“Hey,” was all that fell out of his mouth. Not exactly earth-shattering or comforting, but it was all he had.
“What are you doing here? Never mind. Come in.”
Okay, that went well. At least she hadn’t slammed the door in his face.
“I thought you might be sleeping,” he said.
“I wasn’t. Actually, I was about to come to your room to see if you were still awake. Or, I guess I was going to wake you up if you were asleep.” She looked as uncomfortable and awkward as he felt, shifting from foot to foot and looking around the room. “I don’t really know what I was going to do once I got to your room. You kind of saved me from having to figure that part out.”
He relaxed a little when he realized she was nervous. “Figure what part out?”
“Um, how about we sit down?” She motioned to the two chairs over by the window.
“Sure.”
He took a seat, and so did she, then laced her fingers together, still looking as nervous as if she’d been called to the principal’s office.
He’d bet Haven had never once been called to the principal’s office in all the years she’d gone to school.
He had. Plenty of times.
She didn’t say anything, so he guessed it was up to him to say something. “I came to your room to talk to you.”
She looked up at him. “Oh. You did? About?”
“About you avoiding me.”
She looked down at her hands again. “Yeah, that.” And then she lifted her gaze to his. “That’s part of the reason I was on my way to talk to you. I’m sorry. The other night when we . . . when we had sex, and I had that nightmare, I backed away.”
“I know. What was the nightmare really about?”
She took a deep breath. “It was about my dad. He was in the hospital, and I couldn’t get to him. It’s a variation on a theme. I’ve had dreams similar to that one before since he died.”
“I’m sorry.”
She rubbed her finger across her forehead. “I’m just having a hard time dealing with it. I really miss him.”
“I know you do.”
“Too much, maybe.”
“No such thing as too much, Haven. Maybe the problem is you’ve been suppressing your emotions and you haven’t let yourself feel the full extent of your grief.”
She tilted her head to the side, giving him a look of disbelief. “Oh, believe me, Trevor. I’ve grieved for my dad.”
“Have you? Or did you think you were supposed to just get over it in a week or two and get back to work?”
He saw the truth in her eyes. “What was I supposed to do? I had a job in Dallas back then. I couldn’t just take a sabbatical so I could stay home with my mom.”
“But you wanted to, didn’t you? You felt responsible for her because she’s all alone now.”
“Yes.”
“She’s not your responsibility to look after, Haven. She’s a grown woman, and if anyone knows how independent Ginger Briscoe is, it’s me. It’s time you focus on your own needs.”
“I’m fine, Trevor. Really.”
He stood, took her hand, and pulled her out of her chair, then over to his, setting her on his lap. “You’re not fine. You have nightmares. How often?”
He thought for a second there she was going to bolt. Instead, she stayed. “A few a month.”
“Always about your dad?”
“Not always.”
He swept his thumb across her cheek. “It’s no wonder you’re such a mess, Haven. You miss your dad. You’re not sleeping well. And you never allowed yourself the time to grieve over him.”
She let out a sigh. “You know what? You’re right. I do miss him. A lot. He was more than just my dad. He was my best friend.”
He saw the tears shimmer in her eyes, saw how much she tried to battle them back.
“Just let it go.”
“It makes me feel weak. It’s been almost a year. I’ve already cried bucketsful. How much more is there? Shouldn’t this . . .” She made a fist and clutched it to her chest. “Shouldn’t this pain go away?”
“I don’t know. Eventually, it will. But you have to feel however you feel. Trying not to feel is what’s hurting you the most.”
“Maybe.”
“Think of it as honoring your dad whenever you cry for him. You know you’ll always miss him, and sometimes you just need to go with your feelings.”
Haven felt such a well of emotion at the moment. Not just for her dad, but for Trevor. Most men walled up their emotion, and definitely didn’t understand, or even want to be around weepy women. She knew plenty of guys who’d just tell her to suck it up and get over it. But here Trevor was, holding her on his lap and rubbing her back while she tried like hell to hold back the floodgates. And he encouraged her to release it.
She shuddered in a breath, finally tired of the fight. She let the tears fall and lay on his chest, releasing what she felt was a year’s full of pain. She clutched his shirt and cried. Not as long as she did the other night after her nightmare, but for about five minutes she had a good, hard cry. And all the while, Trevor stroked her hair and her back and didn’t say a word. It was comforting to know he was there for her, and for those few minutes, she wasn’t alone.
That was the first time in all these months since she’d lost her dad that she didn’t feel alone in this. She pulled back, using his shirt to wipe her eyes.
“I made a mess of you,” she said.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
She splayed her hands across his chest. “You should take off your shirt.”
“Why? Do you need to blow your nose in it?”
She laughed. It felt really good to laugh, to release the tension after an emotional cry. “Maybe.”
And when Trevor pulled off his shirt and handed it to her, she was way more interested in his naked chest than she was in his shirt. It felt cathartic, that she could move on from grieving to something infinitely more appealing. She tossed the shirt on the floor and snaked her fingers over the warmth of his bare skin. “I might need a little more comforting.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes.” She moved over him, straddling his lap now. “A different kind of comforting.”