“Yeah, she was pretty proud of herself.”
I pull her closer, falling silent, waiting for the moment she peels herself away from me and climbs out of my bed. Exhaustion tugs at my eyelids. I fight to keep them open, but I’m waning. Those fingers start moving again. Running up my stomach to my chest, tracing the scar, the tattoo, skimming over my jawline. A heavy weight settles on my body, my limbs relaxing. All I feel is Grace. Her hair tickling my neck, her breath on my skin, her?—
I’m driving home from shift. The road feels different somehow, the leaves the colour of fall when I know it’s August.
Emily’s upset with me. I should comfort her, but I don’t. I’m tired of having the same argument. Tired of feeling like maybe we’ve outgrown this thing we’ve built.
She wants to leave, and even though I keep telling myself I could stomach it, I know deep down I can’t. I’ll lose her before I lose this fight.
I’ve got her laughing. She takes her seat belt off.
That song again.
Linc!
Dead, cold eyes. Pale skin. Lips cracked.
Decker!
Someone’s shouting my name. But I can’t look away fromher,from the blood pouring from the gash in her head, from her mouth and nose. There’s too much of it.
Emily’s hand finds her stomach. “Don’t you remember, Linc? We don’t survive this.”
Linc! Decker!
I snap my eyes open. My heart jumps to my throat. Emily’s right in front of me. In my fucking bed. Her pale, dead face hovering over me.
“Shit!” I yell as I push her away and throw myself from my bed. I stumble and land hard on my ass, then spider crawl back until I hit my bedroom wall.
“Linc,” a voice says, calmer this time, but shaky. Grace’s voice.
I blink. Grace. Not Emily. Alive. Not dead.
Slowly, I push up. My skin is slick with sweat, heart a jackhammer thrashing against my rib cage. And Grace is… I swallow. Kneeling on my mattress, eyes wide, hands up in defence, like she’s shielding herself. From me. She’s scared. I scared her.
I clear my throat. “Grace. I uh… I’m sorry. Did I…?”
Did I put my hands on you? Did I hurt you?
I pushed her, didn’t I?
My pulse kicks up a notch, my stomach lurching to my throat. That familiar feeling sets in. Guilt, blame, resentment. That same anger that chipped away at my old man, taking pieces of him, breaking him.
Breath held, I clench my fists.
Grace tilts her head, tracking the movement. “You were having a nightmare.”
My pulse only beats faster. Shit. Deep. Fucking. Breaths. “Yeah.”
“About Emily?” When I don’t respond, she says, “You were yelling her name.”
My shoulders tense. Fucking of course I was. I run a hand through my damp hair and push back the feelings, the sound of that song. Those dead fucking eyes. Everything I lost that day, everything I did after. Everything?—
“What the hell are you still doing here?” I snap.
Grace flinches at my tone, then hurt flashes across her face.
Fuck. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I’m not used to this—someone in my bed. Someone in my life.
