Page 146 of Ex Somnis

All three of us turn toward the kitchen.

Nevan is still where he was, bowl in hand, but now his eyes are focused and not sleepwalking anymore.

Thank fuck.

“Like a dark entity that’s out for everyone in this town. Otherwise, why would he go after Jasper? And my mom? Me? It makes absolutely no sense. We don’t even know Tessa.”

I point at him. “Starting tomorrow, you’re wearing a bell.”

Lennon chuckles, and I kiss her temple. She turns to kiss my lips, a small peck, but before I can grab the back of her head and kiss her silly, she slides off my lap.

Rude.

She walks to Nevan, takes the bowl out of his hands, and sets it on the coffee table. Paul twitches at the placement, making me huff a laugh.

Lennon looks up at Nevan as she stands in front of him. It takes some doing, given the difference in altitude, and she takes his hand. “We don’t know if her being trapped in Jasper’s dreams is his doing or your mother’s. But no, I don’t think he’s just evil. I think he’s a very sad, very lonely man who hasn’t got anything left except this. Except for the dreams. That doesn’t make what he’s done right, but it makes it understandable.”

Nevan nods slowly, and I exchange a look with Paul.

Lennon has this deeply unfortunate habit of finding the humanity in people. It’s the reason she ended up collecting strays like us. But what Lennon still doesn’t seem to understand is that lonely things are dangerous. Or maybe she understands it perfectly and chooses compassion anyway, which is more concerning.

“Come on,” Lennon says, tugging Nevan’s hand. “Let’s get some actual sleep. I need to rest without lucidity or you taking scenic routes through the house in your boxers.”

She stops by Paul on the way out of the living room.

He stands up and moves to where she can reach him, cupping the back of her head as he gives her a brief kiss. “Goodnight, darling.”

“Night.”

Then she looks at me. I manage, barely, not to say anything that would invite her to stay, because she needs to sleep and so does the giant currently waiting to be navigated toward the stairs. She knows I’ll be fine, and I know she knows.

She puts a hand on my shoulder, and I cover it with mine when she leans in and kisses my cheek. “Sleep tight, Ridge.”

“Dream of me, sweetheart.”

She gives me a playful scowl as they walk toward the stairs.

I hate the ground floor.

That’s not entirely accurate. The ground floor is fine. Paul has made the ground floor more than fine. I know what this house looked like before he started making changes for me, and I know what it looks like now. The difference is considerable.

The problem is not the ground floor. The problem is that Lennon is currently going upstairs, and I can’t follow her.

If something bad happens again, like with Nevan and the window, I can’t get to her.

If she asked me to follow her and I could, I wouldn’t complain. I would tolerate Nevan Shaw’s elbows and knees. I would tolerate whatever percentage of a mattress a man who looks like he was assembled from spare lumber consumes.

Fuck it.

I’d cuddle him. Not enthusiastically, but I’d do it.

I’m not going to breathe a word of that to Paul, because if I do, he’ll immediately begin solving the problem. The man treats obstacles like personal insults. I’ll wake up tomorrow and find architectural blueprints on the kitchen table, a contractor in the driveway, and three accessibility consultants.

Possibly a crane.

“I’ll call the stairlift company tomorrow,” Paul mutters from beside me.

I close my eyes.