Before I Wake (13 page)

There. We’d both shared something painful. We stood there, staring at each other. Anyone watching could probably see smoke rising off of us, so intense was our connection.

“I’m hungry,” Noah said suddenly, breaking the tension. “You ready to go?”

I was. I told him so, and that was the end of our standoff. I don’t know if this was the scheduled end time for his show or if he was simply cutting out early and I didn’t really care. He spoke to a few people, shook some hands, and we left.

It was weird, but it felt as though something had changed between us—for the better. Sure, we were a little uncertain with each other, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

It was a nice night, so we walked to the restaurant. As we walked we talked mostly about the show and that it had seemed successful. Noah would know in a day or two how much he had made in sales. We didn’t discuss his income or mine, and that was fine. It wasn’t important.

I thanked him for not offering The Nightmare for sale. “I’d feel creepy knowing I was hanging on a stranger’s wall.”

Hands stuffed in the pockets of his black peacoat, he shot me a sideways glance. “How do you feel knowing that it’s hanging on my wall?”

I shrugged, hiding a smile. “I’m okay with that.”

A crooked smile, a bit of cockiness in his eyes. “My bedroom wall.”

Pleasure. Dismay. I felt them separately and at the same time. I stopped walking because my legs didn’t want to work anymore.

“Oh.”

“That’s it?”

I looked away. “Why are you flirting with me? Did the Terror tell you I was easy as well as a Nightmare?”

“Terror?”

I finally managed to look at him—and start walking again. “The thing from your dream. That’s what It is—a Night Terror. Like a bogeyman.”

“Why would It tell me you were easy?”

Because It had taken me so easily. I ground my teeth. “Did It?”

I felt him glance at me. “No.” He was quite for a moment. “So it’s real then—the Terror?”

I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “Yeah. It’s real.” I kept my gaze pinned straight ahead. “When did It tell you what I am?”

“A couple of weeks ago—before you came into my dream. I didn’t believe what it said until then.” He didn’t sound like he totally believed it now.

I nodded. “It should stop bothering you soon.”

Another glance. “Are you human?”

Damn, but he seemed to be taking this all much more calmly than I would be in his position. “Half.”

That stopped him in his tracks. At this rate we’d never make our reservation. His eyes were wide, as black as the night, reflecting the streetlights as he stared at me. People passed by, unconcerned. “What’s the other half?”

This time it was me coming to stand before him. “Dreamkin,” I replied. “My father is the God of Dreams.”

“Morpheus.”

I was impressed. “That’s his most common name, yes. What else do you know about him?”

He knew the basics—that Morpheus was the son of Hypnos, God of Sleep. That he was the shaper of dreams. He even knew that he had brothers in charge of other aspects of The Dreaming. Everything that could be learned from doing a Google search.

That was good—and it was all he needed to know at this point.

“My mother is human,” I told him. “Right now she’s asleep in Toronto—has been for a long time. My family thinks it’s some kind of weird coma, but really she’s in The Dreaming with my father. They want me to spend time there, too, in exchange for getting rid of the Terror.”

Noah blinked. Looked away, then back at me. “You’re not lying? Not saying this to humor the crazy guy?”

It was getting a little chilly just standing here. My nose was cold, but I made myself stand still. I met his gaze and smiled, hoping it looked as reassuring as I wanted it to. “You’re not crazy. I wish you were.”

“This Terror thing, why is it after me?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe because of me, but it sounds like It started bothering you before It came after me.”

“And your father has promised to stop It?”

“Yes,” I replied, hunching my shoulders as a sudden gust of evening air swept down my back with surprising chill.

Noah must have seen how pink my nose was—cold weather did not promote attractiveness in my case—because he began walking again. “Tell me how this is possible.”

And so I did. I told him how my mother had suffered a miscarriage before me, and how the depression that followed led to her sleeping for long periods of time. That eventually led to her meeting Morpheus and starting their affair. I told him how I was the outcome of that, and that I had spent a lot of time as a child in The Dreaming. I didn’t tell him about Jackey Jenkins, but I did tell him that something had made me start putting up walls.

