Page 80 of Make Me Dream of You

There’s no way.

But the feeling picks at the base of my skull and everything else starts clicking into place. Like a puzzle I didn’t even realize was in front of me the whole time. All the things I hadn’t given much thought to before. They’re the same age, their birthdays are both this weekend, they both just graduated college and moved back to Washington.

The odds of them being—no, it’s too far-fetched.

But still, I take my phone out as soon as I close the door behind me. Frantically thumbing to the app and back through our messages, back to the picture she sent me.

God, she’s beautiful. Perfect. Familiar.

I was more than a bit preoccupied with other thoughts when she sent it. Not to mention all the blood going to one extremity in particular. Maybe that’s why I didn’t see it. It didn’t even cross my mind. From the curve of her hips to the size of her breasts, the amount of softness in her belly and thighs—Livvy.

I zoom in on the picture, focusing on the hips. The spot is covered by her white panties, but I keep zooming until I can’t anymore.

And there it is. Right above the waistband—the tiniest sliver of a curved black line inked into her skin. It’s nothing, really. There’s no way to tell what the tattoo is or if there is a matching one on the other side because of how her body is turned.

Anyone looking at the photo would say it’s proof of nothing—and I would agree—if I weren’t the one who’d done the tattoo myself.

CHAPTER 15

LIVVY

Bex has already dozed off. It only took minutes, every once in a while letting out a soft snore.

I’m glad she’s resting. I know I’m the one who almost drowned, but she went through it, too. She cried the whole time the paramedics were checking me out. Her eyes were still red and swollen at the hospital. She was exhausted.

She’s always been my protector, getting in trouble multiple times for punching kids on the playground. Our parents labeled her the troublemaker, the hellion, the difficult one from an early age. She allowed me to be the sweet one, the quiet one, the perfect daughter. An angel.

But what my parents never knew—or, rather, never cared to know—is that she only ever punched kids who were bullying me. She might have been a little liberal in her definition of bullying, but she’s always looked after me. It’s been her and me, together, always.

Especially after the divorce.

She’s really the angel here. My guardian angel.

I let her sleep and grab my book to read, sliding in next to her.

A hard knock comes at the door.

Bex groans.

“Livvy, can I come in?” Noah says from the other side.

“No. Go away,” Bex yells. “We’re sleeping.”

“I really need to talk to you, Liv. Like, now.”

“It can wait,” Bex says, before I’m able to speak up.

There’s silence from behind the door, and then he says, “No.”

Tension twists between my shoulder blades.

“You can come in,” I say.

“Ugh.” Bex shoves her pillow over her face as he opens the door.

He clears his throat, filling up the doorway. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

“Fuck off,” Bex says, muffled under the pillow.

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