TWENTY-EIGHT
Colby
I woke up to see my nightmare staring back at me. Oh, who was I kidding? He was a walking dream, an Adonis who was staring back at me like I was a complete stranger, which was silly, since he was my best friend’s brother.
And I was completely in love with him.
Had been for years, the only man I saw when I thought about my forever. Too bad he hated me. I mean, it wasn’t like I meant to spill wine all over him or annoy the crap out of him.
Something in the back of my mind told me that he really did love me, that he always had. The way he held my hand was so familiar, like we’d just been doing it a day ago. I knew I should remember, but couldn’t.
I knew Monica wasn’t here and couldn’t be.
I knew something was wrong, and this was Rip, my Rip. He’d said so, when was that? A few days ago? Last year?
Tears of frustration ran down my cheeks.
“I feel like shit,” I admitted, staring down at the fresh bandages on my arm and legs and trying to ignore my headache. “I’m confused but know I shouldn’t be. Somehow you look worse than I do.” I narrowed my eyes against the sting of tears that threatened to fall.
He swallowed slowly, his eyes glassy as he reached for my hand. “Are you in pain? Do you need a nurse?”
“No, they have me pretty high on morphine right now. Apparently I saved a little girl and her mom… I don’t remember much about what I did, but the doctor that’s on shift said it was going to be on the news, some sort of miracle, I guess.” I started to feel even worse when he suddenly burst into sobs and laid his head down on my bed.
I don’t know what possessed me, the old me would have never done this, but I yearned for him. For what we had, even though I was confused about how I was so certain. It’s like my body knew. My soul agreed, and my heart couldn’t help but love him even if nothing in that moment made sense. I reached out with my good hand and ran my fingers through his hair.
It was familiar and then it wasn’t.
Had I touched his hair before in my dreams? Or was this something real? It felt real in that moment, just like his touch, his tears, just like the death of my friends, which I remembered with sudden clarity, as if it had just happened.
I kept doing it, because it was feeling more and more familiar, and then he moved, pulling me gently into his arms.
“You were right,” he whispered. “I should have grieved.”
“Grieved? Rip, I’m fine.” I almost asked him if I should call Brooks or Monica, then remembered, they weren’t here, were they?
“Just let me hold you for a while.”
“You hate me.”
“I love you,” he fired back. “I’ve always loved you.”
My heart slammed against my chest as goose bumps rose all over my body.
“It’s never been hate,” he whispered against my neck, causing chills to run down my spine. “It’s fear. It’s fear of letting go, losing control, it’s fear that something’s going to happen to you, so yes I scold you, yes I get angry, but the anger just masks the pain, Colby. It masks the guilt that my parents aren’t alive, and it masks the guilt that—that—”
“How’s our patient doing?” the doctor on shift, something Jennings, swept into the room and stood behind Rip. “I just need to check her really quick, sir.”
Rip didn’t budge.
“Sir?”
“I’m not letting her fucking go.” He gritted his teeth and held on tighter like he was afraid of losing me.
“Sir, please don’t make me get security, I need to check on my patient. I promise you can stay here the entire time.”
“Rip, it’s OK,” I soothed him, trying to grapple with my own emotions coursing through me and the memories hitting me full force of our life, of almost losing what we’d finally found.
Finally he moved away and glared at the doctor. Ah, that was the Rip I remembered.