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She doesn’t argue, just stands there, rocking Tilly gently. Chills crawl across my sweat-damp skin and my throat still feels too tight, like the panic followed me out of sleep and lodged itself there. God, I hate this. Hate how a dream can drag me backward so fast I wake up feeling seventeen again instead of twenty-seven. The worst part is even after all these years, some part of me still expects to walk back into that house eventually.

“It’s always the same nightmare,” I admit finally, dragging a hand over my face. “The foster house where we lived senior year in high school. There was a fire.”

Understanding settles into her expression. “The fire that killed your foster parents?” Of course she knows. Eli or Rose must have told her about the incident. “You were there in the dream?”

My answer comes out rough. “Even though I wasn’t in real life. But in the dream I’m always inside, trying to find Eli and Jax. I search every room, but nothing can save them.”

The last words catch in my throat. I swallow hard, staring at the floor because looking at her feels too much right now. Peyton steps closer until she’s standing directly in front of me. “That sounds terrifying.”

I let out a humorless breath. “I wasn’t even there. I shouldn’t be this messed up about it!”

“That’s not how the brain works. You don’t need to earn trauma for it to affect you.”

Her calm certainty wears down defenses I've spent years building. The walls I've kept between myself and anyone outside my inner circle no longer feel quite as solid.

Tilly sighs and settles fully against Peyton’s shoulder, drifting back to sleep. She glances down at her, then at me.

“Can I hug you, Ollie?”

It’s the same exact question I asked her the day she got the news about her annulment. My throat tightens and for a second I can’t answer at all. Then I nod. Peyton places Tilly back in the crib and when she climbs onto the bed beside me, the mattress dips under her weight.

Her arms slide around my shoulders and I lean into her, forehead pressing against her collarbone. The first tear slips out before I realize it’s coming. Then another. My chest tightens and suddenly I’m sobbing. Quiet at first, then harder, my shoulders shaking no matter how much I try to hold it in.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble into her shirt.

“Don’t be,” she whispers, rubbing between my shoulder blades. “You don’t have to apologize for this.”

“I hate feeling so low.”

“I know. But you’re not alone right now.”

Eventually the tears stop and my breathing evens out. The tension in my chest loosens so I pull back from her embrace feeling less like I’m going to fall apart. Peyton shifts but doesn’t move away. She keeps one hand on my arm, the touch grounding.

“I haven’t had a nightmare in months,” I share. Her expression doesn’t change except for a slight lift of her brows. “But now, with everything going on with Livia and Tilly, it’s messing with my head…I’m really tired,” I admit, not only meaning physically. “So fucking tired.”

“I know, but you don’t have to carry it all alone.” She pats the mattress and takes off her glasses. “Lie down.”

I stretch out on my side. Peyton slides in behind me, one arm wrapping loosely around my waist, her body warm against my back. It’s a little surreal being held. But as I close my eyes, the remnants of the nightmare start to fade. Her hand rests against my bare stomach, her breathing slow and even behind me. The steady rhythm pulls me under faster than simply closing my eyes has in days.

When I wake again, sunlight is pushing through the blinds. I lie there, taking inventory of my body. My chest is heavy but not suffocating. My head is clearer. Panic that usually lingers after the nightmare has dulled into a manageable ache.

Behind me, Peyton stirs. Her arm is still draped over my waist, her breath warm against the back of my neck while soft baby noises come from the crib.

“Tilly’s been up for a bit. I think she was waiting for you to wake up,” Peyton murmurs sleepily.

I roll onto my back and sit up carefully so I don’t jostle her. “How long have you been awake?”

“Ten minutes maybe.” She stretches, then rubs at her eyes. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Peyton watches us before she pushes herself up from the bed. “I’m making coffee and breakfast. You need both.”

“I always need both.”

She pauses in the doorway. “And Ollie?”

“Yeah?”

“I meant what I said last night. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”