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“You are! I can’t marry you!” I plead. “Please, I’m sick. I need medicine. I need…” I start to sway again, consumed by furious fever.
My legs wobble, too weak to hold me upright any longer. Stars dance behind my eyes as everything around me blurs. Voices turn unintelligible. Colors meld into light. Noise transforms into…beeping…
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I blink.
Artificial light spills into my vision.
I draw in a sharp breath, hardly achieving a lungful when I start coughing. It’s a wet, ugly cough—it hurts. I hurt everywhere.
A hand touches my forehead, gently pushing back my damp hair, and my eyelids flutter with familiarity. The scent of Ivory soap tickles my nose. “Brant…”
“Shh. Don’t try to talk, Junebug. I’m here.”
My head swivels to the right, and I see him. He’s sitting beside me in a chair, while I lie on a bed made of white. Starchy sheets are pulled up to my chest, and the light in the room is harsh and blinding. I squint my eyes, trying to see Brant better. “Are you real?”
The dream spirals back to me, causing me to blush profusely. I’m hopeful the heat from my fever is disguising my humiliation.
I dreamed I was marrying Brant!
Strange images flicker through my mind—from unicorns to vintage settees to Brant’s mother floating from room to room.
Madness. Delirium.
I’ve never had a dream so realistic before. So…bizarre.
“I’m real. That fever really took a toll on you,” he says softly.
There’s worry gleaming in his earthy eyes, spun with green and brown. Moss and clay. His hair is a mess of darkish waves—not quite curly, but not straight. Thick locks coil behind his ears, making him look young and boyish.
He’s not a boy, though…he’s eighteen. He’s officially a man.
And he’s my brother—sort of.
I dreamed I was marrying him!
I can’t seem to meet his eyes as my embarrassment continues to climb. My cheeks heat and my ears burn. “How did I get here?” I mutter to the ceiling tiles.
The last thing I recall is dragging myself up the staircase, weak and warm, while Brant prepped Christmas Eve dinner. Mom said she’d check on me in a bit.
And then there was Rupert.
Brant takes my hand in his, squeezing lightly. “Your fever spiked really high… It was over one-oh-five. You were hallucinating. Scared us all half to death.”
When I brave a glance in his direction, his face looks pained. Truly pained. I swallow back the sting in my throat.
“I thought I lost you in that pond,” he continues, looking just beyond me. He’s quiet for a beat. Reflective. “Tonight I thought I was losing you all over again.”
Tears rush to my eyes. “I’m here, Brant,” I whisper, my voice ragged and strained. “I’m here.”
Well…I think I’m here. Truthfully, I have no idea what’s real anymore. For all I know, the room could dissolve into outer space at any given moment and I’ll be floating on a shooting star, dressed in a snorkeling suit and top hat.
Brant lets go of my hand, leaning over the side of his chair. His hair falls over his eyes in thick waves, so he brushes it back as he straightens. “I brought you something.”
“It’s not a unicorn, is it?”
He falters, then laughs. “No…it’s not a unicorn. It’s something else—two things, actually.” Brant lifts both arms, revealing his gifts. In one hand, there is Aggie. In the other, there is the custom-built sword I received for Christmas six years ago. “Something for comfort, and something for courage.”
