took Cary’s hand, lacing my fingers through his. Because I was falling, right?
I was totally falling in love with this man.
And you know what? I’d changed my mind about fighting it. Or avoiding it. Or promising myself not to do it.
Maybe I was drunk right now… but wasn’t it a better idea to fall head-over-heels in love with him instead, and live happily-ever-after together?
Yeah.
Much, much better plan.
Chapter Twenty
Cary
Everything Is Automatic
Take that and get some sleep.
I woke up in a cold sweat. I was covered in it. The pillowcase was soaked through beneath my head.
Stay here in my room so no one knows where you are.
I rolled onto my other side, trying not to wake Taylor. I was in bed with her in the poolhouse and the nightmare was fresh, like I’d just stepped out of it. Like it was there in the next room. Like if I got up now, in the dusky dawn light, I’d find him sitting in the chair in the living room, smiling at me.
I love you, brother.
I dreamt about it often. About the last time I ever saw him. I still had the dream, at least once a month or so. But I never dreamed about him more than I did on this day. On this fucking day.
My birthday.
I flipped the wet pillow over, then flopped into it. I rubbed my hand over my face and wondered if I could fall back asleep. If I wanted to risk another nightmare. Or just get up and get on with this fucking day.
Neither. I didn’t want to do either of those things.
I should’ve known this time it would be no different. Even with Taylor at my side.
This was always, always a very bad week for me.
We’d spent the last six days in and out of the studio, as usual. Working. Eating. Going for jogs. Together. Taylor even got me doing yoga with her, as threatened.
We swam in the pool.
We had sex.
We talked and listened to music and laughed.
Everything was a distraction. I’d managed to barely think about it.
Barely think about Gabe.
But the nightmare would find me when I fell asleep. After he died, I’d barely slept for months. I couldn’t stand to see him in my dreams.
Turn off your phone. I’ll wake you up in time for dinner.
It was the worst day of my life: the last birthday I celebrated with him. Because it held my last happy memories of him. The day before I said those words, and then failed him.
It was the worst fucking week of my life, playing out again and again.
So much shit happened this week.
No. I had to stop and remind myself: it already happened. It was all in the past.
I was born.
Gabe died.
Joseph Fetterman, the man who was held legally responsible for his death, died, too.
All history.
But my birthday, it just kept coming, year after year, to remind me.
And all I could do was try to focus on something else. Try not to fall apart, as my best friend’s last words to me would replay, over and over, in my head.
I love you, brother.
He trusted me.
He counted on me, like I counted on him.
That was the part I could never quite see when he was alive. Could never quite see past all my own shit to understand how much he needed me, just like I needed him.
He trusted me, and I let him down.
“Hey.” Taylor’s hand slipped over my hip. Her body shifted as she pressed against my back. She felt warm and soft and inviting, and I practically shuddered with sudden need. It was all consuming, like smothering flames, as the goosebumps rippled across my body.
Someone’s walking over your grave.
That’s what Gabe used to say when I got those strange goosebumps as I overheated, just before a panic attack. When I told him I had nightmares about performing onstage, and about the cold sweat that accompanied the dreams. When I got those hot/cold chills, as the anxiety threatened to pull me under.
Someone’s walking over your grave, man. It’s just the clock ticking.
It was his way of reminding me that one day I’d die, so right now I should live while I could. Fear and anxiety be damned.
We’ll sleep when we’re dead.
I rolled toward her in the dusky light and reached for her. I saw her full, bruised-looking lips. The dark, layered depths of her eyes. Tidal pools. Shadows stirring in the deep. Restless things with too many questions, wanting answers, unable to forget.
Some things just wouldn’t die, even when you