Page 44 of See You in Your Dreams

Something passes over his face. “What about the musical number and the candlelit dinner?”

I blink. “Thewhat?”

“Never mind,” he mumbles, his cheeks flaring red. Apparently, he’d had averydifferent experience from me before we met up. “Anyway,” he continues, clearing his throat, “you’ve never tried to learn how to use your power? With enough practice, I bet you could—”

“What part about it being dangerous don’t you understand?” I snap. “When I was younger, I thought I could control it. I used to explore my own dreams every night. Then, I discovered I could slip into the dreams of others and bring them along for the ride. It was fun—at first. Like a wondrous new adventure each time full of infinite possibilities.” I remember coming home to find my mom’s lifeless body sprawled on her bed, one limp hand still cradling an empty bottle of pills, and shudder. “But it’s all too easy for dreams to twist into nightmares, forcing you to reliveyour worst memories or face your deepest fears over and over until you’ll doanythingto escape.”

I tear my gaze away from Dylan’s sympathetic look and gesture at the sketches plastered over my walls. “Theseare real—the trees and buildings and people they depict. They help me remain grounded, to remember what actually matters. Dreams are nothing but illusions. Temporary figments that might not be able to harm your flesh but have just as much capacity to traumatize your mind as they do to help. And I decided a long time ago I was better off without them.”

My bed creaks as Dylan rises. I stay stock still while he approaches, pausing a foot or so away. His proximity tugs at me like a magnet, impossible to ignore.

“Is that why you pushed me away?” he asks softly. “Because you were worried about what might happen if I got too close to you?”

Heat prickles my skin as I jerk a nod. “When you confessed your feelings to me, I knew I’d let things go on too long already. Because…”

I trail off, swallowing. Dylan shifts closer. His fingers brush over the skin on my arm, leaving sparks in their wake. “Because why?”

“Because it made it impossible to deny how much I care about you.”

His fingers still. I stare at the floor, afraid to look at him. Despite that, I can hear the smile in his voice. “Does that mean you like me, too?”

My pulse ratchets up a notch, my headache all but forgotten. “This doesn’t change anything. What happened last night could happen again. I could…could hurt you again.”

“The only thing you’ve done to hurt me so far is shove me away.”

My breath catches when Dylan tentatively cups my cheek. Unable to stop myself, I finally look up, meeting his honeyed eyes. “I’ve lost so much already,” I whisper. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you as well.”

“Then don’t,” Dylan says, his words like a soft caress.

Before I can respond, he leans forward, sealing his mouth to mine. All thoughts of protest flee before the tender press of his lips. His tongue lightly flicks against my lips, and I open my mouth on a groan, letting him in. Our hot breaths mingle as his hand brushes along my stubbled cheek. My own hands find his back, tugging him flush against me.

By the time Dylan and I break apart, both of us panting, I’ve almost forgotten what started our conversation in the first place. Almost…but not quite.

“I take it this means you’re not going to stay away from me.”

Dylan’s flushed face beams at me. “Not a chance in hell.” His hand finds mine, our fingers slotting together perfectly despite my mind screaming at me all the ways this is a terrible idea. “Whatever the dangers are, we’ll face them together.”

Visions of my parents flash before my eyes, faded and frayed like the memory I’d watched play out last night. I swallow it down, forcing a wavering smile as I squeeze Dylan’s hand. “Right. Together.”

“Ash!” Aunt Claudette’s voice suddenly rings out from the hall. My horrified gaze fastens on the jiggling doorknob. “You up yet? I was thinking of making some pan—oh!”

I rip my hand out of Dylan’s right as the door opens. My aunt pauses in the doorway, staring at us. “Well,” she says after a brief span. “I see you have company. It’s Dylan, right?”

“Yes, Ms. Brown,” Dylan says bashfully. “Sorry to surprise you like this. It was late when I brought Ash home last night, so I wound up staying the night.” He indicates the rumpled blankets on the floor. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course, honey,” Aunt Claudette says, offering her usual broad smile. “You’re always welcome here—any of Ash’sfriendsare.”

Her eyes flick between us in a sort of question, but I don’t correct her. I’m not sure what Dylan and I are at this point, butfriendsseems as good a label as any now, no matter how hard I’ve fought to resist it.

“Thank you, Ms. Brown,” Dylan says.

She nods, turning to exit into the hall. “I’m making pancakes if you want to stay for breakfast.”

“Thanks, but I should get home.” An anxious shiver races over him. “I borrowed my brother’s truck last night, and he’ll kill me if I don’t return it before his shift this morning.”

“Another time, then. Tell your mom I said hi.”

“Will do!”