Finally, I drift off and let my dreams take me to a school that isn't this school, but you know, still is in that crazy dream-like sort of way. It has big white columns and murals that look nothing like the stone walls and wood beams of Adamson. Spencer is there, and so are the twins, all of them playing that stupid racing game in my dorm room. Church and Ranger show up later with golden retriever puppies in their arms, and that's when I know I've completely disappeared into la-la Land.
Then one of the dream puppies ends up peeing on me, and I find myself soaked; I start to wake up, feeling stupid for being so angry at a dream dog.
As I blink myself awake, I realize that there's someone climbing into bed with me, someone who's wet, thus you know, the dream about the peeing puppy.
“Whoa,” the person says as I push up through the fog of sleep. “What the hell are you doing in my bed?”
My eyes shoot wide, and I sit up ramrod straight, putting my back against the wall as I gape in shock at the silver-haired boy who's staring right back at me.
I’ll give you a hint: it’s not Eugene Mathers.
“What the … fuck?” I whisper, feeling myself start to shake. I feel like I'm looking at a ghost here, the ghost of Spencer Hargrove who just happens to be sitting warily on the edge of the bed, looking at me like he's not sure what to make of my presence.
Frankly, I'm sort of freaked-out by him, too.
“Why are in you in my bed, Chuck? Or should I say Charlotte?” He sounds mad at me, but tired, too. And he's all wet from the storm. His turquoise eyes are bright in the orange-yellow glow of the fireplace.
“Are you alive?” I whisper back, trying to swallow past the hard lump in my throat. “Please tell me I'm not dreaming. I can't take the disappointment.”
“Alive?” Spencer asks, looking at me like I've lost my damn mind. “Of course I'm alive. What sort of stupid question is—”
There's no stopping myself. I lunge forward and throw my arms around him, squeezing him as tight as I can, burying my face in the crook of his neck. Tears are rolling freely down my face, soaking him even further. And holy fuck, he smells so damn good. So good.
“What's going on?” Spencer asks, his voice tired and groggy. He stiffens up at first, but maybe there's something about the way I'm holding him that shakes loose some of that anger. Slowly, tentatively, he puts his arms around my waist and hugs me back. “What's going on? What did I miss?”
“Where have you been?” I whisper in a raspy voice. Ranger is out, doused in sleeping pills. I should probably try to wake him up. Church and the twins, too. But I can't seem to let go of this boy, no matter how hard I try. “This whole week has been hell. We all thought you were dead.”
“What? I told you guys I was taking a breather. My brother picked me up and we stayed at his place in Nutmeg.”
“Someone died in the woods, Spencer, a student in a gym uniform with silver hair. We all thought it was you. He was hanging from a tree. It was fucking horrible, the worst.” I squeeze him a little tighter, closing my eyes against the rush of fresh tears. Is this really happening? Or is this a dream, too? Please, please, please let it be real. What Micah said, about finding out that Spencer was dead all over again, it makes so much sense now. I feel like if I wake up and find out this isn't real, that I'll have a nervous breakdown.
“Wait, what?” he asks, trying to pull back from me. I stop him midway with a kiss, one that surprises even me with its ferocity. One minute, I'm desperate to hear his voice, to talk this whole thing through, just to make sure it's real. The next, I'm pressing my mouth to his, my tongue forcing its way between his shuttered lips.
For a split-second, he resists, pushing me back.
“Charlotte, what the ever-loving fuck are you talking about?”
I cut him off with another kiss, this punishing crush of mouths. There's a little too much teeth, but I can't help myself. This kiss needs to happen. Spencer groans and leans into me, his sweet-spicy scent overwhelming me and perking up all my senses. I feel like I'm coming alive in his arms, with this kiss, with the smell and warmth of him seeping into me.
Charlotte, slow down, my subconscious mind whispers, but Spencer's kissing me back now, his tongue taking over the wild tango of our lips. He kisses me with this barely suppressed need, this searing heat that feels like it's been building forever. It hits me like a train, and I find myself suddenly on my back.
