Page 23 of Only in Your Dreams

“What’s happening here?”

“Connor… Well, if you insist on knowing, Connor used to dress me.”

“Excuse me?”

She lets a breath rattle through her teeth. “He liked to buy me clothes. Really nice, really expensive clothes. As a gift. I can’t remember the last thing I picked out for myself.”

“Why?”

Her gaze drifts to the roof of the tent, still being pummeled by heavy rain. Thank God I had the sense to pack the waterproof one.

“He was always really sweet about it. Liked to spoil me with stuff.” She shrugs, and the nonchalance of it looks like it took some serious effort. “But now that I’m… you know. Seeing it for what it is? I find I’m starting to overthink it all.”

And I’m starting to feel real fucking murderous over this guy. He was telling her how to dress?

I gather the entire pile of clothes I pulled from Brooks’s tent and lay it at her feet. Drop my own bag beside it.

“Then take your pick,” I tell her, sorting through my bag and brandishing a pair of clean boxer briefs. “Wear these on your head if you feel like it. Just get out of those clothes before you catch pneumonia.”

Her lips twitch. Just a tiny movement, like she was contemplating a smile that didn’t quite make it out. But it was there, and suddenly this entire shit show of a day feels worth the trouble. Melody reaches for the original sweater I offered and then tugs free a pair of Summer’s leggings from the pile.

I grab my own change of clothes and shuffle to the other end of the tent to change. Back turned, trying to block out the sound of her undressing over the rain. Eyes firmly averted.

This is the moment I realize I must have had the restraint of a god back then.

That must be it. Because I’m nowhere near as confident in my ability to keep my hands, my words, and my mouth to myself anymore. I don’t know whether it’s the years apart or the regret. It could even be the heightened emotion of our current circumstances, amplifying everything to a near breaking point.

It’s taking every bit of focus I have to resist the urge to turn around. Tell her everything. That I’m in with her, that I’ve always been in with her, and that I’d do whatever it takes to win her over. To gain her trust, her forgiveness.

I want to beg her for a chance. Or at least for the chance at having a chance.

“They have to come back for us, right?” Mel says suddenly.

I can’t resist a glance over my shoulder. Her head disappears into Brooks’s sweater, the fabric falling down her bare back.

Jesus Christ. I whip around again.

I pull on a fresh pair of sweats, and wait until I hear her settle back onto the air mattress before turning again.

“I told Brooks we were riding with Summer,” I say grimly. “And Summer wouldn’t have left unless she thought we were already gone with Brooks.”

Mel’s whole body deflates. “Parker’s not expecting us home until three days from now. There’s no cell service. We’re trapped here—that’s what you’re saying, right?”

I shuffle over to Brooks’s cooler and swing open the lid. “We have all the food and water we planned to eat this weekend. We’ll be okay for three days. Longer, by the looks of what Brooks decided to pack.”

“Maybe they’ll message each other in the morning,” she says hopefully. “Maybe they’ll figure it out.”

“Maybe,” I agree, though part of me doubts it. I could see one driver asking the other if they made it out alright, and if the answer’s yes on both ends…

I rummage inside the cooler. It’ll be impossible to get another fire going with how wet everything is out there, even if the rain stops. So all these eggs and meats are useless. But there’s enough bread, dry cereal, and granola bars to keep us afloat. Plus…

Jesus, Brooks.

This guy and his sweet tooth. He packed a full assortment of homemade cookies, muffins and danishes, enough to have fed the three other campsites surrounding us if they were still occupied. He always makes sure to bake dairy-free stuff for Parker’s sake, so Mel should be alright. I extract a massive bag of candy from the cooler, grimacing. The least he could have done was pack something better than gummy bears.

“I swear, I’m a good person,” Mel says quietly.

“What?” I say absently.

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