Page 54 of Ex Somnis

“To go back to what?” she asks quietly.

And there it is. Not anger. Exhaustion.

“There’s nothing left for us there, Lenny.”

“Maybe not for me.” My voice breaks around the words. “But there’s still so much waiting for you.”

I squeeze her hands back harder.

“Derek still loves you. He told me. And your mom still talks to you every day. She sits beside you and tells you about the weather, what she made for dinner, and what stupid thing the neighbor’s dog did because she believes you can still hear her.” Tears blur my vision so badly the whole garden smears gold and green around the edges. “She believes you’re still in there, Tess. She believes it enough for both of you. And when we wake up, we’re awake together. You and me.”

I see the real her underneath all this perfect calm, terrified, grieving, and tired.

Then it seals shut again.

“This is our dream, Lenny.”

“No.” I shake my head hard enough to make myself dizzy. “No, it’s a trap wearing our favorite things. This is not real.”

Her expression softens with something almost like pity. “Maybe,” she says quietly, glancing back toward the bench where my parents are still sitting in the afternoon sunlight. “But it’s the only way you can keep them.”

The words hit me like a fist to the chest.

Keep them.

As if grief is something you can bargain with.

“I don’t want this.” My voice cracks. “I don’t want copies, Tessa. I don’t want a perfect little dream version of my life. I want you. I need you to wake up.”

Her fingers tighten painfully around mine.

“I couldn’t,” she whispers.

Her eyes flick toward Lucien standing among the roses.

“Even if I wanted to.”

CHAPTER TEN

Nevan

“Wake up, Lemon.”

Her nose scrunches a little.

Just barely, the slightest creases, enough to make hope punch me directly in the ribs before it immediately dies again when she settles back into whatever she’s doing in there.

Which is apparently not responding to me.

I let my thumb brush gently over the bridge of her nose anyway.

Paul’s whole house smells like plants, coffee, and expensive laundry detergent, and Lennon lies in the middle of it. Somehow, she still smells exactly like fresh lemonade. I genuinely don’t understand how that’s possible.

But God, she’s beautiful.

Even like this.

Even pale and sleeping with a tube in her nose that apparently eats for her and makes this room feel halfway to a hospital, she still looks like herself. Like she’s seconds away from opening one eye and telling me I’m being dramatic.