I don’t sleep.

After tossing and turning for ages, I get up and go the bathroom, splash some water on my face. I stare into my tired eyes in the cracked bathroom mirror and wonder what’s my problem.

Yeah, Ross is an ass, and I don’t look forward to meeting him tomorrow. To Octavia stepping into his path again. I don’t trust myself not to go all caveman on his ass, knock him over and throw him into the bushes by the roadside.

If he as much as thinks about mocking my wife, if he as much as lays his little fucking finger on her… Jesus Christ, I’m getting riled up just thinking about it.

Why did I agree to this?

Oh right. Because Octavia looked at me like I was breaking her heart for insisting she change her mind, and I have no power to refuse anything this girl asks of me.

Nightmares. How could I refuse when she thinks seeing that asshole face to face may set her mind at ease? Especially now. She needs lots of sleep. She thinks I don’t notice how tired she gets sometimes, but it’s hard to miss. Carrying a baby isn’t easy.

So when I return to the guest bedroom and find her sitting up, her hands on her belly, I stop dead in my tracks, my heart doing a war dance against my ribs.

“Tay, is everything all right?” I sit down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just gas, I think.”

I relax. Why am I so worried anyway? It’s not my first rodeo with a pregnant wife. The mood swings, food cravings, nausea, hunger, sudden tears, I’ve been through it all twice, and will never regret a single second of it.

“Want some tea?” I ask her. “Maybe some chamomile tea?”

It used to do the trick with Emma.

And just like that, the memory slams into me like a punch, so hard I grunt, and I’m not here. I’m with Emma, before she fell sick, before she died, way before it all went to shit.

When she was pregnant with our kids, glowing with happiness. When I had my hand on her swollen belly, feeling our babies kick. When she laughed and told me they would be kick-ass.

I can’t breathe.

Lurching to my feet, I stumble to the window and throw it open, desperate for some fucking air. I’m drowning. Suffocating.

The hospital room where she died. Mary and Cole crying at home, asking for their mom. Zane, my wife’s adopted brother, almost drinking himself to death, unable to cope with her loss.

And I…

I rub at the thick scar running down the inside of my arm, to my wrist, flex my usually half-numb fingers, the nerves permanently damaged from cutting too deep back when I thought my life would never find meaning again.

I was wrong.

I put my hand on the window pane. Cold. So damn cold. But this is real. The shortness of breath, the darkness teasing at the edges of my mind, it all sucks, but it’s real. I’m here, and I’m alive. I made it back from that darkness.

And if this town, this moment threw me flailing back into the past, that doesn’t mean I’m its prisoner.

“Matt? What is it?”

There she is, my bright light in this maze. I haul her to my side, tuck her under my arm, and kiss her forehead.

“Everything’s fine,” I tell her.

She sighs, burrowing closer. “You sure?”

It’s chilly in the room, and I should tuck her back into bed, but I don’t move, not yet. Her sweet, fresh scent fills my senses, smooths out the sharp edges of the past. My breathing settles, my lungs expand.

“As long as you and our kids are okay, there’s nothing more I want,” I whisper, looking at our entwined reflections in the dark glass.

And that’s the truth. I’m not backsliding. It’s just the stress of these days, Kaden complaining I’m not giving him what he needs, Evan needing help, Jasper swaggering into our lives, Ross crossing our paths.

But it’ll get back on track. I will get back on track. I’ll never stop missing Emma, and our kids together will always remind me of her. So many little things will always bring her back to me.

But I love Octavia, so fucking much. I’ve got a good thing going with her, with my kids. I’ve got a good life. No more drowning in booze and despair. I’ll take care of everyone, keep them all safe. I’m not sure where the danger is, or even if there is any, but if this is what I have to tell myself to keep sane, not to slip again, then that’s a small price to pay.

After all, I never thought I deserved a second chance. Now I got it, and I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep it.

* * *

We finally make it back to bed, and while Octavia is out like a light, I curve my body around her back, holding on to her, breathing her in. Like every time, feeling her, smelling her, gets me hard, but I don’t act on it. I don’t cup her full tits, I don’t reach between her legs to stroke her, I don’t wake her up and make her come.

