Stars in Your Eyes (Queen/Roger Taylor)

42. Skylar

"Happy Christmas." 

The innocuous words slip out of Roger's mouth, but it's as if he's saying something else entirely. He looks down at where my hand just lay atop his and then glances up. The look in his eyes is a mixture of sadness and tenderness, and something about it takes my breath away. But, in a flash, the look is gone, and Roger is gone, and I'm alone in my car.

Exhaling slowly, I push the gear into drive and carefully maneuver the Range Rover onto the snowy street. It's deserted, everyone inside celebrating with their families. It kills me that we never got a Christmas together with Cadie. We had five years of holidays together, but none with our daughter.

I've only gone a few meters when I realize that tears are streaming down my face. With a strangled sob, I pull the car over and turn on the hazard lights. Snow swirls around the car as I sit there, wondering what the fuck I'm doing. I know that if I turned around and went back to knock on the Taylors' door, I'd be welcomed in. But, no, I can't undo all the hard work that it's taken to get to a place that makes more sense.

The thump on the window scares the shit out of me. I jump in my seat, a curse escaping from my mouth. Squinting, I look out the window and see Roger, his gloved hand pressing against the passenger window. He's wearing what appears to be his dad's coat, a thick woolen cap covering his blonde hair.

"Open up," he calls. Quickly I lean over and unlock the door, snow and wind swirling into the car behind him. Roger holds his hands in front of the hot air blasting from the vents, rubbing them together.

"I saw that you'd stopped and--" he trails off as he glances over, finally taking in my tear-stained face.

"Ah, love," he murmurs, reaching over and gathering me against him. I sob even harder, my nose pressed against his neck. I've been here so many times before. Roger remains silent as my body shakes with tears and regret and anger until, finally, it all subsides.

"It's gonna be alright," he murmurs against my hair. I draw away, taking in his face, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes so dear to me.

"You promise? It will?"

He nods solemnly as if I'm crazy to doubt him.

"Trust me," he says. "It'll be okay."

His words resonate deep in my chest, and it feels as if I'm able to breathe for the first time in months. The snow continues to fall outside the car, creating a barrier between us and the world. All of a sudden, I'm drowning in Roger's eyes. We stare at each other for a long moment before he leans forward slightly, enough that it's an invitation, but not so far that he can't pass it off as something else if need be.

"Rog," I breathe, staring at him. "I--"

My words are cut off by a jarring sound in the background and, despite my efforts to finish the sentence, my mind slowly realizes that none of this is real. 

It's all a fucking dream. 

Sitting up in bed, I look over at the alarm clock and try to reorient myself to the present.

"Skylar?" Pierre murmurs from the other side of the bed, his voice thick with sleep.

"Sorry, so sorry," I whisper as I frantically slam my hand down on the clock to stop its screeching. Collapsing onto the pillow, I stare at the ceiling bathed in the early morning light. What the fuck was that? It would make more sense if it were a filthy sex dream about my ex. But this dream? I don't know what to make of it.

Beside me, Pierre rolls over and pulls me closer. "What time is it, mon chou?"

"Half five," I murmur, feeling like an asshole for having dreams about my ex when I'm in bed with a man who cares so much about me. Why can't I shake that night from so many months ago? Nothing has changed between Roger and me since then, and yet this dream won't stop.