“I can’t tell my family because they’ll never believe me,” I told him, for the first time revealing my deepest secret to another person. “They’re so worried about Mom, and she’s having the time of her life.”

“You feel guilty because you can visit her, and they can’t.”

I managed a smile. “Maybe you should be the psychologist.”

We were standing outside of our destination—a pub-type restaurant that was open late and served beer along with hearty food.

My hips were going to hate me.

Hands in his coat pockets, he rocked back on his heels. “You went to Morpheus for me?”

He was sounding a little too strained, so I didn’t want him to think it was all for him. “And myself.”

He must have seen something in my gaze before I looked away because he asked in a low voice, “Did the Terror hurt you?”

My smile was tight. “Let’s not talk about him anymore. Let’s just go have a beer and a burger and forget all this stuff for a while.”

He nodded. “All right. Sure.” But I knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. When he held out his hand, I took it. His fingers were warm and strong—insistent enough that for a moment I felt as though I was suddenly in over my head.

We entered the pub and were embraced by its warm interior, where the air smelled like grease and french fries and all manner of other tasty things. The music was old rock, not too loud, and the conversation was at a tolerable level. There was rock ’n’ roll memorabilia on the walls and an antique jukebox in the corner, and I swear the floor had a slight lean to it. All in all, it was perfect.

Of course, that was before I saw who was sitting at the dark, scarred table with Warren and Noah’s friends.

Mia shot us a forced but sunny smile as we approached the table. “There you are!” she chirped, not seeming to care that Amanda was cringing beside her. “What took you so long?”

I should have simply stuck a fork in my eye and made an excuse to go home. That would have been less painful than suffering through dinner with Noah’s ex-wife. She ordered a salad and a Coors light.

A salad.

I ordered nachos and a Corona with lime. Noah ordered a burger and fries and a Corona as well. His friends, Matt and Ellie, ordered real food, too. Warren was the only one who didn’t eat, claiming to have had dinner earlier. He ordered a double scotch though.

I’d like to say that Mia wasn’t the stereotype of the belligerent teenager, but she was. She watched every bite I took from her seat across from me. She didn’t like my food. She didn’t like me, and she didn’t like that Noah sat beside me rather than Amanda. I had no sympathy for either of them, especially since it appeared that Amanda was the cause of their divorce.

Who in her right mind screwed around on a guy like Noah? He could be a little uptight and a little odd, but he was cute and he was blunt and I liked that. All my instincts told me he was a good man. He pointed at a jalapeno on my plate. “Dare you to eat that.”

Puh-lease. I picked up the pepper with my fingers and popped it in my mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. Ta da.

“That wasn’t much of a dare, Noah,” Mia remarked. “Does she look like she wouldn’t eat it?”

I smiled at her, much the way I supposed a shark smiles at divers in those cages. If I could just get through the bars…Everyone else looked confused or uncomfortable. I caught Amanda shaking her head at the girl in a disapproving manner.

Noah looked angry, and that warmed me a little. “It takes a lot of food for me to retain this figure,” I informed the group, and got a few chuckles from the others at the table. Make a joke at your own expense, and people laugh with you, not at you.

Or at least that was how I hoped it went.

“Then please,” Noah said, pushing his plate of leftover fries toward me. “Eat.”

Everyone but Mia laughed. I managed an embarrassed chuckle as my face turned beet red. I hoped Noah saw the thanks in my eyes as our gazes met. He was looking at me like I was something he’d like to take a bite out of.

Sometime during our meal a guy had set up a karaoke system in the neighboring bar section. Matt and Ellie decided to go check it out and maybe sing a song or two. They asked Amanda if she wanted to go with them, and Mia followed after them with a sulk. I think the only reason she left the table was because Noah had gotten up to go to the bathroom, and she was hoping to snag him into hanging out with them on the way back. They invited me to join them, but I’d rather slit my own throat than willingly spend time with that little black widow, so I said thanks but no thanks and ordered my third beer.

That left me and Warren at the table. Warren, who was mellow after a couple of doubles and watching me with amused interest.

