Page 74 of See You in Your Dreams

“Oh, hey Ash.” He gives me a brief squeeze and a peck on the lips before turning back to the stove.

I blink, staring at the back of his head.That’s…unexpected.I’ve never seen Dylan act so distracted around me before.

“Is…everything okay here?” I venture, glancing around for signs of anything threatening.

“Sorry, no time to talk right now.” He drops the ladle with a clatter and walks swiftly toward the living room. “Too many things to do.”

I hurry to keep up, my confusion mounting. “You know this is a dream, right?”

He plugs in a vacuum standing beside the wall and activates it, sweeping it over the carpets. “That’s no excuse to slack off!” he says, shouting to be heard over the vacuum’s dull roar.

“Dylan!”

I recognize Tommy’s voice, coming from the door to the garage. Dylan must’ve heard it too because he instantly switches off the vacuum and jogs to the kitchen. I continue to tail him, watching as he fetches a cold beer from the fridge.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, stepping in front of him. “Can you just stay still so we can talk?”

“In a minute,” he replies, stepping around me. “I need to get a few more things done first.”

I stand in the kitchen, staring after him as he enters the garage and hands his brother the beer with nothing but a grunt of thanks. Then, Dylan rushes past me back to the stove, continuing to stir. His frantic activity is beginning to give me a headache.

“This can’t wait,” I insist, grabbing his arm. “There’s something very wrong here. We need to—”

“Dylan! I need your help!”

This time the shout comes from deeper in the house. I hadn’t gone there the one time Dylan had me over, but I assume it’s where their bedrooms are.

“Just a sec, Pat!” Dylan calls. He gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry, Ash. I swear we’ll talk later.”

He tries to tug his arm out of my grasp, but I tighten my grip, firming my lips into a scowl. “No, Dylan. We’ll talknow.”

His eyes widen, his expression almost frantic. “Let go of me! I’ve got to go. Patrick needs me!”

Right on cue, his little brother calls again for help. Still, I don’t release my hold.

“Ineed you.” I wave my free hand about us. “None of this is real, Dylan. This is all some messed-up dream cooked up by your stressed mind and amplified by my power. I can wake us up, but only with your help.”

“You don’t understand.” His wide golden eyes bore into me as he continues to tug on his trapped arm. “I’m already behind enough as it is. Please, just let me go.”

I narrow my eyes. “No.”

“Dylan, sweetie?” His mom’s voice echoes from somewhere else in the house. “Have you finished cleaning the living room yet?”

“Dylan!” Tommy cries from the garage.

“Dylllaaan,” Patrick whines from his room.

The pot on the stove boils and hisses.

Dylan trembles, his muscles bunching, and for an instant, I think he’s about to take a swing at me. I brace myself for a fight, determined not to let him go no matter what it takes. I’ll drag him from this dream kicking and screaming if I have to.

Then, Dylan sags against me, any fight seeping out of him. His family’s insistent calls abruptly cease. “I have to keep working,” he murmurs defeatedly into the sudden quiet. “Ihaveto.”

“Why?” I demand.

“Because it’s the only way to prove I’m not worthless!”

His raw-throated scream catches me off-guard. He takes advantage of my surprise to wrench his arm free, but he doesn’t retreat, bowing his head.