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“Do you want to watch something else?” I didn’t think the plot was that challenging, but I’m also not used to watching in silence. Sadie and Collin were always guessing the plot and predicting the dialogue. They were very invested and loud movie-watchers.

I need to stop doing that. Comparing then with now. The whole point is to move on from my past.

“No, I’m good,” Rachel says, pulling a blanket off the back of the couch and nestling into the corner like she’s preparing to fall asleep. And that’s exactly what she does fifteen minutes later.

The doorknob jostles. I pull my feet off the coffee table and set them on the floor. “Expecting someone?”

“Hmm?” Rachel asks, a noise of drowsy consciousness.

Emma enters. Locks the door behind her and heads directly up the stairs.

“Hey, Emma,” I call after her, then realize she’s probably trying to avoid us. I can’t imagine it’s comfortable walking in on your mother and… a guy watching a movie together.

And to prove the point, she utters, “Uh, hi,” over her shoulder.

“What was that?” Rachel snorts out of sleep. Rubbing her eye, leaving a black streak of makeup. She’s instantly aware of what she’s done. “I look like a raccoon, don’t I?”

I shrug with a smirk. “I need to get going.”

“No, don’t go.” Her voice is urgent as she reaches for my arm.

“You’re tired. Emma’s home. I think I should.”

“Emma’s home?” She looks up the stairs to Emma’s closed door.

“Yeah, she came in while you were sleeping.”

“Oh. I could’ve sworn she was sleeping over Sara’s.”

Before I can rise, Rachel grabs onto my hand and folds her legs under her like she’s begging. Which is exactly what she does. “Please don’t leave yet. I promise to stay awake.” And then she’s up the stairs before I can protest. “I’ll be right back down. Need to wash my face.”

Screaming rattles the windows. Bursts the glass. Another shriek of pure terror has me on my feet, disoriented. The room comes into focus—the television’s on. The foyer dimly lit.

Rachel’s house.

The screaming rushes at me and knocks the breath from my lungs.

It’s coming from Emma’s room. I’m up the stairs in several leaps, prepared to walk in and wake her. But I know this sound. The desperate need to escape the trappings of a nightmare. There’s no barging in and saving her from this. I know better than anyone that’s not how it works.

Just as I’m about to knock, to force her out of the place that’s terrorizing her, she stops. I hesitate.

Silence.

I don’t have to put my ear to the door to sense the panic thrumming on the other side. Just because she’s awake doesn’t mean she’s escaped. It just means she’s living in purgatory until the next time she closes her eyes.

“Jonathan?”

Rachel’s beside me. She sets a hand on my arm. My palm still rests on Emma’s door like I’m taking her pulse through the barrier. Rachel tugs gently, pulling me away. “She does that,” she says as if to apologize for her daughter’s nightmare.

I know Emma is probably hyperventilating in her room, overhearing all of this. The last thing I want her to know is that I’m here. That I heard her.

“Just come back to bed, okay? She'll be all right.”

I’m sure she knows now.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I have work in the morning,” I tell Rachel when we enter her room. It’s too dark to see more than silhouettes.

“Too late to drive. You have your suits still from yesterday?”