I don’t jack off, either. I bury my nose in her hair and close my eyes, forcing my body still, my dick to weep alone. All I want tonight is to drift off with her in my arms, to sleep and dream good dreams.

Dream of the present—and not the past, or of bleak scenarios of the future.

I think I probably manage to fall asleep in the end, but it feels as if I’ve only just closed my eyes when my phone buzzes somewhere behind me.

Untangling myself from Octavia who somehow ended up half on top of me, I hunt for my phone. Is it my alarm, is it time to leave already?

But no, it’s a call coming in, and grabbing the phone, I hurry out of the bedroom, not to wake up my girl.

“Matt?” a familiar female voice asks as I connect the call.

“Gigi. It’s…” I check my watch. The fuck. “It’s four in the morning. What’s the matter?”

“We’re all fine, don’t you worry.” Her voice is a bit strained though as she goes on. “I’m babysitting your kids tonight. We went to the movies yesterday, and tonight was your mom’s turn to keep an eye on the little monsters—”

“Is Mom okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Told you, we’re all fine.”

I lean against the wall, my head swimming. “So you’re home babysitting, and you’re all fine, but you call me at four in the fucking morning, almost giving me a heart attack. What the hell for?”

“Sorry.” Her voice is hushed. “It’s just that… Mary wants to talk to you. Well, she didn’t exactly say that, but…”

“But what?”

“She had a nightmare, and she’s been crying and calling your name. Well, not your name. Daddy. That’s what she keeps saying. And something about the baby, and Octavia.”

Shit. “What about the baby and Octavia?”

“I don’t know, Matt, seriously. She’s crying, I can hardly make out what she says, but she’s not calming down, and I thought you might want to talk to her. Maybe hearing you she’ll calm down.”

Fucking shit. “Pass her the phone.”

I shouldn’t have left my kids alone.

I shouldn’t have brought Octavia along.

I shouldn’t be messing things up after all this time. Can’t have my little girl sad, or Octavia in danger because of her insistence on meeting her douchebag of a half-brother… and yet I couldn’t abandon Evan, not after he helped me out when I was at my lowest, back when I lived here.

Dammit.

“Daddy?” comes a tiny, hiccupping voice, and my chest grows tight. “That you?”

“It’s me, baby. Tell me what’s wrong.”

There’s a lot of sniffling and sobs that threaten to break my fucking heart. “Are you okay, Daddy? And Tati, too?”

“Yeah, we’re both just fine, and we’ll be there tomorrow. I’m sure it was all a bad dream.” I close my eyes as the sniffling continues. “Why don’t you tell me what it was?”

I need to fix this. Somehow.

“There was blood, and it was dark, and… and people died, and I was so scared.” Her small voice is turning me inside out. I’m her dad. I’m supposed to protect her, make sure she’s never afraid—but how do I protect her from a dream?

“And do you have this dream often, sweetheart?”

Hiccups. Damn, I hope Gigi is holding her right now, giving her the hug I’m too far to offer. “Yeah.”

Shit. “What is scaring you? Something’s scaring you. What is it? Tell me, and I’ll make it right.”

“Daddy…”

“What is it?” I rub a hand over my face. Goddammit, I knew something was off. I should have delayed coming here, should have insisted she talked to me before we left St. Louis. “Talk to me. You know I love you. You and Cole. I’m always here for you. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She doesn’t say anything, and I think she won’t tell me. But then she sighs.

“I’m scared,” she says, and then, “about the baby.”

Huh. “The baby will be fine. Why would you worry about that? The baby won’t take your place. Ever. Or Cole’s. I love you all—”

“I’d rather,” she whispers, “have Tati.”

And the line goes dead.

What the hell does that mean? Why choose?

Jesus. Fucking nightmares. None of this made any sense, unless she is jealous of the baby and that feeling is translated into fear and nightmares?

Who the hell knows?

One thing is clear to me: I can’t wait to get back home and get to the bottom of this.

* * *

After that, sleep is a lost cause. Jittery with damn nerves, I throw some clothes on and go down to the kitchen. I brew some coffee and drink it standing at the window, staring out into the dark.

It’s like a throwback to my early, dark days in Destiny—only back then I’d been drinking booze. Booze until dawn broke, and then coffee so that I could function enough to go to work.

