A Betting Man

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Adelaide's Point of View

My dream shifts.

First I'm dreaming that Nolan is with me again, demanding answers and making more accusations. He comes to Fey's apartment to find me and his nose is still bleeding, dripping blood all over her light beige carpet, and she's screaming and threatening to call the cops while he corners me against the wall. He demands to know why I would sleep with Justin and not him. Did he not open doors for me while we dated? Did he not buy me dinner countless times?

Then Justin comes and confronts Nolan, but their encounter is short-lived. Nolan disappears into a wisp of smoke, fading into the hazy atmosphere that surrounds me.

Justin is suddenly at my side, and he's apologizing again and again, offering explanations, but none of it makes much sense. He keeps talking about Ursula.

"I told Cayden not to take her from you," he says angrily. "She was your life-line in all of this. She would have protected you from Nolan."

I wonder how this could be, my brow furrowed deep with confusion.

"But no, he took her away," Justin goes on. "And all of this could have been prevented."

I'm baffled by his reasoning, but decide against arguing with him when he's angry.

"I'm sorry, Addie. I'm so sorry. I should have done something. I should have stopped him."

His presence is so real; I can feel the fabric of his clothes against my fingers, his scent in my nose, his voice in my ear. All of my senses are being stimulated by him, by his mere essence, and that makes it the most realistic dream I've ever had.

I feel myself moving back to consciousness, and I desperately fight this. I've missed having Justin around, so much so that I'll take him in my dreams if it's all I can get.

But my eyes open and I blink. It's dark – I can't see a thing around me as my eyes adjust – but I can still hear his voice; I can still smell his distinct scent of laundry detergent and aftershave. And I think I must be hallucinating.

"Justin?" I whisper. I feel someone shift beside me - someone who I've taken liberties to snuggle against – and my heart instantly begins to race.

"Hmm?" comes the reply, and I lean back to look at his face. His head turns so that he can see me, his eyes widening dramatically as they meet my own.

"What are you doing here, Justin?" I ask. My voice is a bit empty, lacking all of the emotions I actually feel. They are overridden by one predominant feeling.

Disbelief.

Am I still dreaming?

I can feel Justin's body tense against mine – I can hear his breath catch in his throat – and I know these things are much too vivid to be a dream. But what is he doing here? And how in holy hell did he ever get past Fey? Is she still alive?

"Are you awake?" he asks cautiously.

I suddenly feel as though I've been violated by a Peeping Tom or something. What in God's name made him think it was okay to come snuggle with me while I'm asleep? Is he not able to take a hint?

He slowly moves away from me, probably ashamed at himself and our current situation, and I shamefully despair over our sudden loss of contact. What the hell is wrong with me?

I don't allow him to see this, however. I scoot farther away from him instead, desperately reeling in every ounce of anger I can find. But I'm still groggy from the pain medication despite the painful throb in my wrist; I can only adequately register the shock and relief and confusion from having him here with me again.