Dark eyes. Dark hair.

It’s a shadow. No, a man. An angel?

It’s coming closer, floating, steadily closing the gap of blue-black water between us. The silhouette becomes clearer, revealing the definite form of a man. The edges of his large frame are blurred, almost convincing enough to be a dream. Still, I know the truth.

I’m dying . . . if I’m not already dead.

I can feel my life wasting away with each second, disconnecting me from my frozen heart. Something’s tugging at me, calling my name. A magnetic force trying to yank me away from my body.

The closer he gets, the stronger the pull.

I don’t know why I fight it—after everything I’ve lost, everyone who’s already left and won’t be waiting for me to come back. Still, I tug, twist, and writhe, struggling to free myself from the mental hold he has over me.

He’s too strong; I’m a tiny puff of smoke going up against a wall of stone. Though hardness masks the man himself, there’s a vibrating warmth in his pull. The invisible thread roping me toward him may as well be made of sunlight. It’s a sweet, sugary sensation, reminding me of the comforting caress I used to feel as a child, when Grams would tuck me in and stroke my hair.

I want to be wrapped up inside it and coddled, lulled into a blissful sleep.

He’s here, right in front of me, heat radiating from his body to mine. His eyes—cloudy pools of grey and black—finally meet mine. I don’t care that the irises are cold, empty. There’s something enchanting on the outskirts that beckons me.

And I know I will follow him anywhere.

Until out of nowhere, something shifts; I can feel it in his withering hold on me. I can see it in his eyes, tinges of green sparking behind the grey, and he pulls back, away from me. It’s only an inch or two, but it hurts. I need to be close to him, whoever he is. I’m supposed to go with him.

Why does he pull away?

He snaps his gaze from mine and gives his head a small shake. His approach halts. I’m hanging at the tip of his invisible thread, desperate for the wall he’s putting up to shatter so I can climb over and join him. It’s inexplicable, this sudden force drawing me to him, yet I can’t fight it. Don’t want to fight it.

Finally, he brings his gaze back to mine, and I notice the green in his eyes has almost overtaken the grey. My stare is fixed, nothing can make me look away. He’s closing the space between us again, parts of him as hazy as a distant dream while other parts are vivid. When his lips touch mine, they’re surprisingly soft and warm. He’s sealed my mouth with his, a kiss and yet not a kiss at all; cool air pours into me, traveling down my throat and filling my lungs. With a sharp inhale, I’m soaking up as much of it as I can get, devouring all that he gives me until I start to tingle.

His pull wavers, the invisible thread loosening its grip on me. A strong beat plays in my chest, and a flutter runs down my spine. My body is reclaiming me. With every new sensation, every spark of an awaking muscle, the man before my eyes fades into a distant memory. Thick strands of dark, almost black hair blend in with the lake’s deep blue, creating a swirl of inky colors around him, within him. He’s less real now, like a trick of the light, and I wonder . . . if I was to reach out and touch him, this man, this angel, would my hand run right through?

It’s so bright. White and yellow lights make my dry eyes water, and I squeeze them shut.

Where the hell am I?

I force my eyelids open and brave the brightness. I’m squinting, trying to shield them, and it helps.

There’s a white ceiling above me. My eyes shift to the right, and I see a plain, large window, the source of the penetrating sunshine. There’s a coffee-colored sofa along the wall, just below the window, and directly beside me is a small bedside table. It isn’t until I turn my head to the left that I see the monitors. I follow a bundle of white cords down to my upturned arm and count one, two, three of them, piggybacking together on the tube piercing my skin.

Soft footsteps tap outside the door, coming closer, and a woman enters, dressed in a pair of turquoise scrubs. She rubs her eyes, stifling a yawn as she strolls over to the monitor. Eventually, her gaze lands on me, and her eyes widen.

“Oh! You’re up.” She smiles, a warm curve of her lips that makes my shoulders relax slightly against the stiff bed. “I know you must have so many questions, but don’t you worry, hun. Everything is all right.”

I’m sore, muscles throbbing from head to toe. I hardly feel like speaking, so I nod.

She retrieves a tablet affixed to the wall and returns to the monitor. Her fingernails tap against glass as she makes some notes, bobbing her head from the monitor to the tablet and back again.

“Can you tell me your name? First and last, please.”

“Lo—” My voice croaks, and I clear my throat. “Lou Adaire.”

Her fingers stop tapping as she tilts her head toward me questioningly. “Legal name?”

“Right,” I mutter. “Tallulah Adaire.” Tallulah is a family name, but Grams was always Tallulah. Mom was Talli. I’m Lou.

Her expression softens, and I wonder how she already obtained that information. “Very good, hun. And how are you feeling?” she asks, stepping closer. She sets the tablet on a table beside me and gently readjusts the IVs. My left arm rests limply in her hand.

“I’m okay, I think. Just a little soreness.”

“Mhmm. A little soreness and an angel on your side, I’d say.” She nods as she walks away, disappearing behind the front door for a second before rolling in a vitals machine.

Something sparks in my mind at the mention of an angel, and it takes me a minute to place it. Oh my god. I wasn’t alone in the lake. There was someone else. A man. No, no, that can’t be right. Come on now, Lou, don’t go losing your mind just because you nearly died. If anything, it was a dream. A remarkably realistic dream, but a trick of the mind all the same.

The woman stops at my bedside, grabs a thermometer, and sticks it in my ear. “Now, do you remember what happened?” When she blows a few strands of blonde hair out of her face, they fly up to skim grey roots.

