Page 52 of In All My Dreams

“He didn’t tell you?” Mr. Foster asks with a twisted sneer on his face. “My smart, successful doctor of a son is currently avoiding his duties to play housewife with you. The minute Lydia called you, he decided to take a leave of absence to focus solely on making sure your father got better, not that he’s done much of that. Now have you, boy? Link has only gotten worse since you decided to stay here and care for him.”

I look back and forth between Ian and his father. I feel like I’m stuck in a riptide of aggression as they stare each other down.

“I’m sure Ian is doing everything he can to make sure my father gets well,” I finally say, my tone soft but firm. “As well as the team of doctors he currently has at the hospital with him now.”

Mr. Foster takes a step toward Ian, and his shoulders rise in an almost threatening manner. “Be that as it may. Maybe one of them will take his case seriously and actually figure out what’s wrong with the man since clearly it’s above my son’s pay grade when you’re around,” Mr. Foster says menacingly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back home to my wife. She came home in such a mood this evening. I wonder why that is?” He raises an eyebrow at his son before tipping his head my way. “Good night, Peaches. Maybe we will get to have that chat tomorrow sometime, if you can manage to escape this one for more than five minutes at a time, that is.”

He stares menacingly down at his son until Ian finally moves out of the doorframe. They are roughly the same height, but Mr. Foster is built much thicker and stockier from working on the oil rigs his entire life.

But I’ve never been scared of Ian or uneasy around him the way I am around his father.

I’m more scared of him shredding my heart all over again like he did all those years ago.

Ian stares after his father until Mr. Foster disappears down the staircase and out of sight before he looks back toward me. A strained smile tugs on his lips as he runs his hands through his hair in a frustrated manner.

“Are we still on for our library date?” I ask nervously. “I completely understand if you want to call it a night after that whole awkward encounter.” I look down at my feet, toeing the plush carpet while I wait anxiously for his answer.

Ian steps into the room, shutting the door behind him calmly. I look up, expecting that strained smile. Instead, I’m met with my favorite smile.

My smile.

“My dad is many things,” Ian says, his voice low and husky. “But he is nowhere near as important as you.” He reaches up and strokes my cheek softly. “In no world would I let him ruin our quote-unquote date.”

I’m fairly certain it’s my own smile that lights up the room this time.

23

Ian

Now

The smile on Georgia’s face nearly ruins me. The vulnerability, the trust, and the obvious joy that beams back at me are enough to chase all the dark shadows that my father’s unwanted presence has left behind.

It’s just her and I—us.

After that horrible lecture my father gave me yesterday, hisinsistingthat I grill Georgia and ask her why she’s really here because there’s no way that she’s here tojustvisit her ill father...

The last thing I want is to have his negativity and unapproval surrounding this moment with her.Anymoment with her.

“Why don’t we just talk in here instead of in the library?” Georgia suggests, her lips pulling into a smile I can’t quite make out.

Is she nervous to be alone with me all of a sudden? Did my father say more to her than the few lines I overheard as I checked on Auden one last time across the hall before coming to this room to escort Georgia to the library?

Not that she needs an escort. She’s tough as nails and can take down a linebacker when she’s upset enough. She’s tackled me to the ground enough times in our childhood for me to know that she doesn’t need to be protected from whateverlivingthings lurk in the night.

She’s the bravest person I’ve ever met, until it comes toher.

I’ve vowed to protect Georgia in any way I could from her mother’s spirit ever since the first time she saw her mother’s ghost in the office all those years ago. And while I’ve never seen the ghost of Caroline, I believe Georgia, and I know it’s my fault she’s still being tormented decades later.

“Oh, come on, get out of your head and sit with me,” Georgia says in her sassy take-no-shit way. “I want to read more of my mother’s diary.”

I watch as she gets herself comfortable on the sofa, tugging the blue blanket from the edge of the messy bed across from her into her lap. The diary in her hands almost disappears in a heap on her lap because the diary and blanket are the same dark shade ofblue. She raises an eyebrow at me and pats the open spot next to her on the couch.

“Come on, Ian. I won’t bite,” she teases, all uneasiness and nervousness that tainted the room moments before dissipating completely as I cross the room and take my spot next to her. She hands the diary to me with a sly smile.

“Yeah, yeah, woman,” I mutter. “Don’t rush me.” I can’t help the stupid grin that takes over my face. It’s impossible to control it when I’m around her. “Okay,” I say, flipping through the pages carefully. “Where did we leave off?”

“There’s a ribbon somewhere.” Georgia leans over me, and I give her a puzzled look. “You know, like a bookmark? Diaries typically have slim ribbons to mark the spot in the book,” she says as she reaches and grabs the bottom of the diary, bringing it closer to her face until she spots said ribbon and opens the diary to the correct entry. Her perfume smells like lavender and vanilla, all mixed in one.

---