Chapter 4

In the silence, he didn’t hear a cry for help, but he did hear a soft whimper. It wasn’t even childlike. It was the sound an injured dog might make. Dane didn’t need to hear it a second time. He hurried into the bedroom like it belonged to him, too, and turned on the small lamp near the bed. Guy was thrashing on the bed—as much as he could thrash in his casts—and his face was ashen and dotted in sweat.

Dane reacted without thought, moving automatically to the bed. Guy reached for him without opening his eyes, his free hand clawing at Dane’s shirt until Dane wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. Dane was accustomed to the torture of touching Guy by now, but this was different. This wasn’t professional, careful contact. This was Guy clinging to him for dear life. This was Guy’s familiar body, pressed against Dane’s in a familiar way, while the intimate scent of his soap and sweat and sleep filled Dane’s nostrils.

“Guy…Guy…wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”