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The week before, my dad caught Madd sneaking into my bedroom through my window. And the week before that, we got busted throwing a party at the old lodge- just a few nights after the two of us were caught breaking curfew, stealing away for a midnight run. We were always pushing the boundaries, seeing what we could get away with and never considering the consequences. Until the day we fell from that lift, and everything came crashing down around us.
I take a deep breath as I open the front door, forcing myself to step inside the packhouse before I lose my nerve. And of course, the first person I see upon entering is my dad. He’s standing over the stove in the kitchen with a spatula in hand, cooking breakfast like he did most days while I was growing up. The smell of his pancakes has my mouth watering and my stomach growling instantly.
He throws a glance over his shoulder at the sound of the door opening and closing, his brows lifting in surprise when he sees it’s me. “Back just in time for pancakes,” he remarks, turning his gaze back to the stove as he slides the spatula underneath one to flip it.
I shake my head as I advance forward, folding my arms tightly across my chest. “I’m not back. I’m just here to talk to Mom.”
He turns around to face me, jaw ticking. “Sloane…”
“Not now, Dad,” I sigh, my heart aching for the fiercely protective parent who scooped me up when I was seventeen and the distance that has grown between us since. “I just… I need to talk to mom.”
He nods, turning back to the stove- but not before I see the flicker of defeat in his eyes. “She’s out on the patio,” he grumbles.
“Thank you.”
I head for the living room, passing through it to get to the sliding glass door at the rear of the packhouse that leads out to the patio, heart aching with every step. I know I need to patch things up with my dad. I’m not quite ready for that conversation yet, though, and right now, there’s something much more pressing I have to do. My head’s all twisted up from these visions I’ve been having, and I need to talk to my mom and figure out what the hell is going on with them.
I open the slider door, stepping outside to find Mom perched on the far side of the wicker outdoor sectional with her knees tucked into her chest and a steaming cup of tea clasped in her hands. She’s gazing out toward the forest, seemingly lost in thought, but at the sound of the door she glances my way, eyes lighting up when she sees me.
“Hey sweetheart,” she coos as I slide the door closed behind me.
“What, no tea waiting for me this time?” I tease, striding across the patio in her direction.
She pats the cushion beside her in invitation. “You hate tea.”
“Fair enough,” I sigh, sinking down on the sofa beside her. I pull my legs up onto the cushion, snuggling into Mom’s side and leaning my head against her shoulder.
She wraps an arm around me, pressing her cheek to the top of my head and stroking her fingers through my hair. And like always, she knows what I need, content to just sit with me until I’m ready to talk.
“I had another dream,” I finally whisper, staring out at trees as the breeze ruffles their leaves.
“Tell me about it,” she replies gently.
I suck in a deep breath through my nose, struggling to find where to begin. Then I tell her about both dreams I’ve had of the accident, describing the vivid detail of each that made them feel like something other than a dream. Somethingmore.
She listens quietly, and when I’m finished, we both sit up straighter, turning to sit sideways so we can look at one another.
“Is that how your visions started too?” I ask hesitantly. “Dreams?”
Mom sips her tea, giving a little shake of her head. “No, but not every seer is alike. The gift can manifest in different ways. Maybe that’s just how your visions will come to you.”
“So you think it was a vision?”
She gives me a funny look, pursing her lips and twisting around to set her cup down on the side table. “Did I ever tell you why I thought you would inherit my gift?” she asks casually, turning back toward me. Then she reaches out to take both of my hands in hers, staring into my eyes. “Shortly after you were born, I had a vision. It was of you and me, sitting at the kitchen island in the middle of the night while you told me about a dream.”
I yank my hands back in shock, my jaw dropping. “What?! Why didn’t you tell me that night?”
“Visions are fickle,” she shrugs. “They never give me all the pieces of the puzzle, so I couldn’t be sure what it meant. I just had a feeling. And I knew if your dream was truly a vision, you’d be back, and here you are.”
I shake my head in disbelief as her words settle over me.She knew. Somehow it feels like a betrayal, but my mom has always kept her visions close to her chest, for fear of tipping the scales of fate.
Hanging my head, I stare down at the cushion of the outdoor sectional, my eyes glazing over. “I wish you would’ve told me,” I mutter.
Mom reaches out for me again, cupping my cheek and lifting my head until my eyes meet hers. “You had to come to it on your own. Once you open your mind to accepting the visions, they’ll come more freely. You can start to learn their patterns, even control them sometimes.”
Her hand falls away as I shake my head adamantly. “I don’t want them,” I mumble. “I thought I did. I thought I wanted to be like you, but it’s too much, Mom. I can’t…” I trail off with a sniffle, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill at the rush of emotions.
“Youcan,” she states matter-of-factly, grasping my hands again. “Fate wouldn’t give this gift to someone who can’t handle it. And I’m here for you, sweetheart. Every step of the way. It can be difficult at first, but in time, you’ll see why this is agift, not a curse. And you’ll learn to use it, to wield your visions as a guide to better understand your world and make a difference in it.”
