Chapter 20

She'd been asleep for ten minutes. Not long, but on this night—who knew?

Eli didn't look good. Maybe he'd benefit from knowing that the drop, whatever it was, was being sorted, by his brother.

"Eli, wake up," she soothed, hoping the soft words would cajole him from his nightmarish dream walk. "Everything's okay. Wake up."

His eyes flashed open momentarily, and she saw the whites, the fear. Shocked, she bent to press her lips against his face, reassure him anyway she could think of. Touch. Soft words. She reached for his cheek, but he pushed her away with the palm of his hand.

He still felt hot, and worse, he was scaring her. "Eli, it's okay. You're going to be fine!"

But she didn't know he was going to be fine. She didn't know anything.

He started muttering, eyes closed now. "It's no good. I won't do it. I won't leave her. I won't leave her!"

Her eyes widened and her heart kicked up. She couldn't say a word to soothe him now, wasn't able to do anything but kneel beside him and watch.

"Don't hurt him!” he hissed. "I'll do whatever you want." He started laughing, seemingly delirious. "Of course I can. Didn't I go to school for that? I can do whatever you want. Bastards. Ian!"

"Eli!"

“Two-thirty. Drop's at two-thirty. Oh, god. Christmas Eve. Can't miss it. Can't miss it. Can't..."

"It's taken care of, Eli. Ian's doing it."

"Ian?" His brother's name came out as a strangled cry. "Ian?" His eyes popped open, went wild. What the hell was he scared of? “Don’t hurt him! I’ll do it!”

What could she do?

She placed her hand on his chest. If it was to reassure him or herself more, she'd never guess.

His hand came up and clasped her wrist. Hung on, tight. Then she had to strain to hear his words and bent close to do so. "Not Tish. Don’t hurt her.”

He gripped her wrist hard. Hard, until she thought the blood would cease flowing.

And then his body eased. When she stroked his forehead, he didn't protest.

And he slept. Slept until she had to lay her arm down across his chest, as he wouldn't let her extricate herself. She lay beside him, used the bag she'd brought up from downstairs as a pillow, placed it at his shoulder, and laid her head on it. Breathed him in, deep gulps.

His crazed ruminations, brought on by the fever, had returned him to her. The stuff that came out of his mouth—now she knew.

It was clear now he'd done what he had for someone he'd loved as much as he'd loved her. Hell, he'd idolized him—his brother. The one who left abruptly, too. And the event had traumatized him.

He'd done it to save him.

And while she'd been hurt—how could she find fault with that? Blame him?

She watched his chest rise and fall. Exulted in and savored his nearness. And the fact that she'd been able to help him, comfort him, and tomorrow when this storm blew over—and holy god, she prayed it would blow over—she'd let him go. Again.

Following the rhythm of his breathing, she fell asleep with him. Fresh tears dried on her face as the moonlight rode out from behind the clouds and spilled silver glitter across their entwined figures.