“Lila, are you—”
“Jesus, give it a rest already. I’m fine.”
My tiny house had a lot of advantages. Most of them being related to time-saving. Less to clean, fewer steps from the laundry to the closet, limited storage space to curb my pack rat tendencies—but there was one major downside. No privacy.
As I headed to the bathroom, I risked a glance at the couch, and sure enough, Adam was awake. His body was stretched out, ankles crossed and arms behind his head, both ends of him sticking out over the armrests as he stared up at the ceiling. My breath caught as I realized he was shirtless, and he looked over at me.
“Morning,” I whispered. Eileen needed to sleep.
“Good morning.” His deep voice couldn’t quite pull off a whisper and was throaty in a way that made my whole body heat. The dreams were terrible last night.
“Um . . . I’m filthy . . . ” Understatement of the century. “So I’m just . . . ” I tipped my head toward the bathroom.
“Wait.” His abdominal muscles tightened, and he swung his legs around to sit up. Unlike Sal’s sculpted perfection, Adam’s body was purposeful and solid with a power that was true beauty.
I looked down. My toenails were caked with dried mud. “Sal will talk as soon as he feels better. I promise.”
“Lila, we need to—” He came toward me, and I retreated to the doorway.
“Shh, please. Eileen.” I tried to smile, but swallowed hard instead. “I need a shower before I call Maureen.”
“I talked to Phil last night.”
“You did? What’d you say? No one can—”
“Give me some credit. I was trying to help you.”
You always help me.
I stifled a sob, and shook my head as he reached out. “J-just a minute, okay?” I shut the door in his face and leaned over the sink, not sure whether I was going to collapse or throw up. But since neither was acceptable, I turned the shower on full blast and brushed my teeth while the water was warming up. I needed it scalding. Hot enough to burn away memories that weren’t mine to have. I spat in the sink and checked my teeth in the mirror to see if I’d missed some overnight scum, but the only scum in the mirror was me.
Stripping off my clothes, I realized how sore my muscles were—probably from sleeping on the floor all night. I’d been right beside Sal when I’d dreamed . . . Oh, this just keeps getting worse. Disgusted, I started jamming my things into the washing machine along with Eileen’s clothes from yesterday. And was this Adam’s shirt? Eileen must have brought it in from the marsh.
I fingered the soft knit for a moment before relinquishing it to the machine. In my dream, he’d been wearing a red shirt, not a light blue one, but it was the same texture. I’d gotten a pretty up-close-and-personal feel for it when he’d held me against his chest and murmured over and over again that it was alright, that he believed me, that he’d help me find my daughter. It was when his murmurs became his lips moving against my hair, searching for my face, his hands clutching at my waist . . .
The tears gushed, and I stepped into the shower and forced my face into the stinging streams. Sal would bring Cara back. Adam wasn’t always in my dreams. I’d stopped him last night—although I’d thought my heart would rip from my chest—and I’d learn to keep him out of them entirely. Somehow.
But he followed this time!
Yeah, how about I not remember that part, thanks?
I gritted my teeth and tried to concentrate on scouring myself free of grime, viciously scrubbing the myriad scratches on my feet and ankles. He hadn’t followed me. Not really. I’d just slipped from one nightmare to another.
After I’d pushed away from him—and been tortured by his expression as much as by my desire—I’d stumbled to our bedroom and locked him out. Flinging myself on the bed, I’d cried myself to sleep on the quilt his mother had made us as a wedding present and woken up in my room, on the floor, dirty towels stringing a path between me and the doorway—with Adam kneeling beside me. That’s when I’d known I was in another goddamn dream and had begged him to go away and told him he wasn’t mine, not really, and to please let me sleep so I could find my daughter.
“She’s in her room,” he’d whispered, and I’d almost believed he was really there; but when I’d looked again, he was gone.
I’d been on the floor in a dark room, my dark room, with moonlight ghosting behind my shaded windows. One, two, three. The house had been silent. No buzzing. I’d heard Sal’s shallow breaths up on the bed, and Pebbles’ glowing eyes had blinked at me from the top of my dresser. When I’d slipped out into the living room, the couch had been overflowing with an elongated shadow—Adam. And when I’d eased my way into Eileen’s room she’d been sound asleep, hot as usual, with the sheet twisted around her.
Hallucination. Stress-induced hallucination. That was a real thing, wasn’t it? Because if Adam really had been in my room . . . if he’d come to check on Sal . . . I turned the water off and shook myself like a dog. I needed to save some hot water for Eileen and the men.
Men? Make that one man and one alien.
I grabbed a towel and rubbed myself dry, slapping on lotion and pulling on clothes as fast as I could. Regardless of species, I had a big crew to make breakfast for, and a mountain of laundry to do. I caught myself grimacing in the foggy mirror. And of course, an alien to question and a missing wife to retrieve . . .
But not before Eileen woke up. She was right, thirteen or not, she deserved to be informed. As much as
