Page 37 of Hot Shot
Except I know it’s not. It’s from up ahead, next to Laura, and when her sweet laughter rings out across the ice, I know all my efforts are wasted.
I can’t get to her.
I’ll never reach her.
Never touch her.
Never be able to hold her again.
Should never have held her in the first place.
Blake
Shouting wakes me from a deep sleep.
At first I’m confused. The room unfamiliar, the bed not mine…
But then my brain shakes the cobwebs of sleep loose and I remember.
I’m in Parry Sound.
With Bran.
“Laura.”
The cry has me throwing off the covers and launching out of bed. I know it’s Bran even though the voice doesn’t sound like his.
It’s hoarse, raw, muted.
But ithasto be Bran. There’s no one else here.
Darting out of my room and into his, I don’t understand what I’m seeing at first.
He’s in bed, on his stomach across the middle of it, legs hanging off one side, arms reaching off the other.
“Laura!”
His arms stretch further, his fingers curl, release, curl, and his legs work like crazy. It’s weird but I think he’s trying to skate, trying to reach…
“Oh god.”
He’s having a nightmare about his daughter. Because this isn’t a dream. He’s not lost in some pleasant memory of his child. He’s locked in the agonizing loss of his little girl. Real or imagined, the result is the same.
His grief is tearing him apart while he sleeps.
“Bran!” I race around the bed and reach for his shoulder. Giving him a shake, I yell, “Bran!” again.
He jolts but goes right back to pumping his legs, trying to grab onto something with his hands.
“Laura!”
I give him another shake, harder this time, but he’s still trapped in the nightmare, his limbs still working, his breath huffing in and out of his lungs in harsh rasps. “Bran. Please.Wake up.”
I hate seeing him like this. Hate that I can’t help him, can’t take away the pain he’s obviously in. This time I grab his elbow, try to pull his arm down, but it’s no use. He’s too strong, too determined.
I’m just about to leave the room, pull an Oakley and dump a bucket of water over his head when he groans. The agony lacing the sound has my gut pinching, my heart stopping. There’s another pained moan before he goes perfectly still, then his whole body sags, goes limp on the bed.
I don’t know if the nightmare has let him go but I can’t stand to watch him flail through it again so I move closer, close enough I can grip his head, tip it up and press my lips to his brow.
