Page 75 of Rescue

“I’m sorry,” I say, determined to ignore those words. It’s a common enough refrain in my head, and certainly nothing good has ever come from indulging it.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” she says, and she seems to be warming up because she’s no longer visibly shaking. “Lennon, what just happened?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I had a nightmare.”

“But you freaked outafteryou woke up.”

“I know.” I have no idea how to explain what I just experienced. What I was pretty sure I remembered about that day my brothers went to catch frogs. Because it didn’t make any sense. Why would my mother taking me to run an errand end that way? Me in a hospital bed, my dad crying and saying the same words over and over.You’re okay now.

I was never in the hospital as a little kid. Never had my tonsils out or broke a bone or any of the other dumb kid stuff that happened to my brothers. I’ve spent my fair share of nights in a hospital bed in the last few years, the product of my own stupid decisions, but never as a kid.

Right?

“Lennon?” Haylee asks, shaking my shoulder a little. “I’m scared. Should I call Reed—?”

“No.”

“Your dad? I mean, has this ever happened before?”

Has it happened before? Have little bits and pieces of dreams come back to me in those few suspended moments between sleep and waking? Is that what I was feeling all those times something seemed to be fighting to break loose in my brain? Were those memories?

“That dream really shook me up,” I say, forcing my voice to be calm. Because if I let myself get upset right now, if I let myself think about this, I’m going to lose it.

If those are memories trying to break through, I know only one thing—I don’t want to remember.

“I think I wasn’t really awake yet,” I say. “So it made me jumpy.”

“That was more than jumpy.”

“Can we just lie down?” I ask, and it occurs to me that I’m not meeting her eyes. “I just want to go back to sleep.”

“Lennon—”

“Please, Haylee.”

She sighs, and it’s a long moment before she relents. “Okay.”

I collapse back into my pillow, pulling the sheets smooth over my legs. Haylee unwraps the quilt from around her shoulders and spreads it over us both, resuming her place in my arms. For the first time since we met, I’m barely aware of the fact that I’m touching her.

I feel numb.

“I wish you would tell me what you dreamed about,” she says in the darkness.

“I’d rather not think about it. Maybe some other time. I really just want to sleep now.”

She presses a kiss into my shoulder, her hand warm on my chest. I can feel its pressure, but that’s all. There’s no warmth, no spark. Nothing.

“Then sleep well.”

“You too.”

I don’t know how much time passes before her breathing evens out and I can be sure she’s asleep. I only know that I’m awake for it, just like I’m awake for the sun rising a few hours later. In fact, I don’t sleep again all night.