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When I woke up the next morning, he was still fast asleep, lying exactly the same way. I noticed that he doesn't move around too much in his sleep, only when he's having a nightmare. I thought that last time too.

The last time this happened, he didn't ask to hold me, he didn't ask me to lay with him. He just asked me to stay. Last time, I sat on the floor and held his hand until he fell asleep. Then I left and went back home. This time, he would move every time I did though. Every time I tossed and rolled onto the other side, he would mumble or whimper in his sleep and he would hold me tighter.

Several times throughout the night, I had to remind him and comfort him. I had to say, "It's okay. I'm still here."

I went downstairs to make breakfast, thinking at first that I shouldn't bring this up. It would be better for him if I act like nothing happened. But this is beyond that. I was so scared for him last night. It was like everything was happening again. I don't know what it is, what trauma he hasn't dealt with, what happened to him, and who hurt him, but he needs to do something about it. Something that prevents him from having these nightmares.

I didn't wake him up to go to the gym and soon, we're supposed to be at practice, but I've decided that he's not going. He needs a day off. A real day off. I was making breakfast when my phone rang on the counter. I answered it, reading James' name on the screen. "Hello?"

"Where are you two? He should be here by now, the others are warming up, where is he?"

"He's not coming today," I replied bluntly.

He paused for a split second. "What do you mean he's not coming?"

"He's taking the day off."

"What? Why?"

"Because he needs it."

"Demi, he needs to be here right now. We have our first real game this Friday."

"I know that," I said calmly. "But he needs the day off, James."

"Demi."

"James," I said sharply, getting frustrated.

He sighed, "What's wrong with him? Is he hurt?"

"No."

"Thank god. Is he sick?"

"No."

"Then he can't take the day off."

"James, I'm telling you, just trust me. He really needs a day off. He's exhausted."

"Demi, come on, so are all the other players."

I ground my teeth, taking a breath. "Why don't you understand?"

"Why don't you understand, Demi?"

"Because this is my job, all right?" I snapped. "My job is to take care of him and that's exactly what I'm doing right now. I'm his assistant, not the team's. If I think he needs a day off, he gets the day off."

"For no apparent reason?"

"For reasons that are his to keep or tell."

"Fine," he huffed in defeat, "but don't blame me if coach Peters calls you looking for Vince. You can answer him."

"I will." I hung up, putting my phone on the countertop with a sigh. About five minutes later, the phone rang again. This time, it was coach Peters. I answered the phone.

"Where the hell is Hunter?" he asked.

"He can't make it today, he's taking the day off."

"All of a sudden? Is he injured?"

"No."

"Sick?"

"No," I breathed out. "He just needs a break."

Coach paused, the line falling silent. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know," I mumbled.

He let out a tense sigh. "All right. Just make sure he's coming in tomorrow."

"All right," I replied, "thanks, coach Peters."

He hummed and then hung up.

I was almost done making breakfast when I heard loud and heavy footsteps as he ran down the stairs. I turned the stove off and grabbed two plates, serving breakfast.

He came rushing in. "We're running late, Demi, why didn't you wake me up?"

"You're not going today," I said calmly, sliding his plate over to him before taking out two glasses, pouring orange juice into them.

"What?" he frowned, sitting on the barstool.

"Sit," I nodded.

He sat down, watching me. "What happened?" he asked.

"You were drunk last night but not wasted. Try to remember. If you still can't, then I'll tell you," I sighed, sitting across from him and eating my own breakfast.

He ate slowly while thinking. Dwelling. I glanced up at him, putting my glass down after I took a sip. He stopped all movement, realization flicking across his eyes. He blinked and looked up from his plate, his eyes locking with mine. "Tell me what happened," he demanded.

"You don't remember?"

"Demi, I'm not joking," he said harshly. "Tell me right now."

I pulled both hands into my lap, making fists under the table as I explained. "You had a nightmare. I brought you back from the party and tucked you in. I freshened up in my room and you called me not even ten minutes after I left you alone. You were crying, struggling to breathe, and terrified. You had a panic attack," I said slowly, careful about my tone and his reactions. "When I came into your room, you asked me to stay. You didn't want to be alone."

His jaw hardened and his grip tightened on the fork to the point where his knuckles turned white. "I asked you what happened." He took in a breath, releasing it in a huff.

