My hands are on my lap, and Bobby’s fingers briefly intertwine with mine, squeezing gently. His fingers are smooth, not rough like a certain other someone’s. And his touch may be soft, but it’s not careful or tender. His skin is warm, though it’s not the kind of heat that makes my body tingle from contact alone. When I glance up at him, he looks over and smiles. It’s innocent, friendly, yet there’s something deeper in his eyes I know I can’t match. I smile back but wiggle my hand out of his grasp, using my long hair as an excuse as I pull it back from my face, twisting it and wrapping it over my right shoulder.

I clear my throat, realizing we’re entering Ashwick Inn’s guest parking lot. “Thanks for dinner.”

He nods, putting the truck into park and cutting the engine before turning his full attention to me. “I had a good time, Lou.”

It takes me a minute to respond, but I’m sincere when I do. “Me too, Bobby.”

The silence spreads, him staring at me and me itching to squirm in my seat again. I take a deep breath. I don’t want to hurt him, especially not when he’s sobering up and pulling himself together like this. Maybe a part of me doesn’t want to completely lose him either. But I’m being selfish, and it’ll hurt him more in the end if I don’t set things straight. Just when I open my mouth to speak, he unlocks his door, stepping into the darkness and strolling around the truck.

I unbuckle and hop out before he reaches me, not needing another act of chivalry to feel guilty about. I know I shouldn’t feel guilty, or like I owe him, for any of this evening—he was right when he said he has years to make up for. That doesn’t make it any less weird for me, though.

This is a side of Bobby I haven’t seen in a long, long time.

He pulls open the inn’s front door for me, and neither of us speak as he leads me up the three flights of stairs. I stop when I get to my door, not wanting to unlock it yet in case he thinks I’m inviting him in. I can tell he wants to say something from the way he’s looking down at me, but when he still doesn’t speak, I start first.

“Look, Bobby—”

“Don’t say it, Lou.”

“But—”

He shakes his head, taking my hand in his. “We had a good time, right?”

I swallow, giving a small nod.

“Then let’s leave it at that. It doesn’t need to be complicated.”

He says that, but at the same time, he’s leaning in. It’s such a slow, natural movement that I don’t know if he’s even aware he’s doing it. I cut my eyes away, glancing at my door and clearing my throat. “Bobby . . .”

He keeps my right hand in his and brings his free hand up to my face, brushing back some strands of my hair. “I’ve missed you so much, Lou.”

There’s pain behind his voice, making it crack. I nod again and say softly, “I know.”

After a long moment of silence, he drops both his hands and takes a step away. “Can I come back sometime? See you again?”

If I thought seeing him unkempt, zoned out, and reeking of beer was hard, it’s got nothing on this. The mixture of hope, hurt, and longing is written everywhere on his face. He may not be my boyfriend anymore, but I still care about him. His well-being, his sobriety.

Finally, I answer, “Of course you can.”

He lets out a long, deep breath and takes another step back. A small smile starts to spread. “See you later, then.”

I smile back and nod.

“Well, all right.” This time I get a full-blown, signature Bobby grin, goofiness and all, just before he turns and makes his way back toward the stairwell.

Alone in the quiet hall, I take a minute to pull myself together. Confusion, longing, grief, loneliness—with all the conflicted emotions bubbling inside me right now, I’m feeling one small step away from fucked up. Half of me wants to lock myself in my room with a bottle of vodka to lose myself in, while the other half wants to yank Bobby in there with me so I don’t spend another Sunday night alone.

Both halves sound like losers, so instead I open the door and lock myself inside before I find myself at the liquor store or back in Bobby’s truck.

I strip out of the uncomfortable, barely-there dress and change into jammies. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I numbly walk toward the oversized bed and slip beneath the covers.

The tick-tock of a grandfather clock, the outside wind’s tug and pull rattling the window, the emptiness filling the room.

I don’t even know why I’m crying when the tears start to fall, running down my cheeks and onto the white pillow beneath my head. Just like last Sunday, and the two before that, I can’t turn it off. Maybe allowing myself only one day a week to cry isn’t enough. It flows and flows like endless rain, with nothing but the saltiness on my lips and the quiet quivers of my body to remind me I’m feeling anything at all.

When that soothing warmth appears out of thin air, I stop. Glance around. I can’t see him this time, but I know he’s here.

It’s the strangest thing, but he calms me in a way I don’t think I’ve ever experienced. He shouldn’t have such an effect on me, I know this. It goes against all of my instincts—the ones that tell me I should fear him. Especially after what happened earlier today. Whatever that was.

It doesn’t matter what logic screams, I can’t deny the connection I feel to him. It’s deep in my chest, a soothing caress over the hole that usually aches there. His presence, it’s not invasive, not demanding. There’s no pressure, no expectations, no prompting. My breathing calms, my body stills. In and out, one breath at a time, until my stiff shoulders relax into the mattress.

I close my eyes and drift away.

The searing pain is what hits me first. My eyes dart down toward a nasty gash above my chest. A thick piece of glass sticks out of my skin, but I tear my gaze away before I can get too caught up in it.

Damn, it hurts.

There’s a small body in my arms, my bare feet trudging through slimy mud with each step I take across the farm. The body squirms against me until a familiar face angles upward to meet my eyes. I swallow hard, trying to ignore little Tommy’s torn up clothes, the fresh burn marks on his stomach.

“You gotta put me down,” he wheezes, cringing when his T-shirt rubs one of the wounds. “Put me down. I can probably walk better than you right now.”

“Hush up, Tommy. I’m fine.” I’m panting, but relief fills my mind when I catch a glimpse of the garden. “See, we’re almost there now.”

We sneak around the back of the garden, as always, and I pray the shed’s unlocked when I reach for its handle. Thankfully it opens on the first try. I wince as I carefully lower Tommy onto the dusty cot, then turn to him with a questioning look. He nods, and I don’t waste any time before stumbling back outside, picking a small handful of rosemary from the garden and setting it on the neighbor’s window ledge as practiced.

We all know the drill. Now all he and I have to do is wait.

I head back to the shed, weakly collapsing beside my little brother. “See now?” I hear myself whisper, my eyes heavy as I rest my head against the hard wall. “We’ll be good and fixed up in no time. Nothing at all to worry about.”

I’m breathing heavily when I wake, clutching the blanket against me. Are they going to be okay? Is their neighbor someone who can help them? I squeeze my eyes closed, reminding myself to take a deep breath.

Stop it, Lou. It isn’t real.

No one is hurt.

It’s just a dream.

Go back to sleep.