Page 5 of A Love Song for Dreamers

“You’re back,” Icroak.

Annie turns and smiles, and the awful knot in my chest loosens a bit. “I went to class and picked up some supplies. Saw the nurse was here to change your bandage while I wasgone.”

I glance toward the table where a note the nurse left says just that. Without asking, Zeke hired her to check on me once a day in the hotel room he insisted on paying for “as long as Ineed.”

The fact that he’s keeping such a close eye is unsettling, but calling Zeke to demand why he’s still treating me like an investment given how far my stock has plummeted in the last two days feels low on my prioritylist.

Annie looks at home in tight jeans and bare feet, a sweater zipped up over her tank top because I cranked the air conditioning. Her hair is twisted up in a knot on her head, Annie’s method of keeping it out of her way when she’s got bigger things to worryabout.

She crosses to me, searching my face for signs of… I don’t know. Trauma. Depression. General fucked-up-ness.

I wish she’dstop.

“Nurse wanted to give me a sponge bath too.” I try for ajoke.

Annie’s gaze drags down my bare chest to where my sweatpants hang low on myhips.

“I told you I’d change the bandages for you.” There’s concern in her voice but also a note of something that makes my dicktwitch.

“Nah. Then my girlfriend wouldn’t get alljealous.”

“Do I look jealous?” She tilts her head, lipscurving.

“Yeah. You do.” I reach for her with my good hand. It still takes conscious effort not to move the other one, but I grab her waist and tug her againstme.

Her cool palms flatten against my chest. She’s a reminder not everything in this world is upsidedown.

Annie tips her face up for a kiss, but I turn away at the last second. “Ah. Forgot to brush my teeth. Be rightback.”

I head into the bathroom and reach for mytoothbrush.

Last night was my first full night out of the hospital, and Annie refused to sleep next to me, afraid to risk grabbing myarm.

But she wouldn’t sleep at the dorms, either, instead opting for the pull-out couch in my hotelroom.

She’s been glued to my side since I got out of the hospital, but I haven’t told hereverything.

Like the fact that I can’t stop thinking about thatnight.

It happened so fast, but when I replay it, it’s slow. All the things I could’ve done. Should’vedone.

All the different ways we could’ve gottenhome.

Shoving it away doesn’t work, so I’ve tried starting the memory earlier, at the musical I took her to or in the bar when I gave her thatring.

The problem is it feels as if those memories are getting fuzzier and further away and the ones in the dark alley are getting sharper andcloser.

A knock on the suite door outside as I finish brushing my teeth has my ears perkingup.

“I’m here with reinforcements.” Beck’s cheerful voice echoes from the other room, and I step toward the barely open bathroom door to listen. “Malestrippers.”

Annie laughs, the first time I’ve heard her laugh since the hospital. It makes my chesthurt.

“How ishe?”

“The pain seems moremanageable.”

“That’s not what Imean.”

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