I pause and mull it over as she withdraws the instrument from my ear. The bridge, the cold water filling my lungs, the man. Yeah, better leave that last one out of it. “I think so. There was a storm. My truck—I went off a bridge?”

She closes her eyes and gives a sympathetic nod. “You did, poor thing, straight into Tuttle Creek Lake. Dr. Perry says it’s a miracle you’re even alive.” Her hand is resting over my own now, giving a small squeeze, but I hardly feel it.

A miracle.

Miracles don’t happen to someone like me, and when it looks like they do, it’s only a sign of something worse to come. Grams used to say I was a miracle for making it through the day I was born. But I’ll never forget that my mother sacrificed her own life for that to happen. I thought I was lucky to at least still have my dad, but he could only take it for so long—life without his other half. I close my eyes before the image of his lifeless body on the bathroom floor can fully develop. I’d prefer never again having to see so much red.

“Oh, cheer up now, pretty girl.” My eyes open, the concerned sound of the woman’s voice wiping away my darkening thoughts. Her face looms over me, eyebrows puckered. “It’s not every day we get to witness miracles like this one around here, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Um, where am I exactly?”

“Oh, of course. You’re in Salina.”

I stare at the woman.

“Salina, Kansas,” she clarifies.

My brows crease. “Do you happen to know how far Ashwick is from here?”

“Oh, sure. A good half an hour’s drive.”

A light, fluttering sensation swells in my stomach as I absorb the fact that I’m so close. I’m almost there. In Grams’s hometown. Mom’s hometown.

“Now, hun, do you have anyone you’d like to call? Anyone who might be looking for you?”

“How long have I been here?”

“Just since last night.”

I close my eyes, my head suddenly feeling heavy against the pillow as her original question echoes in my mind, taunting me. Jamie’s determined brown eyes pop into my brain, but there’s no way I’m going to freak her out over this. Finally, I manage to whisper, “No. There’s no one.”

She goes quiet again, and I can feel her still standing beside me. I must be making her uncomfortable, but I don’t have the energy to do anything about it.

“Honey, how are you feeling . . . emotionally? You’ve been through something incredible, and you know, there are people you can talk to about it, if you’d like.”

I know what she’s asking, if I’m mentally stable. The answer is somewhere in between hell if I know and far from it, but I don’t want to talk to anyone about Grams, about Bobby, about the accident. Or about him. The impossible angel my subconscious wants me to hold onto—a sick and twisted subconscious who gets off on showing me a world where not even the other side wants me.

Seriously, not that I’m complaining, but who gets rejected by death?

Some things are better left unsaid, so I stick with a safe, “I’m fine.”

“Look,” she says softly, “you won’t be due for release for another twenty-four hours. Your vitals are looking good. Great, in fact. But I can see about pulling a few strings to get you additional nights if you need. Mind you, I make no guarantees, but—”

I’m already shaking my head. “That won’t be necessary.” I slowly open my eyes and turn my neck a fraction toward her. She oozes sympathy as she stares down at me. “Really, I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.”

She raises her eyebrows. “All right. If you say so. Well, you’re headed to Ashwick? Have you got a place to stay there?”

I chew the inside of my cheek, already regretting not planning this move better. Or at all. “Not yet.”

“They’ve got the old inn. Can I at least get you their info? I’ve got a baggie with the clothes you were wearing at the time—they’ve dried by now, of course—and your wallet’s mostly intact.”

I let out a breath of relief and offer a small smile. My wallet, my ID; that must be how she already knew my name. “That would be great. Thank you.”

Maybe I’m being stupid and should accept her generosity. It’s not like things aren’t tight financially. All I’ve got is my personal savings stash to lean on. Working as the front desk administrator for a chiropractor only paid so much.

Still, I don’t want special treatment, and more than that, I don’t want to be under a microscope or made to talk one-on-one about my feelings. As Grams could have attested, I’ll run a 12K marathon before wasting hours discussing my feelings and what they might mean. In other words: not going to happen.

She nods. “Okay then. Dr. Perry will be right in to check on you, then we’ll discuss your stitches and—”

Stitches? A frown tugs at my lips.

“Oh, not to worry.” She pats my arm. “It was just for a cut on your shoulder blade, nothing major.” It’s then that I remember the windshield breaking. Warm blood on my skin. “Now, there’s also an officer wanting to talk to you about the accident. Whenever you’re up for it, of course.”

I mutter some kind of acknowledgement, which seems to satisfy her because she turns to exit. The door clicks behind her, and silence fills the air. My mind isn’t right yet, still foggy and drained. The monitor’s beeping beside me, and there’s something oddly comforting about the sound. Soft, steady, hypnotic.

Reassuring.

I keep my eyes open, staring straight ahead and taking slow, deep breaths.

I’m alive.

I should be happy. I should be experiencing more relief than I am, but all I can focus on are the many missing pieces of my heart. The thing is, I didn’t just lose my grandmother on Sunday morning, but my entire family. She was my mother, my father, my sister, my best friend. The only person in my life who never left and always loved. The single constant in the ever-changing sea around me.

And now, as I lie in this bright room, the beat of the monitor echoing in my ears, a blanket of haze and uncertainty rushes over me. When I think about my future, my life, my mind goes blank. It’s not an illuminating, white slate either, full of warm lights and promises.

It’s dark and lonely, and all I feel is cold. I’m alone, in a world filled with strangers and steel walls.