50

Slumber

He lent me a shirt—an oversized Guns N’ Roses tee—and I went into the washroom to change. When I came out, nervously pulling the hem of the shirt farther down my thighs, Pan had turned off the overhead lights, so the apartment was dimly lit by a bedside lamp. He was on the other side, shirtless, bent over and petting his dog.

“I was just letting Brueger know that he has to sleep on the floor tonight,” he said.

“I didn’t mean to kick him out of bed. Now I feel bad.”

“Nah, don’t worry about him. He doesn’t mind.” He straightened up and smiled over at me. “That shirt suits you.”

“Thanks.” I blushed and climbed into his bed so I could hide under the covers.

Pan got into the bed and clicked off the light. He slid over to me, but not quite close enough to touch. “Do you need me to set an alarm or anything?”

“Wait, what day is tomorrow? Thursday?”

He laughed, enough of a rumble that it shook the bed. “Sunday.”

“Ugh.” I groaned. “I think I got jet-lagged from all the driving I’ve done this week. Is that a thing that can happen?”

Pan laughed again. “I honestly have no idea.”

“Do you have to get up by a certain time tomorrow?” I asked.

“At four-thirty A.M.,” he said, and I gasped.

“That’s so early! And I’ve been keeping you up so late!”

“I’m used to it.”

My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and I could see his profile as he stared up at the pitched ceiling. I was lying on my side, studying his handsome features. His strong jaw and full lips. His long eyelashes lay on his cheeks, and one of his hands rested on his stomach.

“What?” He looked over, apparently aware that I was watching him.

“I was just thinking about how far away you are.”

He moved one arm up to the pillow and tilted toward me, opening his arms, and I slid across the bed and into them. I pressed my body against him, and as his strong arms enveloped me, I kissed him.

A heat in my belly simmered, the way it did every time we touched, but an oppressive weariness was barreling down on me. Pan noticed right away and he stopped kissing me.

“Is something wrong?” he asked as he brushed a lock of hair out of my face.

“I’m just really tired,” I said with a yawn.

“Let’s just get some sleep then.”

He settled back into the bed, one arm still around me, and I rested my head on his chest. The rhythmic thump of his heart slowly lulled me to sleep.

With his arm around me like that, firm, warm, safe, enveloping, I wondered, is this what it feels like to be loved, really and truly, all the way through? Because that’s how I felt in his arms.

I woke up to the bed moving, with the sunlight lighting up an unfamiliar space. I sat up with a start, and Pan was standing beside the bed, clad only in a pair of jeans.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Seven.”

“You overslept!”

He laughed. “No, I made it to work on time, and I just got back from my shift. I thought I’d crawl back in bed, and I was hoping not to wake you.”

“That sounds wonderful,” I said. “But I should probably get up and go to the apartment. Dagny will start to worry if I’m not back soon. And I need to get my next move sorted out.”

Pan had been in the process of undoing his jeans, but he zipped them back up before sitting on the edge of the bed. “What exactly is your next move?”

“I was actually hoping you might be able to help me with that.” I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them to me.

Brueger jumped up on the bed, lying between me and Pan, and Pan absently scratched him as he gave me a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

“Remember, weeks ago, when you visited me in the lysa?” I asked.

He smiled in a sly way, his skin slightly darkening, and I knew he was thinking of the rather intense kiss we’d shared within the confines of the psychic dream. “Of course.”

“How did you do it?” I asked.

“Why?”

“That dream I had before, with the city collapsing in green fire, I think that might have really been a lysa. It was so real, and I remember it the way I remember a lysa, not all hazy the way dreams usually are.”

“But who would be doing the lysa? It takes two,” he said.

“I don’t know exactly.” I licked my lips. “I think it’s the woman in the dream. The one in the dress made of flowers and the shawl of feathers. She kept telling me that I had to do something, but I don’t know what I need to do.”

“So you wanna do a lysa with her so you can ask what’s going on?” he surmised.

“Exactly.”

“But you don’t know who that woman is?” he asked.

“Unfortunately, no, I don’t.”

He exhaled and stared off, thinking. “I am no expert on lysas, and I don’t know if what you’re suggesting is possible. But if it is, Dagny would be the one to know how to do it.”

Forty minutes later, when I was back in my apartment and had finished explaining everything to Dagny, she sat silently on the couch, taking it all in.

“Okay,” she said finally. “I think I can do that with you.”

“Really?” Pan asked in surprise. He’d come back with me to find out what she would say.

“Yeah.” Dagny nodded. “But I’ll need help from both of you.”