my mind.”

I knew exactly what she was talking about. I had been plagued with nightmares myself after I had returned from the Middle East. They were always the same—trapped in the MRAP, everyone dead or injured, hearing the footsteps on the gravel, waiting to die. I closed my eyes and put myself in her place. “You just need to close your eyes and breathe,” I whispered, trying to calm her with the tone of my voice.

She did as I suggested and closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing, but the longer she sat there, the more the rapid breathing returned. “I can’t, Grant. I can’t get that dream out of my mind. Would you do me a favour?”

“Anything,” I said, my eyes closed.

“Would you stay with me until I fall asleep?” she questioned. “I just want to be held for a little while.”

I looked over at her. She sat there looking straight ahead, almost as if she were afraid to look at me for fear I would say no. There was no way I would say no. Over the past few years, there had been many times I had wanted to hold her. I knew I probably shouldn’t—I was here as a favor to her brother, to do a job—but she was practically begging me.

Swallowing hard, I raised my arm. “Come here.,” I whispered as I shuffled my body down in the bed. In a matter of seconds, she was at my side. I had barely gotten comfortable before her head rested on my shoulder and her left leg swung over mine, causing me to jump as she hit the site I’d had surgery on.

“Oh my God, did I hurt you?”

I reached under the blankets, grabbing her leg and readjusting it. “Just my bad leg is all. A couple spots are still sensitive.”

“I didn’t mean to.” She looked up at me with forgiveness in her eyes.

“I know you didn’t mean to. It’s okay now. Just relax and close your eyes,” I said, holding her tightly against me, my other hand removing the hair from her face.

When I felt her breathing finally slow, I reached up and turned off the light and allowed myself to relax back in the bed. She snuggled against me, and I pulled the blankets up around her shoulders. Her hand rested on my chest, and I glanced down to see her peering up at me.

“Do you remember when we used to write back and forth?” she asked.

“Of course, I remember. Your letters got me through my years in the Middle East. They also got me through my time in the hospital too.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

She turned her eyes from me and lay there. “If I told you I used to dream of this, of you holding me like this, what would you say?”

I swallowed hard and looked down to see her peering up at me with those blue eyes of hers. I had dreamed so long of lying with her like this as well, but I never thought she felt the same. The longer I looked into those blue eyes of hers, the more I wanted her. I wanted to tell her exactly how I felt, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, I tilted my head, leaned into her, and brushed my lips ever so gently against hers, my hand cupping her cheek.





I yawned. It was only five in the morning, and I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, wrapped in a large, plush towel. I glanced at my reflection, at the dark lines surrounding my eyes. I could hear banging as Grant moved around the living room, finishing his workout I had interrupted this morning when I came out of the bedroom. He had been down on the floor, doing crunches—one hundred to be exact—and he had barely looked in my direction when he rolled over on the floor to plank. I stumbled into the bathroom with nothing more than a murmured good morning, even though I would have preferred to watch.

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