Page 43 of Reverie

She releases a puff of air, but a smile accompanies it.

“Physically, he’ll be fine. He was given nasal Versed, which sedated him, but luckily, it’s short-acting.”

I nod. “And not physically? Where is he at emotionally right now?”

She grimaces. “He’s had a rough time transitioning here. Alison has been with him for much of the day. She was a social worker in her past life.”

Past life. Is my life as I know it a past life now?

“I’m staying with him through the night. The doctor also gave him something to help him sleep, so he should rest through the night,” she says.

“Thank you for watching over him,” I reply. When she opens the door to return to her post, I stretch to get another glimpse of August.

I forget sometimes that he’s just a kid. Yes, he’s a teenager, and he’s got a lot of opinions about a lot of things.

But the truth is, August still needs people. Parents.

I’m in that role now. A stepparent. Sort of.

Halle shuts the door.

I make a mental note to check on August in the morning, no matter what. He comes first.

It takes a few minutes and several turns, but I eventually walk into the second kitchen—the assistant told me there are three—and help myself to the refrigerator.

Neatly labeled matching containers greet me as I revel in the cool blast coming through the open door. My wound doesn’t hurt quite as much now that I’ve rested and have a pain pill on board, but it reminds me it’s there whenever I move my arm.

“Oh, sorry.”

I turn from the open fridge and face the soft feminine voice. Amelia Brigham stands at the narrow entrance to the kitchen.

“Are you all staying on this wing? I’ll move to the other one if you want me to,” she says. She folds and unfolds her arms across her chest, and I notice she tilts her body so that her scarred side is out of my line of vision.

“Yes, we’re staying here, but, um, you don’t have to leave,” I say, struggling to find my words.

This is Hunter’s mother.

Hismother. Returned from the dead. Hunter has to be all tied up over this—in fact, I know he is.

I can’t imagine how I’d feel if my parents suddenly waltzed into the room.

But then, actually, I do. I’d be shocked but then overjoyed. Grateful. I’d want to spend as much time with them as humanly possible.

I’d realize the gift in front of me.

Instead, Hunter is angry. So, so angry.

And I don’t know how to reach him, despite all my training.

Despite loving him.

“Please,” I say, pulling out two containers without looking at the contents. “Please stay. I’d love to spend time with you.”

The shocked look that flits across her face almost breaks my heart. Hunter has so soundly rejected her in this short span of time, and that has to hurt.

“Thank you, Winter,” she says. I realize I didn’t tell her my name, nor was I formally introduced.

“I’m Hunter’s, um—” I straighten my top to give myself time to figure out how to describe myself. “I’m Hunter’s girlfriend.”