“I’m losing it, aren’t I,” I say when I’m done.
Winona nods, eyebrows up and lips screwed as if she’s holding back laughter.
“Yeah, kinda,” she says.
We both snicker, and the tension that has made my chest tight since I woke up in Julian’s bed a few days ago eases like air out of a balloon.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I say. “It’s like I don’t know what’s up or down sometimes these days.”
Winona turns to face me bodily. She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, thinks better of it, then swallows and tries again.
“You actually like Julian, and he seems to be pretty serious about you,” she starts. “It’s been a long time since you’ve let anyone this far in…”
Oh bother. I know where this is going.
“You think I’m traumatized,” I finish.
“I think you’re understandably cautious, and that healing is a process, not a destination,” Winona amends. “You’ve probably done all the work you can as a single woman. But it looks different in the context of a relationship. A lot of your fears that Julian might not be who he says he is, the distrust, might not have anything to really do withhim.” She silences my oncoming objection with a finger. “I just want to encourage you to assess him forhisactions. No one else’s.” Her gaze becomes fierce. “Especially not Eric’s.”
My blood chills when she says his name, but I know why she does, and know that she’s right. In trying to protect myself, I’ve painted Julian with a broad brush, one that overlays all his behavior with ill intent, and it’s not the first time I’ve been guilty of that with him.
“Okay, Dr. Evans,” I groan.
Winona rolls her eyes at me affectionately.
“Keep playing around, and I’ll run you a bill,” she teases.
The door to Steak ’n Shake bursts open, and Sophie walks out with a large milkshake in one hand and a bag of spoils in the other.
“You’re right,” I say as Sophie skips up to the car.
Winona unlocks the door and gives me a wink.
“I usually am.”
It takes me too long to fall asleep in Winona’s guest room.
A hand brushes past my temples. It is too dark to see, but I know who it belongs to.
“You ran off on me,” Julian whispers. “Why?”
I try to move, but my body is glued to the bed. I am hyperaware of the heaviness of my arms at my sides, the weight of my head on Winona’s down pillow, but oddly, I’m not afraid. This dream feels different from the others, like Julian has slid into a layer of my subconscious and is making pleasant conversation rather than pulling me into a new reality.
“You scare me sometimes,” I confess. I’m not sure if my mouth moves or if I am just thinking it, but either way, Julian hums in understanding.
“Is it strange that I find that exhilarating?”
“Absolutely,” I insist. “I would argue thatstrangeis a gross understatement. Fucking terrifying is more like it.”
It shouldn’t be funny, but we laugh, and when we are done, I feel the mattress lift; he’s standing.
“You’re brilliant, Sean,” he says. “And perceptive. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”
“See?” I mutter. “That cryptic shit right there? Freaky.”
His chuckle fades into the darkness.
“Good night, songbird,” Julian whispers. And then he is gone, and so am I, drifting into sleep so peaceful that it feels like a small death.