Jennifer Hackney is dead and left in her wake are two people very important to her; Anna Gilmore and Harry Jones.
Anna is struggling to cope after the death of her best friend and is headed in one direction-rock bottom.
Harry insists he's fine afte...
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Dear Jen,
I've not had a nightmare in forever! The last time I remember waking up to a cold sweat was three years ago when I bumped into Gregg at the grocery store. Now—as I lay in bed, gasping for breath—I wish more than anything you were here.
"Anna?"
I told Harry.
I hope you don't mind.
"Anna!"
The mattress dips as he clambers in the darkness to check on me.
"It's just a nightmare," he soothes, lightly caressing my arm.
My eyes adjust to the darkness and I notice he's shirtless. Smooth and defined, his muscles stare back at me. In the years I've know Harry, I've never seen him without clothes on. I've studied his body on numerous occasions and have imagined it countless times, but nothing compares to the real thing.
"I'm just—just—"
"Take deep breaths," he encourages, gently placing his hand on my stomach. "You're okay."
I do as instructed and inhale through my nose. An image of Gregg flashes behind my eyes and I freak out, feeling as though he's in the room with us.
"Anna, I need you to breathe," instructs Harry, turning on the lamp.
In seconds, the room is illuminated and his toned torso is all I can see. I dread to think what I must look like with messy hair and pyjamas wet with sweat.
"Anna."
His words fail to initiate calmness and before I know what's happening, he's tugging at my drenched top.
"Can I take this off?" he asks, waiting for my consent before committing to anything.
"Yes."
He pulls the material over my head, leaving me in my lace bralette. I'm not at all embarrassed to have him see me like this, and that alone should terrify the life out of me.
"Come here," he says, positioning himself at the head of the bed.
He guides me to sit between his legs and encourages me to lie back, his front pressed to my back.
"Breathe when I breathe," he instructs.
I close my eyes and focus on his movements, replicating each breath. I reach for something to ground me and end up grabbing his hand, holding on for dear life. His fingers entwine with mine, silently conveying his support.
"You're doing great," he encourages.
His chest presses into my back and I inhale, allowing the flow of oxygen to light me up from the inside out. Bit by bit, I feel myself calming down and eventually find myself breathing independently. Harry is warm to the touch and I find his heat a huge comfort. His skin is smooth as it moulds to mine and although I feel guilty for thinking this, there's nowhere else I'd rather be.
