Without much hope, she went for the knob, but the thing turned easily—to her relief, he hadn’t locked himself in. Cracking the door, she saw a bare foot and an ankle in the dim light from outside. He was evidently sitting on the floor in the corner by the shower.

“Mind if I come in?” she asked, pushing her way into the room . . .

Dear God . . . he was curled into himself, his face on his biceps, his arm up and blocking his face, his bruised hand lying on his hair. He was breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling.

He was sobbing. Sobbing in that restrained, manly way where he barely let any of it out, his choked inhales the only thing that clued her in.

Grier approached him slowly and sat down beside him. When she put her hand lightly on his bare shoulder, he jumped.

“Shhh . . . it’s just me.”

He didn’t look at her and she was willing to bet if he’d been able to, he would have told her to get out. But he couldn’t. And all she could do was sit with him and gently soothe him with touch.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, knowing there was no reason to ask about the whys: There were a lot to choose from. “You’re all right. . . . It’s okay. . . .”

“It’s really not,” he said hoarsely. “It’s so not. I’m . . . not. . . .”

“Come here.” She tugged at him, not really expecting him to give in . . . but he did. He turned to her and let her wrap her arms around him as if he were a wild beast who had decided to be tamed for a short time. He was so big that she couldn’t reach far, but she made what contact she had count and put her face in his cropped hair.

“Shhh . . . you’re all right. . . .” As she murmured the lie over and over again, she wanted to say something else, but that was the only thing that came to her—even though she had to agree with him. Nothing about the situation was fine. Neither of them was all right.

And she had the sense that “okay” was not going to fit the way things ended between them. Or for him.

“I still don’t know how,” he said after a while.

“How what?”

“That you knew I was having my nightmare.”

As she frowned in the darkness, she stroked his hair. “Ah . . . you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“An angel came into my room.” There was a beat of silence. “He was . . . magnificent. A warrior . . . he woke me up and pointed to the door and I knew it was because of you.” Just so she didn’t sound freakish, she tacked on, “I guess I was dreaming, too.”

“Guess so.”

“Yeah.” Because angels didn’t exist any more than vampires and werewolves did.