Did I just say that? Stop talking. Please stop talking.

Only it was as if I were still trapped in the dream, no more able to halt the words than plug a dam with my finger.

“You left, and I didn’t know why. I was trapped in the dark, and I couldn’t get out, and I called and you wouldn’t come.”

He frowned, head tilting as if confused, that sleepy look still in his eyes, not yet fully awake, not yet fully aware. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know.” I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It was a nightmare, and now I’m babbling—”

“It was a nightmare,” he said. “Not a vision. I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know.”

“Anytime you need me, I’m here. If you call, I’ll come.”

“I know.”

A surreal moment of silence followed, both of us still dazed with sleep, the barriers down as we looked at each other.

I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t.

I pushed up, swinging my legs out of the bed. “I’m going to take the couch.”

His frown deepened. “Why?”

“I think I should.”

“Why?”

He kept looking at me, confusion in his eyes. Innocent confusion. He seemed so young then. A boy who didn’t understand what was going on, why he was in trouble, what he’d done wrong.

He put me here to be thoughtful. Because I fell asleep on his floor, and I’ve had a difficult day, so he’s being kind. That’s all it is. All it’s ever going to be. Kind and thoughtful, which is as close as I’ll ever get to him, and it’s closer than anyone else gets, so I need to take it and be grateful and say, “It’s enough.”

And if I can’t?

Then that’s my problem, and I need to do something about it—starting with stepping back over that line, with getting the hell out of his bed.

I set my feet on the floor and stood. “I shouldn’t take your room.”

“But I put you here.”

“It’s yours. I’ll take the couch.”

“Why?”

He kept giving me that look, the confusion deepening to something like disappointment, like hurt, as if he’d tried to be kind and thoughtful, and I was rejecting it, and he didn’t know why. That little boy, reaching out and being pushed away.

Goddamn it, Gabriel. Don’t look at me like that. Wake up. Snap out of it, pull that wall back up and retreat behind it. For once, that’s what I want, because when you look at me like that, it makes me think that there could be more, that I could—

I swallowed hard and stepped toward him. “I need to leave.”

“What?” He blinked. “Why? Did I do something?”

Snap out of it, Gabriel. Please, please, please, snap out of it.

“I just want to go for a walk,” I said. “I need some air.”

He rubbed his hands over his face, harder now, raking his fingers through his hair, and when he spoke again, his voice was more his own, though still younger, less formal. “Okay. Can I go with you?” Another rub over his face, his shoulders straightening, voice deepening another octave. “I should go with you.”

“I . . .”

I looked at him. The boy was gone, the man back, but the wall stayed down, the confusion lingering, not sure why I needed to leave, still feeling as if he’d done something wrong, like me in the dream, rejected and lost and not understanding why.

“I’ll walk behind you, Olivia. I would simply prefer you weren’t out alone at this hour.” His voice dropped. “Whatever you saw, it was only a nightmare. I’m not going anywhere.”

I nodded.

“Could it have been connected to the vision?” he asked. “From the park? We still haven’t discussed that. I know you were going to talk to Rose first, but I would prefer . . .” He raked back his hair again, rolling his shoulders, as if still searching for equilibrium. “It might help if you talked about it. Perhaps that is upsetting you.”

I’m so lost right now. My parents . . . I think they . . . I’m sure they . . . And you and Ricky . . . So lost and so confused. Except I’m not confused at all. I know what I feel—for you—and I want to blame it on the visions, to tell myself I’m just reliving a role. But I’m not. What I feel for you . . .

Oh God, what I feel for you. I don’t want that. I want Ricky, and only Ricky, and no confusion, because he doesn’t deserve confusion. Neither of you do.

I want to run. Get the hell out of here and run to Ricky, and tell myself I never felt like this—that I was upset about my parents and half asleep and caught in that nightmare, and I got mixed up. I just got mixed up.

But I look at you, and I know I can’t run. Because you won’t understand. You let yourself reach out, and I cannot reject that. I cannot let you feel rejected. You need someone, now more than ever, and I desperately want to be that someone, even if it’s never going to be more than talking in front of your window and falling asleep and waking in your bed—alone.

“I’d like to talk about it,” I said. “I know it’s the middle of the night . . .”

“I’ll make coffee.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

It wasn’t the middle of the night after all. It was nearly five in the morning. After I explained the vision, I tried to get him to go back to bed, but he wouldn’t listen, so I curled up on his sofa, and we drank coffee and talked and watched the sun come up, and whatever I’d felt earlier passed.