Page 81 of In Somnis

Maybe this is Heaven, and my ghost nails are citrusy after all.

“Just so you know.” My probably-not-a-murderer takes my chin gingerly between his thumb and forefinger and tilts my gaze back up to him. “You’re making me nervous, too, darling.”

My stomach flips violently, and I take a step back, shoving my hand between us in an offer of formality like an absolute idiot. “My name is Lennon,” I blurt.

“Nice to meet you, Lennon.” He draws out my name, as if savoring it, then takes my offered hand with the same high level of care that I’ve learned to expect from him. “I’m Paul.”

When his palm slides against mine, I try to hold back a hiss at the sting but don’t quite manage it.

“Fuck, sorry.” He lets go immediately, concern flashing across his face. He quickly turns back to the washers and starts them before nudging me out of the room with a light touch at the small of my back. “Come on. Let’s get those road rashes checked out.”

As he guides me forward, my gaze drops to my hand.

Five perfectly normal fingers.

Real.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Paul

I found her.

The thought keeps looping, and I’m afraid that if I let go of it for even a second, the universe will correct itself and take her back.

I stand there with my first-aid kit clutched in both hands, watching her sit on my couch as if she belongs there, like she’s always belonged there, and my chest is too tight for the amount of air in the room.

I thought I’d killed her.

But she’s breathing, she’s here, and she’s wearing my hoodie.

The hem brushes mid-thigh, though when she sits on my couch, the threat of it riding up has my mind in a tailspin. It doesn’t help that the fabric is stretched, accentuating her curves, causing my brain to keep short-circuiting. Not to mention, the flush of her skin against the white leather. It’s too much, yet not enough.

Apparently, she’s going to be the death of me, not the other way around.

Lennon keeps shifting like she doesn’t know what to do with her body or where to put her hands. Every time she moves, it’s a tease, and I have to actively remind myself to look at her eyes because if my hoodie rides up and reveals any more of her soft skin, I will be tempted to trail my fingers along each beautiful curve.

Eyes, Paul. Eyes.

Except that’s harder than it should be, because every time I meet her gaze, I see the scared, light-blue eyes from my night terrors instead of the curious ones looking back at me now.

My stomach drops when I think about how stupid it was to drive Mabel to her doctor’s appointment today. I told her that she should ask Marcus or Renée instead, but she needled me into agreeing, and she was right to do so. Marcus has a full-time job, and I’m mostly available.

I thought I’d managed it. Got her there, took her back home, and everything was fine. I was on my way home when the rain started, and out of nowhere, I fucking fell asleep. For a millisecond, my eyes shut, only to open to the familiar sound of my nightmare, of a car hitting a body.

All I could do was slam on the brakes, even though it was already too late. My only saving grace is I wasn’t going very fast.

I swallow hard and force myself back into the present. Maybe agreeing to drive today was the best decision I could have made after all, because there she is, and here I am.

I found her.

She’s watching me expectantly, patiently, in a way that somehow makes me feel worse, like she trusts me not to fail her. Her fingers are flexing now as if she’s feeling the sting there again. The abrasion on her temple is red and angry, but superficial. I know that. I’ve assessed it three times already from across the room because distance felt safer than standing this close.

Setting the first-aid kit on the coffee table, I open it with hands that appear steadier than they feel. There’s alcohol wipes, sterile gauze, antiseptics, butterfly strips I hope I won’t need, but brought anyway because hope is not a plan.

“Okay.” My tone is the one I use with patients whose fear I need to contain before it spills everywhere. “I’m going to clean your temple first. It’s superficial, but it’ll sting.”

“I’m brave,” she teases, trying for light, but it rings true, like everything she’s said so far.