Page 14

"Before I grew up. Before I had responsibilities."

"Dreams don't have expiration dates, Emery."

She lifts her head to look at me. "They do when you're a single mom at eighteen."

"Not if the right person believes in you." I cup her face in my hand. "You have an incredible voice. You should be singing."

"I have too many responsibilities."

“Fuck that. You have me now, I’ll carry your load...” I snort. “You’ll be carrying mine too, every fucking day, but I meant—”

She lands a smack on my chest. “I know what you meant. I’m dripping with a reminder right now.”

I take a handful of her tit and growl. “I meant, I’m your biggest champion, baby. You have a dream, a goal? I’m gonna get you there. I’m behind you.”

“Like you were a minute ago?”

I give her my best pearl-clutching gasp, grabbing my throat, mock-aghast. “Everything’s about sex with you, isn’t it? You’re just using me for my dick.”

She considers that with a tight smile. “Well, not quite. Your dick, your mouth, fingers and whatever else I can rub myself on in Colt Boone-town.”

“Good girl. I like you slutty for me. But, really, what would it take to make your dream happen?"

She's quiet for a long moment, and I can practically see her thinking. "Confidence, I guess. Experience. Maybe some lessons to get my voice stronger."

"We can make that happen."

"Colt, you don't understand. It's not just about the music. I have Legend to think about, and—"

"And he deserves a mother who chases her dreams," I say firmly. "He deserves to see that it's possible to want something and go after it."

Tears prick her eyes. "You really think I could do it?"

"Baby girl, I think you could do anything you set your mind to. And now I’m here, so, bonus."

She settles against me with a soft sigh, and I think she's asleep when she speaks again.

"I know you love me too. You don't have to say it yet."

Smart girl.

We fall asleep in each other’s arms, and I don’t ever want to be anywhere else.

The smoke is everywhere.

I can't see through it, can barely breathe through the mask that should be protecting me but feels like it's suffocating me instead. The heat is overwhelming, pressing against me from all sides, and somewhere in the distance I can hear screaming.

"Help me!" The voice is young, terrified.

I stumble through the hallway, checking room after room, but they're all empty. Just smoke and fire and the terrible knowledge that I'm running out of time.

"Help me!"

The voice comes from somewhere to my left, and I change direction, following the sound. But every time I think I'm getting closer, it seems to move further away.

"I'm coming!" I shout. "Keep calling!"

But the voice is fading, and the smoke is getting thicker, and I know I'm too late. I'm always too late.

"Colt."

The voice is different now. Softer. Familiar.

"Colt, wake up."

I surface from sleep like a drowning man breaking water, gasping and disoriented. Emery is sitting beside me, her hand on my chest, her face creased with concern.

"You were having a nightmare," she says quietly.

I'm covered in sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs. The taste of smoke lingers in my mouth even though I know it's not real.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not." She shifts closer, her touch gentle but insistent. "You were calling out, trying to help someone."

I go rigid. "You don't want to know about that."

"Yes, I do." Her hand moves to my face, thumb stroking across my cheek. "I want to know everything about you."

"Emery—"

"Please." Her voice is soft, pleading. "Let me help."

And maybe it's the way she's looking at me, or maybe it's the fact that I'm tired of carrying this weight alone, but I find myself wanting to tell her everything.

But I can't. Not yet. Not when we're finally here, finally together like this.

"Just job stuff," I say finally, my voice rough. "Side effects of the work. Some things you can't shake."

The guilt sits heavy in my chest. Four years of carrying the weight of failing to save her best friend, and she doesn't even know. Doesn't know that the girl in the photo on her side table is the reason I wake up in cold sweats.

"I understand," she says softly, and something in her voice tells me she does. "We all have things from the past that follow us around."

I want to ask what she means, but I don't. Can't. Because asking her questions means opening doors I'm not ready to walk through. Not tonight, when she's soft and warm in my arms, when everything feels perfect.

"Yeah," I murmur instead, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "We do."

We lie there in the darkness, her holding me while I fight to get my breathing back under control. Eventually, the nightmare fades, replaced by the warmth of her body and the scent of her skin.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"For what?"

"For not running when you saw how fucked up I am."

"You're not fucked up." Her arms tighten around me. "You're human. You carry too much weight, but that doesn't make you broken."

I want to believe her. Want to think that maybe she's right, that maybe I don't have to carry this guilt forever.

"Sleep," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "I've got you."

For the first time in four years, I do.