A shudder wracks me.

A noise from the hallway snaps my attention away from the dark outline of trees against the night sky. The stairs creak, and I turn, fully expecting to see Octavia there.

But it’s Evan.

He staggers into the kitchen, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his pajama bottoms winkled, his feet bare, and sinks into a chair at the table. “Matt.”

I pour him a cup of coffee. “Milk, sugar?”

“Nah.” He gulps half of it down, or maybe it’s all of it, what do I know, before looking up at me. “Thanks.”

I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

He reaches into his pocket, fishes out a bag of pills and throws it on the table. “Pain keeps me awake. Forgot to take these last night.”

“My fault. Shit, I should have made sure you took them.”

“You’re not my babysitter, Matt. You came, you helped me out. I’m grateful. I need to be able to take care of myself.”

“Well, that’s the thing.” I sit down across from him, take the bag and study the pills inside. “Sometimes you have to accept you need help. I’m glad you called, man.”

He studies his empty mug as if it contains some answer to a cosmic question. “Yeah.”

“Hey, Evan.” This has been on my mind since we arrived, and now, in the dark hour, I can’t keep the question inside me any longer. “Why did you really ask us to come over?”

He looks up at me, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, sure, I drove you to the doc’s, we got you pet food, Octavia played with Melissa, and it was all good. But you could have gotten anyone here in Destiny to do these things for you. The guys at the garage. Your sister.” I lean forward, fold my arms on the table top, letting my hunch play out. “What did you want to tell me?”

His eyes widen before he looks quickly away. He scratches at the cast, as if he can reach the skin underneath. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

I rub both hands over my face and sigh. “Fair enough.” Hunches can be wrong, anyway, and I’m beat. I push back the chair and climb to my feet. “Then I’ll head back to bed. Try and get some sleep, dude.”

“Matt, wait.”

I turn back around, lean against the kitchen counter. “What?”

I’m so tired that time seems to stretch and then snap, moving in weird jumps. One second I’m there, the next Evan is standing in front of me. He’s tall enough that he’s staring at me eye to eye, something that rarely happens. If any other guy stood like that in front of me, I’d have already fisted my hands, ready for a fight.

It doesn’t happen, though. He looks awful, thin and in pain.

“Look, I…” He lifts his good hand, lets it drop again. “I’m not sure what I wanted. I had this damn feeling of sinking, of not touching bottom, and I had this idea that you could help me.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

“I guess… I wanted a friend,” Evan says. “A real friend, who’s been through fucking bad times and made it out whole, you know? Maybe I needed someone I could trust and talk to. Maybe I needed to tell you about Jasper, and about Melissa.”

“And did you get what you needed? Feeling better now?”

“I dunno.” He takes a step back. “I feel lighter, for sure. But I still dunno what to do about either.”

I’m not God. I’m not even a saint, like Octavia, who wants to save the world. I’m a grumpy bastard, obsessed with death and with keeping my little family safe.

But Evan trusted me to help him find a solution. And I think I got it.

“Would you consider coming to work for me?”

He blinks up at me, looking confused. “For you? At the garage?”

“Yeah, at Mancave. Kaden has been pestering me for a long time now to hire another mechanic, someone experienced and trustworthy. I couldn’t think of anyone to suggest, but if you’re looking for a city to move to, and a job…”

He reaches out with his good hand, bracing himself against the wall. “You mean that?” The breath he draws is shaky. “I don’t take charity. I don’t—”

“This isn’t charity. Dammit, Evan.” I shake my head at him. “You think I wouldn’t have called you if I’d known you were looking for a job? I only just put the pieces together yesterday—the need we have for someone like you at the shop, your decision to move away from here. Just… tell me, are you interested?”

“Like you have to ask.” He gives an incredulous laugh. “I’d be in fucking St. Louis, close to my sister, to Melissa… working with you. It’s like Christmas came early this year. Jesus Christ, Matt. You don’t know what you’re offering.”

His eyes are shiny now, and I dunno what to do with that, so I clap him awkwardly on his good shoulder. “I’ll talk to Kaden tomorrow and call you, but I doubt he’ll say no. Man has been on my case to hire someone forever. Now get some sleep. Everything will work out, you’ll see.”

Right?