“I feel compelled to apologize for Mia.”

I shrugged, but appreciated the sentiment. “It’s not hard to figure out her motivation.”

“She took the divorce hard.”

I assumed he was stilling talking about his little sister. “Kids normally do.”

“I haven’t seen him smile so much in a long time.” He gestured to Noah’s empty chair, just in case I’d totally forgotten about Noah, I guess. “You seem to bring out the best in him.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Thanks.” And where the hell was Noah? He should have been back by now. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him talking to Mia near the entrance to the other section. Neither of them looked happy with the other, but Mia looked positively mutinous. Her big brother was obviously chewing her out for her behavior. Good.

I turned back, my companion noting the satisfaction on my face. Warren smiled, thin-lipped but genuine as he leaned his forearms on the marred tabletop. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned about getting stains on his shirt, which looked pretty high-quality.

“Has he talked to you about his past?” he asked, as the waitress set my beer in front of me.

This was the second time that evening I’d been questioned about Noah this way. I was beginning to wonder what the big deal about Noah’s past was. And it was starting to tick me off. Amanda might have been an idiot, but this guy knew better than to ask.

“You know I can’t tell you that.” I said it as nicely as I could.

A long arm lifted, bringing his glass to his mouth. “Yes. I do. He hasn’t dated in a long time, and for him to bring you here…”

“He’s my patient,” I told him. I hated the word, especially where Noah was concerned. “Anything else would be ethically and morally unacceptable.”

Warren arched a brow but wisely avoided the subject. “I hope he opens up to you, regardless. He needs to trust someone.” Then he winked at me. “And he needs to get laid. Excuse me.”

He got up and walked away, leaving me sitting there, red-faced and ready to climb under the nearest rock. Or perhaps just slither under the table. I took a deep chug of beer—like I needed to drink more.

I wasn’t alone for long. In fact, Warren must have seen his brother coming and timed his exit because Noah slid into his chair mere seconds after Warren left his.

He tossed some bills on the table. “You want to leave?” he asked.

I reached for my bag. “Sure. How much is my half?”

I might have asked him to saw off my arm the way he looked at me. “This is my treat.”

I cocked a brow, trying to look flirty and coy. “Does that mean this was a date?”

He shook his head. “No.”

My heart plummeted. Talk about burn. But then he stood and held out his hand. “Dance with me, and we’ll call it a date.”

Dance? In the karaoke section, someone started singing a Bon Jovi song, a ballad, and I’m embarrassed to say that my legs were trembling a little as I rose to my feet. I love Bon Jovi.

“We can’t leave now,” Noah said, leading me toward the dance floor. “Not when they’re playing your favorite band.”

“How did you know?” How did he know? Bon Jovi was one of my guilty pleasures. I had every CD, knew the words to almost every song—especially the ballads.

Had Karatos told him that too?

He grinned. “Mouse pad.”

My mouse pad at work was the Have a Nice Day CD cover. That Noah had noticed such a small detail was amazing to me.

People I worked with probably couldn’t tell you what color my eyes were, and Noah noticed my mouse pad of all things.

We walked into the other section, and I set my purse on the rail around the dance floor, where I could keep an eye on it. The second Noah’s arms went around me, I stopped thinking about everything else. The products of our generation, we didn’t waltz properly with two of our hands entwined. We didn’t even waltz. We simply wrapped our arms around each other—his around my waist, mine around his neck—and began shuffling in a slow circle to the music. Still, at that moment I felt as graceful as any Dancing with the Stars professional.

We shared a gaze as we moved in silence. It was Matt rasping out the lyrics to “Bed of Roses.” Had Noah put him up to it?

We were so close our bodies brushed together, our hips moving in unison. His hands were warm and strong against the small of my back and the curve of my hip, and his fingers moved lazily with the softest of caresses.

He pulled me closer, gently but without hesitation. I don’t think I could have stopped him if I wanted to. Our bodies were now pressed together so tight that I had to hold his shoulder from the back with one hand, my arm against his, while my other hand tucked around his biceps. I could feel every hard inch of him pressed against me—his abs, his hips, his thighs.