I try to move. To sit up. To get out. Something pulls me back—wires, tape, tubes. A monitor squeals.
What’s real?
I flail. Pain explodes behind my ribs. I cry out, a raw, fractured sound that barely escapes. My skin sticks to the sheets, and I want to crawl out of it—out of this body, this room, this nightmare.
I need a shower. I need to breathe. I need to go back to—
To where?
My eyes flutter open. It takes effort, like my lashes weigh a thousand pounds. White walls. Blistering lights. Machines blinking beside my bed. That endless beeping. I’m in a hospital.
The word slams into my chest like a freight train. My ribs ache with every breath. My skull pulses in time with my heart. Something clips my finger. An IV pulls at my arm. I am not in control of my own body. And that terrifies me more than anything.
What happened to me? The dream—the checkout, the gum, the laughter—was a lie. A trick of a mind trying to protect itself. Something darker stirs underneath.
Screaming. Fighting. Hands.
A man—not a man. A doctor who wasn’t a doctor.
Did I dream him too?
What’s real?
My pulse spikes. My skin is damp.
Braden.
I need to find him. I need to tell him I’m here. I need to hear his voice. Feel his hand in mine.
A creak. The door. Footsteps.
I drag my eyes open again. It hurts. Everything hurts.
But then—hewalks in.
Tall.
Messy black hair.
Tattoos spill over strong arms.
A vending machine coffee in one hand, a phone in the other.
LOVE and HATE inked across his knuckles.
A dark, sharp rose blooming on the back of his hand.
And his eyes—God, his eyes.
Electric blue. Familiar. Devastating.
He sees me. And everything in him stills.
His body freezes like he’s seen a ghost.
LikeI’mthe ghost.
But I don’t know him. And yet…I feel like I should.
