Tommen won, obviously.

No one on this bus is going to let Roscrea forget it either. The lads are still celebrating, voices carrying over the hum of the engine. Deimne’s leading some half-arsed chant near the front, Owen is probably whispering some depraved joke into someone’s ear, and me?

I’m here. In the back. Sitting next to her.

She’s asleep. Or close to it. Head tilted toward the window, face slack, breathing even. One earbud in. The other in my ear. Her iPod sits in my palm as I scroll through her music, the dim glow of the screen the only light in our little corner of the world.

Some shite song comes on. I skip it.

Another. Skip.

Then Rockin’ That Shit starts playing, and for once, I let it be.

She shifts beside me, fingers twitching in my palm. The first time I held her hand was ten minutes ago. Just…slid my fingers between hers like it was something we always did. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t even react. Just let it happen.

Then, she tenses.

Not in the way that makes me think she’s waking up. In the way that makes my stomach clench, because I know what’s coming before it does. A quiet little gasp, barely there. Her hand grips mine tighter.

Nightmare.

I don’t say anything. Just rub my thumb over the back of her hand, slow, steady. Like I’m smoothing out the knots in her chest, coaxing her out of whatever dark place her mind just dragged her into.

She exhales. A shaky little thing.

I squeeze her hand once.

Her fingers tighten in response.

She doesn’t wake up fully, just shifts toward me, her head resting against my shoulder like it belongs there.

Like it always should have.

The song plays on, and I close my eyes, letting the music and the weight of her against me pull me under.