But he also knows that there will be trouble. His mother will not let go easily.
He falls asleep, hoping he can protect Iris.
He knows that he needs to tell her about her son. But he is afraid of her reaction.
She might be angry or upset. He hopes not but he can’t know for sure.
He opens his eyes again. Iris is awake and looking at him worriedly.
“What’s wrong?” he asks weakly. He sits up and rubs his eyes tiredly.
“I had a nightmare,” she explains weakly.
Dawson frowns, upset she had a bad dream. “Do you want to talk about it?” he offers.
She shakes her head weakly. “No,” she refuses. “It was just a dream.”
He nods in understanding. “Okay,” he agrees.
Iris looks back up at him worriedly, clearly still afraid of something. “What if she comes after me again?” she asks weakly.
He shakes his head, reassuring her. “She won’t,” he promises firmly. “She will be leaving in the morning.”
She smiles weakly back at him. “Good,” she says softly.
He nods in agreement. He is also glad his mother is leaving. He would rather have Iris in the house than his mother.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly.
She nods again. “Yes,” she assures gently.
“Good,” he says again, relieved.
There is a knock at the door before Tristan walks in. “Good morning,” he greets cheerfully.
Dawson smiles back at his friend weakly. “Morning,” he greets back.
Tristan stops next to the bed. “Iris,” he greets. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better,” she answers softly.
“Good,” he smiles at her. “Dawson, I need to talk to you,” he tells his friend.
Dawson gets up. “Okay,” he says agreeably. He follows Tristan out of the room and down the stairs.
Tristan stops in the middle of the kitchen. “So your mother is really leaving?” he asks.
Dawson nods. “Yes,” he confirms. “She had to leave.”
Tristan nods in understanding. “Your father would have kicked her out too if he knew what she was doing to you.”
Dawson looks down, ashamed. “I never told him,” he confesses weakly.
Tristan frowns sympathetically. “Why not?” he asks curiously.
Dawson shrugs. “I just didn’t,” he says.
Tristan sighs. “He loved you,” he reminds gently.
Dawson looks up at him. “I know,” he says softly. “But I don’t want to think about it right now. Can we go back upstairs?”
“Of course,” his friend agrees. He puts a hand on Dawson’s shoulder. “Come on.” They walk back up the stairs, Dawson leading the way this time.
He stops in his room’s doorway and looks down at Iris sitting on the bed. She is smiling up at him weakly and he smiles back.
He sits down next to her on the bed. “Dawson,” she greets softly.
“I’m here,” he assures gently.
“Dawson,” she says again.
He frowns at her. There is something in her voice that worries him. “What is it?” he asks weakly, already afraid of what she will say.
She sighs. “I can’t do this anymore,” she confesses quietly.
Dawson feels a pain in his chest. He did not expect her to say this. “What?” he whispers weakly, his voice trembling.
She shakes her head sadly. “I have been hiding this for so long,” she confesses. “But I can’t hide it anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks weakly.
She sighs again. “Do you remember when we first met?” she asks.
He shakes his head weakly. “I don’t remember,” he admits sadly.
She sighs once again. “We lived together for a while,” she reminds gently.
He shakes his head again. “No,” he disagrees weakly. “That isn’t possible.”
“I know it doesn’t seem like it could be true,” she agrees sympathetically. “But I promise you it is.”
“How?” he asks again. He feels his wolf begin stirring again, ready to protect him from this lie.
She takes a breath. “My father wanted to punish you for taking me so he locked me up in a room,” she explains.
He stares at her in shock. He didn’t think she was being serious when she told him about being locked up.
“But how did you get out?” he asks weakly when he can speak again.
“My window wasn’t locked,” she answers. “I jumped out and ran away.”
“How far away did you go?” he asks, still trying to understand everything.
“Only a few houses,” she answers weakly. “Then I found a house to hide in.”
He feels his wolf stir again, sensing another lie. “And who else was in the house?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” she answers quietly.
He narrows his eyes at her suspiciously. He does not believe her. “Was there another man?” he growls.
She shakes her head again. “No,” she denies firmly. “It was me and a boy.”
His wolf snarls inside him at the mention of the boy. “Who was he?” he demands angrily.
She takes another breath, preparing to say something that will probably make him angry. “My son,” she answers firmly.
Dawson growls at her again, furious. “Tell me the truth,” he demands firmly.
She shakes her head, refusing to give up. “He is my son,” she insists.
“You are lying,” he snarls at her.
“I am not lying,” she denies again.
“You are,” he insists firmly. He stands up and walks over to his friend.
Tristan narrows his eyes at him worriedly. “What’s wrong?”
Dawson gestures at Iris sitting on his bed. “She is lying,” he accuses angrily. “About being locked up and the boy.”