Page 33 of Fade With Me

When I opened my eyes again, he was gone. Vanished like mist.

I reached out, but my fingers clawed at emptiness, the world falling away beneath them.

Then I looked at my hand, burning with unnatural heat. My wedding ring throbbed, glowing an orange, molten hue. My blood ran cold.

As my fingertips brushed the ruby, my vision warped, twisting as reality tore at the seams.

With a sickening lurch, the dream collapsed, and I was pulled back into the waking world.

twelve

My eyes snapped open, and a jolt of recognition tore through me like a lightning bolt. The world around me, once hazy, rushed into sharp focus: the towering trees, rustling leaves, the scent of damp earth. Everything felt real. Too real.

A tremor surged through me as the realization slammed into me. The man who had haunted my dreams, etched himself into my soul, was standing right here.

It was Zeke.

I could barely catch my breath, my mind scrambling to piece together what was happening. Zeke loomed over me, his face tight with worry, his eyes scanning me as if searching for something to reassure him I was alright.

“Bryn, are you okay?!” His voice cracked, raw with panic. “Are you hurt?!”

I couldn’t answer. I just stared. His hands moved fast, checking me over, alarm widening his eyes. “Bryn, baby, please—say something!” The desperation in his tone spiked. “You’re really scaring me.”

Finally, my body responded. I blinked hard, trying to push through the haze, lifting a hand to my aching scalp. But Zeke caught my wrist. His face went pale. His eyes locked on the blood.

“Oh no…” he breathed. His grip loosened, and he rushed to his backpack.

He moved quickly, pulling out a first aid kit with calm, practiced hands. I watched him, frozen, even as terror coiled deep inside me.

He eased me up and guided me against the tree. Then, with gentle fingers, he uncapped a water bottle and poured a steady stream over the wound. The sting bit deep, and I flinched.

“Sorry,” he murmured, the tight set of his jaw betraying more pain than his voice. He dabbed at the gash, steady and efficient. “You’ve definitely cut it up pretty good.”

His tone was quiet, but it didn’t calm the storm in my gut. Still, I tried to focus on him, the rhythm of his movements and the quiet way he moved through each step.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” he said. “It’s a nasty cut, but nothing we can’t handle.” He applied cream and began to bandage the wound, each pass of the gauze confident, careful. “There. Good as new.” A trace of a smile ghosted across his face.

But I wasn’t looking at the bandages.

I was watching him.

In that instant, something snapped inside me, as though the fog of shock had ebbed away, and I could finally find my voice. “Why have I dreamed of you?” My words came out broken. “Before we ever met…I dreamed of you. How is that possible?”

Zeke’s eyes widened. For a fleeting moment, something flickered, worry maybe, or disbelief. Then it vanished behind a calm facade.

His gaze leveled. Something in his eyes shifted, guarded, like he was weighing his next move carefully.

“Did you already know who I was that day in the diner?” The question tumbled out. “The first time we met—when you were late for your meeting?”

We stared at each other. The forest felt tighter somehow, the hush around us broken only by the soft stirring of the leaves.

He stood motionless, a stone statue in the storm I was creating. The quiet grew dense, suffocating, like a living thing that swallowed the air. My heart pounded against my ribs as the words tore their way from my throat.

“What am I missing, Zeke?” I spat. “If that’s even yourrealname!” My voice cracked with fury, tight with fear and accusation.

His eyes dimmed, but not with regret. That look—pity—burned worse than anger.

“Brynlynn, please,” he said gently, like he was trying to calm a trapped animal. “Everything is going to be okay.” He reached for me, the gesture so false it made my skin crawl.

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