Shawn

I woke up in a cold sweat, my hand flying to the empty space beside me—until I felt her.

Janet was still there.

It's been a week, and the nightmares haven't stopped.

She shifted and sat up, her voice soft. "Shawn? Are you okay?" She wiped the sweat from my brow.

"I'm good," I lied, clutching my chest and trying to slow my breathing.

She studied me for a moment, then her eyes drifted to my shoulder. Blood was seeping through the bandage. She sighed gently and slid out of bed, returning with the first aid kit.

"It's from your heart racing," she said quietly as she carefully removed the bandage. "Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes that helps."

I stared at the wall, lost for a moment.

"It's the same dream every night," I finally said. "I get to your house, but I'm alone. The whole neighborhood is dark—except your bedroom. I can see his shadow moving behind the curtains."

My throat tightened.

"That's when I hear you scream."

I stood and started pacing, one hand pressed to my chest, the images replaying like a movie I couldn't shut off.

"The door's locked," I continued. "I kick it over and over until it finally gives. I run inside and up the stairs." Tears spilled down my face. "I can hear you screaming my name, begging me to hurry—but the hallway never ends."

I swallowed hard, shaking.

"No matter how fast I run, I can't reach you."

"Once I finally make it to you, he sees me first. He smiles, points the gun at you and—"

My voice broke.

"I couldn't save you," I said, covering my face as tears streamed down my cheeks.

Janet crossed the room in two steps and cupped my face in her hands.

"But you did save me," she said softly. "You're one of the reasons I'm still here, Shawn."

She kissed me—slow, grounding—and pulled me into her arms. I buried my face in her neck, breathing her in as her fingers traced soothing patterns through my hair. Warmth soaked into my shoulder where the bandage was already staining again.

She noticed immediately.

"Come sit," she said gently. "Let me finish cleaning you up."

I sat while she knelt in front of me, careful and focused. I watched her as she worked—the bruises on her cheeks, the healing cut on her lip. Even wounded, she was breathtaking.

She looked up and smiled. "All done."

"Thank you, J."

I helped her up and drew her into my lap. Her arms slipped around my shoulders, her fingers threading into my hair.

"Shawn... we haven't really talked about why I ended up back there," she said quietly. "And I need you to know—it wasn't what you think."

I stayed silent, letting her speak.

"He was here. In your apartment. You were asleep, and when I went to make a call, he was waiting for me. He said he'd kill you—right there." She pointed. "He held the gun to your head. I thought I was going to lose you. So I went with him. I just didn't want you hurt."

Her voice cracked. "And somehow... you still were."

I lifted her face, holding it gently.

"You saved my life, Janet," I said. "You stepped into danger for me. I don't regret a single second. And if I had died that night, it would've been loving you."

Her breath hitched.

"I'd do it again," I added softly. "Every time."

⸻

Janet

I had never felt so certain of anything in my life.

"I love you, Shawnette," I said.

"I've always loved you, J."

I straddled her waist and kissed her, letting everything we'd been holding back finally surface. Clothes were shed without urgency, replaced by skin and warmth and familiarity. We moved together slowly, reverently—like this was something sacred, not rushed.

Hands explored. Lips lingered. Every touch was intentional.

When I finally rested my forehead against hers, breathless, she smiled up at me.

"You're beautiful," I whispered.

"I love you, Janet."

"I love you too."