Claire had taken the day off just in case they’d ended up staying through Monday, so she was still in bed. He regretted texting his boss last night to say he could come in today, but couldn’t change it now. One of the guys would be by to pick him up any minute, so he quickly grabbed a Post-It note from the kitchen and scribbled out a note, sticking it in the middle of the bathroom mirror.
Check your email, Ms. Sparkles.
23
She had the dream again.
No, not a dream. This was a nightmare.
In the months following her dad’s death, it had been so frequent and visceral she’d had trouble falling asleep. Most nights she’d crept into the living room—careful not to disturb her mom, who’d desperately needed rest—to watch television, hoping to distract her brain until she eventually fell under from sheer exhaustion.
With time and therapy, the realistic imagery came less often, and eventually became almost nonexistent. She’d even had some good dreams about her dad over the years, ones that had her opening her eyes with a smile on her face and a joyful memory on her mind.
Not this one. This particular dream was like a punch to the chest, forcing air from her lungs and sending her heart racing in panic. Her eyes would fly open, the sudden change of scenery disorienting and confusing until she realized she was at home. In bed. Not there, not in the fire. Not staring at her dead father.
Believe it or not, that wasn’t even the worst part. It was always the split second of hope after she woke up and realized the whole thing had been a dream that her brain considered, Oh, was the whole thing a dream? Is my dad okay? He’s not actually gone?
And Claire would come fully awake, lucid, and remember.
While it was just a dream, it was based on real events. Her dad wasn’t okay. He was still gone.
That part was still real.
Everything about it was always awful, and last night was, too—but something had been different.
This time, she dreamed she lost Graham.
Usually she loved waking up next to him, rolling into his warm body. If he was already awake he’d tuck her into his chest, just lying with her for several minutes before one of them finally decided to get up （or make a move…these days it was anyone’s guess）。 If she roused first, she’d snuggle into his side, breathing in his scent, content to feel his skin slowly move against hers as he inhaled and exhaled.
This morning, though, she was relieved to find herself alone as several tears slipped down her cheeks.
Before now, the subject of her dream had never changed. No matter how many times she’d suffered through it, even if tiny details changed—like the color of her shirt or how old she was when she found him—it was always her dad.
It felt like a betrayal to her dad, but the way she’d felt just a few short hours ago in the all-too-real moments of her subconscious, wrenching open that airplane door to see Graham’s pale, lifeless face had been the worst yet.
It could have been because it was unexpected, or because she’d so recently seen Graham injured. Maybe it was because even though she missed her dad immensely, she’d learned to live without him.
Whatever it was, grief and heartbreak had crashed down so hard she’d nearly collapsed into the grass next to the burning plane. Someone had touched her face, speaking to her, but nothing—no one—could ever fix her now. Not after this.
Nothing would ever be okay.
The soothing voice had kept going, though, the gentle touch moving to her hair, her neck, her shoulder. And then she opened her eyes and found herself here, in this bed, in the darkness—Graham’s devastatingly handsome face watching her, brow marred with concern.
He said she’d had a bad dream and when she realized he was here and alive and touching her, she’d nearly blurted out, I love you.
She’d kissed him and made love to him instead, and now, in the light of the morning, she was thankful. Thankful she’d said it without words, because it was safer that way. For both of them.
She’d gotten in way too deep and let him do the same, and what happened last night was proof it would destroy her if she let it continue.
It would hurt like hell, but it was for the best. She had to put an end to whatever they were doing for both their sakes.
And she had to do it today.
Claire loved on Gertrude for a few minutes before getting out of bed. Just as she pulled on the tank top Graham had tossed onto the floor in the middle of the night, her phone dinged from the nightstand.
Mia: How was the weekend getaway?
Claire groaned and sat back down, sinking into the mattress.