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The house wasn’t sleeping.
Even though it should’ve been. Even though it was the early hours of the morning and the only sound should’ve been the steady rhythm of wind through the trees and Mam’s kettle whistling at the butt crack of dawn like it always did.
But no.
The house wasn’t sleeping because none of us really were. Not properly. Not since the fire. Not since the night Shannon—Shannon like the river—and her three little brothers had moved in with us, carrying nothing but the clothes on their backs and the weight of everything they’d lost.
It had been just over a week, and we were all pretending. Pretending things were okay. That Mam’s roast dinners and folded laundry could fix the way the youngest, Tadhg, flinched every time the oven clicked on. That Ollie’s eyes didn’t look too big for his face these days. That Shannon’s smiles weren’t brittle.
I lay in bed that night, listening to the silence that wasn’t really silent. The stillness that wasn’t still. There was a crackle of restlessness under everything, like something waiting to snap.
And then—
A quiet knock.
“Johnny?”
Ollie’s voice. Small. Worried.
I sat up immediately. “Yeah, bud? What’s wrong?”
He poked his head in, his red curls rumpled from sleep. “It’s Shannon. I can hear her crying. Her room’s right next to mine. I think she’s having a nightmare.”
My heart sank.
Ollie shifted on his feet. “I didn’t know if I was allowed to wake her up. She sounded… scared.”
“You did the right thing.” I was already getting out of bed, tugging on a hoodie. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Will she be okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, hoping that saying it out loud would make it true. “I’ve got her.”
Mam’s rule rang in my head as I padded down the hallway barefoot: They are not to sleep in the same room. Give her time. Give her space.
I’d agreed. I had. Shannon needed stability, boundaries, safety. And I wasn’t going to mess that up. But I could hear her now—low, desperate sobs through the thin wall—and all of that went out the feckin’ window.
I knocked softly. No answer.
“Shan?” I tried gently, cracking the door.
She was curled up in the bed, twisted in her sheets, face buried in the pillow but her cries slipping out anyway—raw and unguarded. My chest clenched.
I stepped inside, closing the door behind me.
“Shannon like the river,” I whispered, crossing the room, “hey, love. You’re dreaming.”
She didn’t wake straight away. Just whimpered and curled tighter, shoulders shaking.
I crouched beside the bed, brushing her hair back. “It’s just a dream. You’re safe. It’s Johnny.”
Her eyes flew open, wild with panic, and she tried to jerk away from me, blinking like she couldn’t place where she was. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and her whole body was trembling.
“Shan, it’s me,” I said softly, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not there. You’re home. With us. With me.”
She blinked again, chest still heaving. “I—I couldn’t get to her. I saw the fire. I could feel it. I smelled the smoke and—I couldn’t get to her—Mam—” Her voice cracked completely.
And that was it.
I didn’t care about the rules anymore.
I climbed into bed beside her and pulled her to me, slowly and carefully, until her face was tucked against my chest and her fingers were curled in my hoodie like a lifeline.
“You’re safe,” I said, holding her tighter as she cried. “I’ve got you. It’s over. You’re safe now, Shannon.”
Her tears soaked through the fabric, but I didn’t care. I just kept whispering to her, grounding her in the present, my arms around her like a shield.
“I’m sorry,” she hiccupped eventually. “I didn’t want to wake anyone. I just—I can’t stop seeing it.”
“You don’t have to apologise,” I murmured, pressing my lips to her hair. “Ever. You’re allowed to feel all of it. You lived through hell, Shannon.”
Her voice was hoarse. “Mam said—your mam—no sleeping in the same room—”
“Feck the rules,” I said without hesitation, and she let out a sound that was half sob, half laugh.
“She’ll kill you.”
“She’ll have to catch me first.”
That earned a shaky smile. Her grip on me eased slightly, and she tucked her head under my chin.
“I’m scared to fall asleep again,” she whispered.
“Then don’t. You can just lie here and listen to me breathing, yeah?” I smoothed my hand over her back. “Or count my heartbeats. I’ll stay right here.”
We lay like that for a long while, wrapped up in each other, the only sound our breathing and the soft creak of the house settling around us.
Eventually, her breathing evened out. Her fingers loosened their grip on my hoodie. And she whispered, barely audible, “Thanks, Johnny. For coming.”
I ran my hand through her hair and kissed the crown of her head.
“Always,” I said. “You’re not alone anymore, Shannon like the river. You’ve got me. You’ve got us.”
Mam definitely saw us the next morning.
Shannon was still fast asleep in my arms when the door creaked open just enough for Mam’s head to peek through. She didn’t say anything. Just looked at the two of us, curled up together, Shannon’s cheek on my chest and my arms around her like she might vanish if I let go.
She didn’t scold. Didn’t raise her voice. Just gave me the smallest nod and whispered, “Ten more minutes. Then send her down for breakfast.”
I nodded, and she was gone.
Shannon stirred a bit, mumbling something into my shirt.
“Morning,” I said quietly.
“Was that your mam?” she asked, half-asleep.
“Yeah.”
“Is she gonna murder you?”
“Not today,” I smiled. “She said breakfast’s ready.”
Shannon yawned, her eyes fluttering closed again. “Tell her I’ll be down in a minute…”
“Take your time,” I murmured, holding her a little tighter.