He thrashed in the tangled covers, kicking Melanie hard in the shin.

She cringed and tried to move out of his reach.

“No,” he moaned. “No, please.”

She barely avoided a fist to the ribs. If she was going to survive the night unscathed, she’d have to wake him from his nightmare.

“Gabe,” she said calmly, laying a hand on his shoulder. She gave him a gentle shake. “Sweetheart, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

“No!” he shouted and sat bolt upright, nearly knocking Melanie clean off the mattress. His eyes searched the room wildly, finally settling on her. He let out a heavy sigh and swung his long legs over the edge of the bed. He sat taking deep breaths and then scrubbed his eyes with both hands. He rested his elbows on his thighs and buried his face in his palms, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

“Is everything okay?” Melanie asked. He’d looked terrified when he’d first opened his eyes. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was haunting him so profoundly, but she asked anyway, because she wanted to be there for him if he needed her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“You’ll feel better.”

“I haven’t had that nightmare in years,” he said. “Stupid kid. Stupid fucking kid. Brought it all back. Fucking all of it.”

Melanie puzzled over his words for a moment. “The kid who hit your dog?”

He nodded slightly.

“He didn’t mean to,” Melanie said, not knowing what else to say.

“Did he mean to get drunk? Did he mean to get behind the wheel?”

“I-I guess so.”

“Then stop making excuses for the little shit.”

“I’m not. I guess I don’t understand why you’re more upset about him being drunk than him hitting Lady.”

She crept across the mattress and knelt behind him. When her hand touched his shoulder, he jumped as if she’d slapped him.

“What were you dreaming about?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do. Tell me.”

“He wasn’t dead, Melanie.”

She crinkled her brow. “Of course he’s not dead, sweetheart. I’m sure he made it home safely. You worry too much.” As if she could talk.

“Not the kid from this afternoon,” he said. “Joey. They told his parents that he died instantly when he slammed into the tree. Told them that he didn’t suffer. It was a lie, Mel. A merciful lie, maybe, but still a lie.”

She slid her hand over his smooth back and rested her head on his shoulder, waiting for him to continue.

“I heard the crash. I knew it was Joey, and I ran to see what had happened. I didn’t have any problem locating the car. I just followed a strange orange glow in the distance. The car was on fire. I could hear him screaming, Melanie. He wasn’t dead.” Gabe ran one hand around his neck. “I never heard anyone scream like that before. When I got to the car, I stood there in shock. I couldn’t move. I didn’t help him. His legs were pinned, and the car was too damaged to get him out, but I didn’t know that at the time. I didn’t even fucking try to help him. It was like the whole thing was happening to someone else, like I wasn’t really there. Just watching a movie or something. Not watching a friend burn alive.”

Her heart ached for Gabe and for Joey, a boy she didn’t even know. A boy long gone.

“No one expected you to pull him out of a burning car, Gabe.”

“Someone did,” Gabe said. “Joey did.” He dropped his head. “He must have seen me standing there because what he was screaming and screaming and screaming was my name.” He covered his ears with both hands. “Standing there, I wished I was deaf. Wished I was deaf so I didn’t have to hear him scream. Why didn’t I wish for him to be saved, Melanie? Isn’t that what I should have been wishing for? I didn’t. I just wished I was deaf.”

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling sick. She forced herself not to fall apart, wrapped her arms around him and hugged, hoping to give him strength. He was shaking so hard, he couldn’t even hug her back.

“There’s nothing you could have done,” she whispered.

He made a sound—half laugh, half moan of misery. “I could have taken his fucking keys away. I could have called his parents to come pick him up. I could have stopped him from driving. That would have been easy. Hearing him screaming for help? Not easy. Hearing it in my nightmares over ten years later? Still not easy.” He gripped his knees until his knuckles turned white. “Fuck. I should have done more to stop that kid this afternoon. What if he overturned the truck? What if he’s out in some desolate field, trapped inside, dying right now? No one would even know where to look for him.”

“He’s not, sweetheart. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“But how do you know?”

“I don’t,” she admitted. She ran her fingers through the soft strip of hair down the center of his head, trying to comfort both of them. She tried to catch his eye, but he was too busy staring into the horror in his own mind to see her. “Why don’t you call the police station and see if they picked him up? You’ll feel better knowing that he’s safe.”

Gabe tensed and then turned his head. His eyes focused on hers at last, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” He kissed her and pushed up from the bed. “My woman is a genius,” he said. Before she could track his movement, he was already out of the room.

She prayed that the cops had come to pick the kid up after Gabe had called them. If they hadn’t, she’d pack Gabe into the truck and go looking for the teen and his rusted old pickup truck. Gabe wouldn’t be able to rest until he was sure the kid was safe.

She pushed her hair off her face and rubbed her eyes. Lord, she could only imagine the guilt he felt over Joey’s death. She didn’t even want to think about what it had been like for him to hear his name screamed in agony. And to keep hearing it in his dreams? She shuddered.

She was glad they’d lied to Joey’s parents and told them that their son had died instantly. No one needed the burden of the details. Certainly not her hunky, nerdy, sweetheart of a rock star. She wished she could erase that memory from his mind and his heart. She couldn’t even fool herself into believing that she’d made any sort of a difference in listening to him tell the story. And now it would haunt her too.

Wide awake, she climbed from the bed, stretching her arms over her head and taking note of the time. It was just after ten p.m. Her stomach reminded her that they’d skipped dinner. Again.

She was going to write a book on the Gabriel Banner Diet Plan: how to lose weight by being too distracted to remember to eat. The accompanying exercise book would be X-rated for sure. Equipment not included. Readers would have to find their own distracting hunk and accessories—Gabriel Banner was her workout partner and hers alone.

She headed toward the kitchen for something to eat and hoped he didn’t mind her making herself at home.

She was bent at the waist searching for food in the fridge—and she was pretty sure that three olives did not make a meal—when she heard an intake of breath behind her.

“Now that is definitely the most delicious thing that’s ever been in my kitchen,” Gabe said.

“Food?” she asked, backing out of the refrigerator and looking for whatever Gabe had discovered as delicious. “Where?”

He chuckled. “I was referring to you,” he said.

She flushed. “Oh. Thanks. But I could really use something that I would find delicious.”

“How about a protein shot?”

“Eww, Gabe!” She cringed and he laughed.

“I keep the fridge empty when I’m on the road, but there are probably some nonperishable goods in the pantry.”

“I was starting to think you don’t ever eat. It would explain why you’re so lean.” And why he looked so damned good naked.

“I think that’s from all the energy I expend drumming.”

“Oh.”