Page 30 of In Somnis

Every step we take down the hall, I’m sure the journal is going to slip out and thump onto the floor in front of her like, hello, I am the evidence of Lennon’s anxiety-induced kleptomania.

When we make it to the front door, I’ve calmed myself down enough to say, “I’ll be in town for a while. I’d love to come back, if that’s okay?”

“Always. This door is never closed to you.” Nora smiles just as Simon appears behind her to open the main door. “It was so wonderful to see you, and I’m already looking forward to next time.”

“Same,” I say, then glance at Simon, then back at Nora, plastering on my sweetest customer- service smile. “Though you should probably consider letting him go.”

I’m not brave in most situations, but apparently the shortcut to it is letting someone be cruel to someone I love. “I know it’s not my place, and you know him far better than I do, but someone who talks about her the way he just did, that’s not the person who should be anywhere near her. She can’t advocate for herself right now. Someone should.”

It comes out more plainly than I planned, but I mean every word of it, and I’d say it again.

Nora frowns, while Simon rears back, looking offended.

Excellent.

I back down the steps in three fast, awkward little hops, still smiling at Nora like I didn’t just accuse her employee of being a disrespectful walnut. Nora turns to frown at Simon, and I take the chance to turn around and tug the journal out from under my sweater and hold it in front of me as I walk away.

When I feel safe enough to look back at Tessa’s window, I find her still sitting in the reading chair, still staring out at the leaves.

Did you really want me to have this?

Or did I just steal from my comatose best friend because I’m desperate enough to believe in miracles?

I hold the book close to my chest, as if it has all the answers I need.

“Come to me.”

Her eyes moving to that shelf wasn’t nothing. That was a choice. And if Tessa made a choice, even a small one, even just a flicker, then she’s still in there somewhere making them, and I am going to figure out how to reach her if it’s the last thing I do.

Hope really is the cruelest kindness.

CHAPTER SIX

Paul

The Vaughn mansion rises out of the trees as I turn onto the driveway. I coast to the entrance and dismount easily, but the moment my boots hit gravel, and I pull off my helmet, I sense something is different.

Unexpected. New.

A scent, something sweet and warm, almost like the lemon-and-honey tea Mrs. Vaughn always offers for my sessions with Tessa—the only drink I genuinely enjoy besides espresso and water—lingers in the air.

I inhale deeply, and my muscles tighten, coiling as if bracing for impact. Anxiety swells fast enough that I stand frozen for several seconds beside my bike, my helmet dangling from my fingers.

The wet road flashes across my vision, headlights smearing into rain, the steady rhythm of the wipers, a pale shape at the edge of the beam.

Hands locked on ten and two.

Foot slamming uselessly on the brake.

The impact waiting one heartbeat ahead of me.

Fuck.

My fingers clench around the helmet straps hard enough that the buckle bites into my palm.

No.

There is no rain, no windshield, and no steering wheel under my hands. Gravel presses solidly beneath my boots, and still my pulse lurches into that same erratic rhythm, the one that comes right before I wake up paralyzed and choking on apology.