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His name was always the last thing she screamed—the only thing she screamed. Over the squeal of the tires and the groan of the truck's metal frame folding around them, Evangeline could never make out what she was yelling before she was suddenly jolted awake from her disturbed sleep.
For almost three years she suffered from the same nightmare. As her body healed, her bones mending, her fear of heights less crippling with time, Evangeline still dreamed of the crash. Nothing ever changed. Despite knowing the identity of the shadow man while she was dreaming, she could never remember it as soon as she was jerked awake.
That night was no different.
Sweat plastering her long, dark hair to her forehead, her fingers clutching the sheet with a death grip, Evangeline looked wildly around her bedroom. The magic hum in the air told her the wards were still up. The sun streaming in through the window said she slept in later than she wanted; it wasn’t night any longer, but late morning at the earliest. She gasped and tried to get control of her breathing.
Because she shouldn’t be awake. Not yet. That wasn't the end of the dream.
So what had woken her up?
It took her a minute to figure it out. The answer?
No pain.
Evangeline shoved her sweat-soaked hair out of her face, marveling at that realization.
She'd had the same dream over and over again and it never ended until another blast of purple energy hit the car and she was violently ripped from her savior’s embrace. Then there was an excruciating pain. It shocked her, paralyzed her, and made her wish she was dead.
But she wasn’t dead. She survived the crash that terrible night, just like she continued to survive reliving it ever since.
That morning was the first time she had woken up from her nightmares without the pain consuming her first. As she panted, her entire body tensed as if expecting it to hit now. But it didn't. Instead, she could've sworn she still felt the heat of the other passenger in the car as he tucked her into his side, protecting her as they fell. It felt as real as it had in her dream, as if she'd had a guardian angel who protected her as her car careened down the mountainside.
In her dream, the angel had a name. She knew it then; ripped awake before he disappeared, it was on the tip of her tongue. She scrunched her forehead, struggling to remember. It seemed so important. M… M-something.
Her heart, which had calmed, suddenly began to beat a wild tattoo inside of her chest at another realization. This was the closest she’d come to a breakthrough in years. She normally woke up with nothing but the memory of the pain and the empty lonely ache she suffered so much from, yet worked so damn hard to hide.
M-something… Mmm. Matt? Was it Matt? No. Not that.
Max? Max… Evangeline rolled the name around her head, forcing it to work harder. Not quite it, but close.
Very close.
The ‘x’ sounded right, but she felt like there was a ‘d’ in there somewhere. Something like Mad-something. She wanted to scream in frustration—screaming seemed to be key.
Why was she screaming for—
Madison? Madden? Maddo—
Her phone rang and the name slipped away like the grains of sand in her timer. She struggled to hold onto it, gave in to her urge to scream just the once, then cursed loudly when the remnants of her dream—the name, his scent, his protective heat—simply faded away, leaving her alone.
She was alone. And she hated it.
Picking up her phone without checking to see who was calling, she answered it by snapping, “What?”
“Eva? What’s wrong, babe?”
Adam. She should have known. Who else would be calling this early in the morning? At least her mother always waited until after dinner.
Leaning back in her bed, Evangeline let her head fall against the pillow as she shielded her eyes with her arm.
“Hey, Adam. Sorry about that… nothing’s wrong. The phone woke me up just now. I guess I’m pissed at myself for sleeping in so late.”
“Is that why you weren’t answering? Lazy bum,” he scolded lightly, with enough humor in his tone that Evangeline decided it didn’t warrant her snapping at him again. “I’ve been trying you all morning. I was just getting ready to head out and check in on you. You know I like to make sure you slept well.”
Translation: I like to make sure you didn’t have any nightmares.
She hated to admit it, but she thought his open concern was kind of sweet; he didn’t make her feel as smothered as her mother did, either, so that was a huge plus. Adam wanted to be the last voice she talked to at night, and the first she heard as she started her day.
