Beautiful Dreamer

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Everything smelled like maple syrup when I opened my eyes. A hazy light filled my vision, momentarily blinding me as I felt behind myself and pushed up into a sitting position. The cushion beneath me was lumpy in all the wrong places, and there was a crick in my neck—most likely the consequence of spending half the night asleep on the kitchen floor. I could hear the faint sounds of conversation drifting casually into my ears: all murmured sounds with no finished words.

As I blinked myself fully awake, I realized that I was no longer in the kitchen, but on the living room couch, a thick quilt draped over my legs. Logan was no longer beside me, most likely having moved me to this more comfortable position at some point during the night. I could hear the low hum of his voice, though, from the other room.

Sighing, I swung my legs over the side of the couch and sat up, staring out the window at the street. It was a sunny day, though snow still caked the sidewalk. A snow plow sputtered past my house, raking up the muddy slush that was beginning to melt into the gutters. I waited until it had disappeared down the street before I coaxed myself to peel off the quilt and stand up, curling my toes into the pale carpet. My socks, it seemed, had fallen off during the night.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Aubrey said as I shuffled into the kitchen, yawning. She offered a wan smirk over her cup of coffee—Logan's coffee, the familiar smell of which was potent in the air. Logan himself was standing at the counter, brewing a fresh pot, and my mom sat next to Aubrey at the table. She, too, was sipping from a steaming mug, and that in itself was enough to stop me in my tracks for several seconds. My mother's aversion to caffeine was practically religious, yet here she was, gulping down the stuff like her life depended on it. And maybe—judging by her pallid complexion and the bags beneath her eyes—it did.

“Uh, hey,” I mumbled belatedly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. My mom looked up and smiled, actually smiled, her lips curling into a tired crescent and her eyes crinkling at the corners. And maybe it was a little stiff, like a pair of new shoes she'd just tried on for size, but it was real and it was something.

“Good morning, Parker,” she said softly, nodding at me. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine, thanks.” As I said the words, I realized how true they were: the previous night, once I'd settled down for a second time, there were no nightmares, no shadow creatures—nothing to go bump in the night. For one sleep, they'd left my dreams alone.

“Do you want some?” Logan asked, turning to me from the counter and holding up the pot of coffee in his hand.

“Yeah, I'll come and get it.” I padded across the room, wincing at the icy shock of cold tile against my bare feet, and pulled a white mug from the cabinet. I set it down beside Logan, leaning lightly into his shoulder as he filled the mug with coffee.

“Why didn't you tell me your mom came back?” he asked quietly, adding in my customary cream and sugar. “She said she's been back since last night.”

I turned away, pretending to cough so he couldn't see my eyes. “I guess it just slipped my mind. And thanks.” Nudging his elbow with mine, I took the mug from his outstretched hand and brought it up to my lips. Our eyes met briefly over the rim, his slightly narrowed with confusion. He would undoubtedly have some questions for me later, but that was a conversation meant for solitude, especially given the fact that we'd kissed yet again the night before. That, certainly, was something that needed to be addressed, but not until after everything. There were more important matters at hand.

So I just slid into a seat at the table beside my mother, my hands wrapped around the steaming mug. Logan sat down a moment later, his gaze quickly ricocheting off my face. I tilted my head, trying to convey that I would explain it to him later. That is, if Laury kept her word. If she didn't help me, and soon, I wasn't quite certain that there would be a later.