Page 189 of The Spider & the Storm

I wasn't ready to face him, even if only in my dreams, yet I couldn't take my eyes off him as I reached out to grab our mom's favorite spatula from the kitchen utensil holder. I handed it back to him, noting the way my hand shook. Why was I scared of him? Why did I wish it'd been someone else? Did I think he wasmadat me?

“Thanks, man.” He looked at the pan before quickly swinging his gaze back up to my widened eyes. “Can you stop looking at me like that? Jesus. You're giving me the fuckin' creeps.”

I blinked rapidly and diverted my gaze to nothing in particular. “S-sorry. I just, um …”

“Didn't expect to see me cooking? Yeah, well, believe it or not, prison has a way of building skills you didn't have before.So, basically, what I'm saying is”—he spread his arms out and gestured toward his chest—“I'm a domestic god now.”

I leaned against the counter, gripping the ledge tightly to keep myself steady, and fixed my eyes on the sizzling pan as he continued scrambling the eggs. “Um, w-well—”

“Charlie, listen.” Luke turned the burner off and pulled a plate from the cabinet above the stove. The eggs were dumped unceremoniously onto the dish, and the pan was dropped back onto the stovetop with a clatter. Then, he grabbed a fork from beside me on the counter and pointed it in my direction. “Neither of us knows how much time you have here, so we can't waste it with you tripping over your freakin' tongue, okay?”

“H-here?” I shook my head, furrowing my brow. “The hell are you talking about? I'm dreaming. This is a dream, and—”

“Sure, sure, right. Whatever you gotta tell yourself. Come on.” He gestured for me to follow him. “Walk with me.”

Luke hurried past me with his eggs and into the dining room, where he pulled out his usual chair and plopped down. I slowly rounded the table to my place across from his as he shook the salt and pepper shakers vigorously over his eggs, and just as I was about to sit, he cursed angrily and dropped his fork to the table.

With a jolt, I asked, “W-what?”

“Forgot the fuckin' ketchup.” He glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen, then back at me. “Hey, you're still up. You wanna grab it for me?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

There was something off about this dream. Something strange about this interaction. It was so real, sonormal. Thefloor was solid beneath my feet, and the ketchup bottle was cool in my hand as I pulled it from the fridge. The eggs on Luke's plate smelled as real as those I cooked for Stormy and myself on a nearly daily basis, and he was everything I remembered him to be. If I hadn't known better, I would've thought I wasn't dreaming at all. Like I'd jumped into a time machine somewhere and taken a trip back to eight years ago, before Luke was arrested and changed our lives forever—again.

As I stared at him, taking a heaping bite of his eggs, now covered in ketchup, I wished so badly I weren't dreaming.

With his mouth full, he looked up at me and pinched his thick brows. “What?”

I swallowed the need to cry before saying, “I'm just really glad to see you.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, jabbing his fork into the eggs. “I'm glad to see you too. I've missed you.”

“I've missed you too.”

He shook his head as he took another bite. “But listen, I don't want you to blame yourself for not coming back, okay? You didn't break any promises to me. You had said, when you got your head on straight, you'd come back, and you did. You just didn’t know I was already gone.” He snorted as he chewed before breaking out into a bubbling chuckle. “Okay, let's be real here. That chick … Stormy?Sheput your head on straight. But …” He pointed at me, wagging his finger. “Youlether. That's the important thing. You didn't run away.”

“She didn't either,” I replied quietly.

“Yeah, I knew she wouldn't,” he muttered beneath his breath, smirking to himself as he shoveled another forkful into his mouth.

I reared my head back. “What?”

“Oh, come on, Charlie,” he said, laughing. “After everything you know now, you really think that was all you and her?”

I slumped against the back of my chair. “I don't—”

“You're killing me here.” He wiped his hands against his pants as he sat back and pinned me with an amused glare. “Thewind, man. Anytime you were, like, second-guessing shit or ready to turn her down, there was the wind, blowing and nudging you toward her. And the fuckin’birds. I know you noticed the fucking—”

“I have no—”

“Oh, bullshit.” He laughed boisterously, crossing his arms and grinning like he'd never been happier. Fuck, it made me feel happy too. “Youknew, Charlie. Don't tell me you didn't. You knew all along something was up. You knew I was gone, and you knew I was there”—he cast his arm out, gesturing the entire room—“everywhere. You didn't want to admit it; you didn't want tosayit, not even to yourself, but …” He leaned toward the table, folding his arms against its surface. His eyes met mine with more sympathy than I thought I could bear. “You knew. You always knew.”

There wasn't a question anywhere in his voice, nothing but facts, and I was drowning, fighting the urge to gasp for air as I stared into his eyes. Too afraid to look away. Too afraid he'd disappear. Too afraid of being without him in this godforsaken house for another second.

“Remember, I know you, Charlie,” he said quietly. “I don't lie to you, and you don't lie to me. Right?”

I was aware of every muscle in my throat shifting as I swallowed before croaking, “Right.”

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