"You didn't tell me but you just kept saying... 'it hurts, it hurts' and I didn't know what to..." I trailed off, sighing in frustration. "So I asked who hurt you." I stared at him.

"What did I say?" he asked, his voice deadly calm. "Who's name did I take, Demi?"

I shook my head softly, "You didn't take a name," I paused. "But you said it was your dad. And you said it hurts in your chest. You made me touch... the scar."

He stood up, dropping the fork on his plate loudly, making me jump. He moved to go back upstairs but I shot up quickly, rounding the counter and standing in his way.

"Vince, wait."

"Get out of my way."

"Vince."

"Get out of my way, Demi."

"Why are you trying to run from me?"

"I'm not," he gritted out. "I just want to be alone, understood?"

"No. Not understood."

He glowered at me, taking in a sharp breath.

"Being alone isn't always the best thing. Not for anybody. Everybody needs somebody sometimes. It's okay." He tried to walk around me but I grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Vince," I said slowly. "Please, stop."

"Stop what?" he sighed, throwing my hands off.

"Stop pushing me away."

"Stop acting like a real girlfriend, Demi. What are you trying to do? Better your acting?"

"I'm not acting. And I'm not worried about you because I'm supposed to be your girlfriend. I'm worried because you're important to me. Always have been, always will be. I care about you."

"Because you have to," he said softly.

I shook my head, taking a step closer to him. "Because I want to. You mean more to me than you know or than I let on, okay? I really do care about you."

He walked past me.

"Which is why I'm worried about you, Vince!" I called out after him, clicking my tongue and running up after him. Giving him space right now didn't feel right. I thought if I did that, he'd never be okay about this. Before he could close the door on me, I slipped my foot in between, my slippers keeping it open.

He'd break my foot if he pushed any harder. "Demi, move. You'll get hurt."

"That's fine," I shrugged.

"Demi," he scolded.

"Open the door, Vince."

"Just leave me alone," he demanded.

"Just let me in," I said softly. "Please. Please let me in."

He stopped pushing the door.

"Please," I whispered. "Vince, I'm here for you," I reminded him. "That's what I'm doing, that's what I'm trying to do and not because I have to, but because I want to. You mean a lot to me, please just trust me. Trust me. Let me in."

He didn't reply for a minute before the door finally opened.

I walked in and he slammed the door close behind me. "You don't want to talk about it?" I asked, shaking my head softly.

"No," he ground out.

"That's fine, we won't talk about it, don't worry. I just want to make sure you're okay. Are you okay?"

He paused, staring at me. "No," he admitted, scoffing dryly and going to sit at the edge of the bed.

I walked over, standing in front of him. "Vince." He looked up at me, his eyes getting red. "You don't have to talk about it to feel better about it. Sometimes, it helps just to have someone around. It helped you last night, to—" I cut myself short, letting out a breath.

"To what? What did I do?"

I held his gaze. "To hold me."

"You slept here?"

I nodded.

"I held you?"

I nodded again.

"The whole night?"

I nodded one more time.

He paused, "How?"

"Just fine," I replied, shrugging casually.

He sighed, rolling his eyes and giving me a blank look. "I must have been a wreck," he mumbled.

"No," I shook my head, being bold enough to brush his hair back, running my fingers through it. "You did good. You did the best you could. You were panicking."

"Were you able to calm me down?"

"I don't know... Was I? You tell me."

He fell into thought. "If I managed to fall asleep, you probably did just fine," he replied. "What did you do?"

"I... held you till you stopped crying. And then I let you hold me as long as you wanted."

He stared at me in silence for a long time. "Can you..." he trailed off, pausing.

"I'll do what you ask. So ask," I nodded.

"Can you do it again?" he asked.

"Can I do what again?"

"Hold me. Let me hold you. I don't know," he said softly, shaking his head, lowering it.

I took a breath, staring at him. "Yeah." He looked back up at me. "I can do it again," I nodded.

He just stared at me. He seemed hesitant to touch me now and I was too hesitant to make the first move. So we spent a long time just staring at each other. He sighed in frustration, grabbing my waist and pulling me into his lap.

I sat sideways, one arm around his shoulders while he held onto me with both arms, resting his head on my shoulder. I blinked, staring ahead while resting my chin on his head. We sat like that for a long time in silence until he pulled back to look at me. "Should I get off?" I asked.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head. "Don't you dare move, Demi."

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