In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(102)

I breathe in deeply.

“I have,” I say.

I missed her. And I missed her family. I let two months go without a word, but I knew she had gone. I kept in touch with Noah, just enough to make sure this time, things went as they should for her. I knew they would though. He’s class. I stopped by her parents’ house one afternoon on my way to a club opening in St. Louis. Lane answered the door, and before I knew it I was at the dinner table being fed and listening to stories about crazy renters and how the football team has decided Lane is lucky, so they insist he leads them out on the field. My cheeks hurt from smiling that night. It had been so long since I had a reason to, I was afraid I didn’t remember how. I didn’t care that I was five hours behind schedule in hitting the road. I skipped sleep in return for time with them. Lane’s been texting and calling ever since. Hell, at this point, I think he calls me more than Houston does.

“We’re kind of like…bros,” I say, taking a fist to my chest, my mouth twisted in a smirk.

She laughs lightly because I’m ridiculous. Her eyes fall to where my hand touched my heart, and I wonder if she can see how fast it’s beating?

“Lane loves your song,” I say, clearing my throat and rolling my shoulders to get feeling in my fingers again. I scratch at the side of my face and try to hide the fact that I’m looking at her. I’m studying her, looking for changes—the effects of fame. She’s only on the brink, but that fame is here. She’s still the same girl though—nails polished, but chipped, hair fading, but purple, clothes lost somewhere between country and rock.

“It’s his birthday, you know,” she says.

“Real? Or half?” I tease.

She bites her lip, leaning her head as she walks a few steps into the front room, running her finger along the dusty windowsill. “Are you saying half birthdays aren’t real, Casey Coffield?” she accuses. It’s flirty, the way she talks, and my heart pounds harder. God, I miss this girl.

“I wouldn’t dare say such a thing,” I say, shaking my head for a slow no. She can have any birthday she wants—a million birthdays. A year’s worth. I would shower her with gifts. “And no, I didn’t know it was his birthday. I’m surprised he hasn’t told me—Lane’s a talker.”

She giggles, nodding in agreement.

“You can come to the party…if you want. It’s tomorrow. You know the drill—cake and Ghostbusters,” she says.

“My favorite combo,” I chuckle. I rest my weight on the wall opposite of her, and it’s quiet again.

I breathe. She breathes. Our eyes dance, but we hold our tongues. I didn’t know seeing her again would be so hard, but then, there hasn’t been anyone since she’s been gone. I’ve been driven, and nobody else has what she had. The focus has been good for me, but now, all I want is her to distract me every day.

“You look good, Casey.”

She says my name again, and I feel it in my chest.

“You…” I begin, stopping and letting my mouth curve into a slow smile as I stare at her long enough to watch her neck and face blush from my attention. I look down to my feet, my chin tucked to my chest as my hands find my pockets to hide how nervous I am. I look up at her with a sideways glance, and smile like a fool. “Well you’re as beautiful as you’ve always been. But a little more so. You look…you look happy.”

Her eyes crinkle, and eventually she breathes out a laugh.

“I am happy,” she says.

“I’m glad,” I answer, feeling the waves of adrenaline roll through my insides. I knew I’d see her again, but I also knew I would never be prepared. I was right. I’m not.

“I should go,” she says, her words hesitant, her feet still here despite them. She doesn’t want to leave, but she should—she’s on her way. Or maybe she’s already there. Perhaps she is the destination now. I’m still in the beginning, trying to figure out how to fly.

I swallow my nerves.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say.

I lead her to the door, pushing it all the way open, noticing the bells on the ground outside that must have fallen when Paige left. I chuckle to myself and pick them up, looping them over the doorknob. This is how my muse snuck up on me.

She’s paused a step or two away from me, and I wonder if I look as afraid and unsure as she does. She glances over her shoulder to her car parked a few yards away along the side of the road, then turns back to me.

“I think I can find my way. But maybe I’ll see you? For Lane?”

I hear her, but I don’t answer right away. I’m too busy counting the freckles that stretch from one side of her smile to the other. When I meet her grays, I fall all over again.

“You will,” I say, “for Lane.”

For you.

Always for you.

She smiles and nods, and her timid fingers form a delicate wave before she finds the courage to step into me and touch my face with her small but gifted hands, pressing her lips to my cheek as old friends do when it’s been a while.

But we aren’t friends. And with every step she takes further from me, the more my chest breaks open and reason and logic fly from our picture. I’m here. She’s seven hundred miles away. None of that matters though, because it only takes me a dozen steps and a single heartbeat to catch her before her hands reach for her car door. My fingers wrap around familiar shoulders as Murphy stops everything, dropping her keys from her hands while her body trembles.