The Bodyguard (63)

“And when she got sick, Hank didn’t want you to come here?”

“That’s right.”

“But you came, anyway.”

“I couldn’t exactly tell her no.”

“And now you’re just waiting until you can disappear again?”

“That’s basically it.”

“I think it sounds like you’re being awfully hard on yourself.”

“Next time you let someone drown in a river, call me and we’ll compare notes.”

“So you can’t forgive yourself?”

“Can’t,” Jack shrugged. “Won’t.”

“Seems a little harsh.”

“I just wake up every day thinking about how a person—a really great person, a much better person than me—isn’t here, and I am. The only way to make my existence bearable is to try to do something every day that justifies my life.”

“What do you do?”

“Oh, you know, start foundations. Fund scholarships. Make celebrity appearances at children’s hospitals. Help old ladies with their groceries. Donate blood.”

Wow. Some lucky person got The Destroyer’s blood and didn’t even know it.

“Big things,” Jack went on, “and little things, too. Just—something. One good thing every day.”

“That’s a lot of repentance.”

Jack nodded. “You’d think the nightmare would have faded by now, but it’s still going strong.”

“Okay,” I said. “What if the nightmare isn’t a punishment? What if it’s a chance?”

Jack met my eyes. “A chance to do what?”

“See your brother again.”

“Pretty slim, as chances go. Since he’s dead.”

I kept going. “I have an idea, but you’ll probably hate it.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“You’ve heard of lucid dreaming, right? Where you’re aware that you’re dreaming in the dream?”

“Sort of.”

“What if you taught yourself how to do that and then … talked to Drew?”

“Just taught myself to dream on purpose?”

“I mean, yeah.”

“And then had a conversation with my dead brother?”

I nodded.

“How? When? As the car is filling with water?”

“What if you just … steered the dream in a different direction?”

“That’s not how dreams work. They’re not screenplays.”

“But you are technically writing them. We all are.”

“It’s a terrible idea. And even if it worked, it wouldn’t be the real Drew.”

“But maybe talking to Drew could be a way of talking to yourself.”

Jack looked at me for a minute. “You’re right. I hate it.”

“Fine,” I said, moving to crawl away. “Hate it. Whatever.”

But as I shifted, he caught me and yanked me back, pulling me against his chest. It was solid, and warm, and smelled as ever like cinnamon. “Stay.”

My head landed on the pillow beside him. “I’m tired.”

“Two minutes.”

“Sixty seconds,” I said. “Take it or leave it.”

“Sold,” Jack said.

“Sixty seconds it is,” I said. “Just don’t let me fall asleep.”





Twenty-Two


OF COURSE, I fell asleep.

When I woke up the next morning, I was in Jack Stapleton’s bed, under that maelstrom of whatever it was he did to his sheets every night, and I was pinned to the mattress by one of Jack’s enormous arms, slung across my shoulders, and also one of his legs—tangled around one of my own.

All of which felt pretty nice, actually.

I gave myself a moment to savor it.

I mean … right? That kind of thing doesn’t happen every day. I was tempted to snap a selfie so I’d believe it later.

But then my phone—which was set to never ding before 8:00 A.M.—started dinging at 8:01.

A lot.

And by the time I’d wriggled out from under Jack to check it, I found a thousand texts from every single person I worked with, and plenty of people I didn’t.

Apparently, I’d accidentally gotten famous overnight.

Because while we’d been sleeping in here—out there on the internet, things were wide awake.

In less than twenty-four hours, three major Jack-related things occurred.

One: The Corgi Lady decided to update her Jack Stapleton fan page with photos and videos of all her stalking shenanigans—spreading the word far and wide that Jack was in Houston and that she’d managed to find his house. Countless posts showed up with captions like, “Love is in the air at my one and only’s luxury rental estate in Houston! He can run, but he cannot hide! #JackStapleton #JackAttack #JackHammer #TrueLove #CorgiAddict #CheckOutMyNudes #LetsMakeABaby.”

Two: A photo of Jack and me from the hospital—that night, when I told him to hide by leaning into me—showed up and then exploded online. We definitely looked like we were embracing, possibly even making out like crazy, even to me. And this photo was everywhere under headlines like “Who’s Jack Stapleton’s New Girlfriend?” and, “Mystery Woman Sucks Face with Jack Stapleton,” and just plain old, “Get It, Jack!”