“Drew, what are you—”
“Please. I need you to go.”
I blink up at him, confused by what he’s saying but still feeling that same pull to him I felt that night. I brush my lips against his, my own tears now rolling down my face.
He jerks back, his face a mask of shock and confusion.
“You’re real?”
He pulls his hands away, looking down at them as if he’s just now realizing he was touching me.
I shake my head. “Of course I’m real.”
“You died—” He takes another step away from me. “Megan, you died that night.”
I hate that I lied to him. I hate a lot of things, but the regret from not being truthful to him that night hits me in the chest. I don’t know what he’s talking about or what he believes, but I get a sick feeling in my gut that whatever happened is somehow my fault.
“My name isn’t Megan,” I confess. “That’s the name I use at parties when I don’t want the people around me to know who I really am.”
He’s still confused, eyes still roving up and down my body, not spending extra time on any particular part. It’s as if he thinks if he blinks or looks away, I’m going to disappear.
“My name is Isabella, Izzy. My dad works for Cerberus. Hound? Do you know Jameson Rawley?”
“You were there that night.”
“At the diner. Yes. We met that night.” Is there a history of schizophrenia in his family? This is something I didn’t consider when deciding not to seek him out after finding out I was pregnant.
“Not at the diner! Fuck!” he roars. “In the car. You were in the car, in the wreck. You begged me to help you, but I was too late. You fucking died right in front of my eyes. I saw you in that car, saw your blood, saw your matted dark hair.”
He reaches for the locks over my shoulder but draws his hand away at the last second.
“Megan died that night.”
“I’m not Megan.”
“Is everything okay?”
I don’t look over my shoulder with Lawson’s question. Drew doesn’t look away from my face but doesn’t open his mouth to say another word either.
He begins to rock back and forth on his feet as if he can’t decide between running away or losing control. Lawson must feel the change in the air because he comes around me, putting his body between mine and his brother’s.
“I ruined my fucking life for you!”
The angry words make me clutch my belly as I take a few steps back. Getting away, protecting myself and this child becomes my only priority. I know from experience that you can’t talk sense into someone as upset as Drew is right now. I walk away not knowing if I’ll ever get another chance to speak with him again.
Chapter 4
Drew
I’m losing her again.
She’s fading away, her silky hair flowing in the breeze.
I need her. I need to chase after her, to touch her skin, to hold on to her for just a little while longer.
It can’t be real. She can’t be real. Have I really fallen so far that my mind is breaking?
“Megan!” I yell, but strong arms wrap around me, preventing me from chasing after her.
“That’s Izzy,” my brother hisses in my ear. “Hound’s daughter.”
She said the same, but that still doesn’t explain why she’s here. I spin, punching the brick of the clubhouse wall. Maybe pain will make me snap out of whatever delusion I’m having. Maybe pain will wake me up from this nightmare, and I’ll find myself snoozing in the passenger seat of Lawson’s truck. I lost time while he was driving, and this has to be why.
I’m not at the Cerberus clubhouse.
I’m asleep, reliving something I’ve wanted for months—seeing her face again, feeling the warmth of her skin. God, this isn’t the first time I pictured her, but making up a swollen belly, letting myself imagine a universe where we have a child together?
Jesus, how fucked up is my head?
My feet are moving, and before I know it, we’re standing on an unfamiliar front porch.
“Let’s get inside. Maybe it’s low blood sugar. We should’ve stopped to grab something to eat on the way here. Are you hungry?”
I manage to shake my head, and thankfully my brother doesn’t push the issue.
Low blood sugar. What a ridiculous notion for seeing ghosts and feeling warm skin, but nightmares aren’t like reality. Nightmares take the form of the things we can’t have, the things we regret most.
Lawson clings to me, guiding me up the stairs, and as much as I want to pull away, as much as I need to be alone right now, I know I won’t make it without his help.
“I don’t want this,” I mutter, eyes on my feet as they take each stair cautiously.
“Do you want to go back across the street?”
I want nothing more, but I don’t know that my fractured mind could handle seeing her again.
“I want a bed and a stiff drink.”
“You can’t—”
“I know.”
Even in my nightmare I can’t get relief from the rules and regulations the judge set forth before allowing me to bond out.
“Is she… is that your baby?”
“You saw it too?”
I look over at him, an all too familiar frown on his face.
“She’s pregnant.”
“The girl I was with died. Megan died.”
“She isn’t Megan.”
“Nothing makes sense,” I confess as he opens a door at the end of the hallway.
“You just need sleep.”
I need so much more than sleep, but there’s no real reason to argue the point with him.
He releases me, stepping away and further into the bedroom as I linger in the doorway.
“We had all of your things brought here.”
A familiar comforter is spread out on the bed, the lamp on the side table the one from my house back in Albuquerque.
“We figured that comforts from home would make it easier to be here.”
He couldn’t have been more wrong. I don’t want reminders of what I had, what I lost that night.
“Thank you,” I say instead, because how could he have known?
“Your furniture is in storage along with several other boxes. The room is only so big, but if you need anything that’s missing, just let me know and I’ll get it for you.”
“This is fine.”
My back molars grind together, a way to keep my mouth shut. He’s only helping, doing what he thinks is best, but it’s all futile, a waste of time and energy because I’ll be gone again shortly, either in a grave or in the New Mexico State Prison system where I’ll also end up in a grave. The results are the same no matter which avenue is taken.
And somehow, that thought comforts me. Knowing it’ll all be over soon calms something inside of me, making the worry seem less extraordinary.
“Drew, I… fuck…” Lawson’s hand scrapes over the top of his head, and I don’t say a word.
I don’t offer an out because I’m just as lost as he seems.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I hitch my shoulders. “Nothing makes sense. I can’t talk about something that I can’t get right in my head.”