He shifts, peering down at me with a shocked expression. “You what?”
Swallowing, I say, “I don’t know how it happened. It was that first night you did it. You left my dream, and then when I fell asleep later on, I somehow entered yours.”
He frowns. “That’s unusual.”
“Random fae magic?” I offer.
He chuckles, but it holds no amusement this time. “Random fae magic sounds about right.”
“It only happened that one time.” I don’t want him to think I’ve been snooping through his dreams, especially since he’s stayed out of mine.
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he murmurs, and covers my hand with his.
I shake my head, wanting him to know he has no reason to apologize. I run my finger along the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
We lie together in silence for a while after that. I didn’t know it was possible to fall asleep during a dream, but I find my eyes drifting the longer I stare at the flickering flames in the fireplace, basking in the warmth it’s radiating.
“You know,” I mumble, sleep tugging at me. “I think I’m falling for you.”
Tristan exhales, his breath stirring the hair at my temple. He brushes his lips against the skin beside my eyebrow, and I close my eyes.
Before he can say anything, the scene fades away, and I’m staring at my mom’s frantic face as she shakes me awake.
“Get up, honey,” she says. “We have to go to the hospital.”
The silence is deafening. From the time we leave the house to the moment we step off the elevator on the pediatric floor, none of us says a word. I don’t need fae abilities to feel the terror we’re all experiencing.
We round the corner, and the moment I see the crowd of hospital staff surrounding Adam’s door, I freeze. My heart stops. Everything. Just. Stops.
We all move at once, sprinting toward his room, pushing through the nurses and doctors. Mom’s scream tears through the room, and once I manage to squeeze past a nurse, my hand flies to my mouth, and my legs wobble, no longer wanting to fight to hold me upright. I stumble back against the wall and stay there, unable to take my eyes off the mop of curls on Adam’s head.
Dad grabs Mom, crying as he tries to pull her away from the bed. No. Please, no. This can’t be happening. He was getting better. This isn’t—
A young doctor steps forward and faces my parents. “We tried to revive him for as long as we could, but his heart wouldn’t restart. His body wasn’t strong enough to fight off the pneumonia. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
My mom chokes on a sob, and Dad catches her before she collapses. “How did this happen? Where is Dr. Collins?” he demands.
“She was called away for an emergency out of town. We’ve notified her. Take as much time as you need, there’s no rush. Please let us know if you need anything.”
I shake my head, a faint ringing in my ears. “This isn’t happening.” My hand raises slowly and covers my mouth, my fingers shaking against my skin. Dr. Collins leaves town the night my brother loses his battle. Oh my god. Is Adam’s doctor light fae—the leader? There was always something I didn’t trust about her. What if . . . No. The light fae would have no reason to go after my family. Would they? I can’t think about this right now.
The doctors and nurses file out of the room, and I stand, staring at the wall, forced to listen as my parents sob over the death of their son, knowing there was nothing they could do to make him better. They pull me into a hug, and the three of us hold each other up as we cry for the loss of Adam.
I’m not sure how much time passes before any of us move. We leave the room; Dad is all but carrying Mom through the hospital as she wails into his chest. I walk in front of them, oblivious to, or not caring about, the people who turn to look at us. Have they never seen people leaving the hospital after losing a loved one? It’s ridiculous.
We sit in the parking lot and stare at the building where Adam is lying dead, his body not strong enough to fight off pneumonia because it was weak from the medicine meant to make him better.
“Okay?” Dad asks, breaking the silence in a voice so beaten down my chest tightens.
Mom says nothing, just sits there staring at her hands while her shoulders shake with soundless sobs.
“Drive,” I mumble from the back seat. I rest my head against the window and close my eyes. More than anything, I wish that I could go back in time and never have left his side.
I didn’t get to say goodbye.
Once we get back to the house, Dad helps Mom into the living room, and I retreat to my room, not ready to endure what comes next. We’ll have to call the family and tell them that Adam got worse and didn’t make it. Nothing makes sense right now, not now that Adam is gone.
Gone. He’s never coming back. I’m in a state of confusion and denial. I think about him being gone, and it’s as if I don’t believe myself. It doesn’t matter that I stood at the hospital and listened to the doctor tell me he was dead, or that I saw his still body, covered in ugly hospital bedding. I still don’t believe it.
Tears leak out of the sides of my eyes and fall down my cheeks. I turn my face and press it into my pillow to muffle the sob that rips free from my throat. I scream at the top of my lungs, then cry, my entire body wracked with tremors until there’s nothing left, and I’m dry heaving. Every muscle in my body aches. I can’t force myself to move, to get up and drink some water to ease the terrible burn in my throat. A part of me doesn’t want the pain to stop. Once it does, I’ll either start crying again or feel nothing at all, and that fact scares me so much I can’t move.
Adam didn’t deserve to spend the end of his life as an invalid, enduring treatment and being poked with needles. He didn’t deserve to have cancer or to die, but I figure most people who have suffered the same fate didn’t deserve it either.
It’s been a week since Adam died and was cremated. My parents are holding off on a funeral to give our extended family time to arrange travel plans, so his service isn’t until next Sunday. They’re both off work on bereavement, but I’ve already missed a week of classes.
I’ve learned in the last several days that everyone grieves differently. While Mom and Dad can’t think about going back to work yet, I need to go back to school. I need something I can put my energy into that isn’t thinking about my little brother. He wouldn’t want me to be sad forever, even if deep down that pang of loss will always be there.
I’ve spoken to Allison a couple of times since it happened. Tristan calls every night and stays on the phone while I cry myself to sleep. Both of them wanted to come to Mapleville, but I wouldn’t let them, fearing it would make everything feel more real. I’m barely hanging on as it is.
My parents drive me back to Rockdale after dinner Sunday evening, and it’s never been so difficult to say goodbye to them, even though I’ll be home again in less than a week.