I need to ask the years that I died.
I would be better prepared for the dreams if I knew a little about what to expect. I picked up my phone.
Me: Text me a list of the years that I died. Then I’ll go to sleep.
I waited for a response, staring at the phone. After about ten minutes, my phone lit up again and vibrated against the sheet.
West: 1412… 1533… 1790… 1912… 1955… 1977.
I looked at the dates. I should have asked for locations. Nothing in the 1600s or the 1800s? Strange. I sighed and texted back.
Me: Thank you.
My phone didn’t light up again.
1412… Joan of Arc was born. No other events came to mind.
1533… I swallowed hard and moved on. Not thinking about torture before bed was a strict policy of mine.
1790… Interesting. England? America? The location was imperative for this one.
1912… Great, maybe I went down with the Titanic. Could I time travel and give the captain and crew a heads-up about the giant iceberg? Would they be too arrogant to listen? Maybe I could email James Cameron for a psychological profile.
1955? Again, location… I need a location.
And 1977...
He was there, sitting at the foot of the bed. I was naked… and pregnant, he’d said. So intimate. I squeezed my eyes shut.
How would this time travel thing work? Not time traveling, I corrected myself. Something else. What am I looking for, some kind of door? Maybe a dream machine like in Inception, or something to harness lightning, like in Back to the Future?
I decided to cancel my subscription to Netflix first thing in the morning. If I found this door, if we succeeded in passing through, would we be in our past life, mind and body, like in my dream, or would we be onlookers? I buried my face in my pillow, trying to clear my head.
West was convinced there was a way.
West… just forty-eight hours ago he was Mr. Perry, my hot teacher. Ally-May was right.
OMG.
Chapter Nine
Sunlight pours through the open window, and I wake up slowly to the sound of waves crashing against a shore. I sit up in the bed, basking in the feeling of the sunshine against my skin. I am wearing silken lingerie, pale peach with spaghetti straps. A mirror is propped against the wall to my right, and I look at my reflection. The surface of the mirror is unclear, like the air above an asphalt road on a hot day. I am blond again, but my hair is shorter, wavy.
I move more fluidly this time, understanding. As the sheet falls away, I see that my belly is rounded. I splay my hands over my stomach, surprised to find it firm. Had I ever felt a pregnant woman’s belly before? Not that I could remember.
He walks in the bedroom, humming. He wears an undershirt and jeans again. This time, I think that we are not in a motel room. The large body of water across the sand looks like an ocean, not a lake.
“Morning, baby,” he says, leaning over me on the bed. I move backward, and he follows, his lips chasing. When he presses his mouth against mine, I feel shocked and guilty. “Now what’s that all about?” he teases, moving over me for a deeper kiss.
His hands. God, his hands. They begin at my neck and slide across my throat, down my chest.
“West,” I whisper.
I fall into his kiss, unable to resist the pull that he has over me. He backs away, his lips moving to my stomach. I gasp as he kisses the baby beneath the silken nightgown. “Morning, baby,” he whispers.
I watch in awe. Maternal instincts course through me, accompanied by feelings of adoration that I have never experienced before, not even with Logan. Tentatively, I reach for him, touching his hair. It is soft, and the slight, sandy-blond curl still exists. I thread his hair through my fingertips. Everything feels natural… and so, so real.
“In four months, I get to hold you,” he says, lifting his head and grinning up at me. “You’re showing a little more every day.”
“Yes,” I say. Again, my voice is throatier, more adult. I move my hand away from him and notice the numbers on my arm. They look strange, very different than the ones that I’ve stared at over the past twenty-four hours. I try to focus on them, but they appear to swim on my arm.
“No changes in months. Maybe he’ll stay away,” he says, his mouth on my arm. He kisses the numbers, and they whirl strangely over his lips.
I try to concentrate, remembering that I have a task. What is it? He is kissing me again, and I am melting.
. . .
I woke slowly, languidly, not jolted awake by fear and nausea. Stretching, I slid the alarm to off on my phone. Through the window I could see the sun was shining again, promising to be another humid day.
Thankful for the central air in our small colonial, I pulled the comforter up to my chin. My hair was spread over my pillow, the dark shade foreign after my colorful dream. I sighed, trying to remember the last few moments.
I longed for the feelings of warmth to linger as long as possible... the tender way that he kissed me, the motherly instinct flooding my body… as much as I fought reality, my world crept in and let the door slam behind it.
He doesn’t love me. He loves someone else.
I love Logan.
Morgan’s car is shot; Dad can barely afford to buy her another one.
I have piles of homework that I didn’t do.
Groaning, I turned over. I needed to record the details of my dream and talk to West. On a whim, I pulled up his last text on my phone and hit CALL.
He answered, sounding gruff. “Hello?”
“Do you sleep?” I asked, my morning voice more raspy than usual.
“Do I…?” he repeated. The phone jostled a moment, and he puffed air from his lips, sounding almost exasperated. “Yes, I sleep. Immortals sleep.”
“I wanted to tell you my dream, instead of writing it down.” Truthfully, I just wanted to hear his voice. The devotion in his tone from my dream was gone, but it was his voice, nevertheless.
“Shoot.”
I explained my dream, leaving out his kissing. “I saw in the mirror that I had blond hair, so I think it was 1977 again.”
He was silent for a few moments. Finally, I heard him sigh. “It was 1955. We were at our cottage in the North Carolina.” He sounded lost in thought. “You were pregnant. I kissed you, and then your belly.”
I breathed deeply, steadying my voice. “Yes.”
“And nothing else?” he demanded. Frustration was obvious in his tone. I narrowed my eyes, reaching for my glasses.
“Nothing else.”
“Okay, I’ll see you at school.”
He disconnected.
I dropped the phone on my bed, scowling.
I felt like I had failed him somehow. I don’t owe him anything! His door-in-a-dream-theory is pointless. Throwing the covers aside, I stalked to the bathroom. This would not be another day like yesterday had been. I had classes to attend and work to do. College felt like it was minutes away, and no matter what happened, I wanted a future.
My future.
By the time Logan arrived at my house, I was showered, dressed, and ready to go. Feeling much more resolved, I breathed deeply, having run lines in the shower about how I would respectfully decline any further involvement in whatever crazy he was involved in.
West would be Mr. Perry, my teacher. Nothing more.
My dad had already left for work before I woke up, so Logan kissed me in the kitchen more deeply than usual. I hugged him, returning his kiss with equal enthusiasm.
My mind drifted to a bed by the ocean, and I pulled away, irritated with myself.
“Morning, Cam,” he murmured, stepping back. “You look beautiful. But I’d lose that sweater.” He gestured to the window. “Already eighty degrees.”
“I’m fine, and it’s a cardigan,” I corrected, grinning. I had chosen a white, ruffled skirt, a lacy, white cami, and a cherry-red cardigan. I pulled the sleeves down, making sure to cover the numbers completely.
I’d Goog
led tattoo removal while eating my cereal.
“Well, you look like a valentine,” he murmured against my lips. “Come on.”
Logan talked about his meeting with the recruiter the entire way to school, and I was thankful to have him fill the silence. “Sergeant Fox listened to all of my questions and really took the time to answer them. I feel good about this.”
I nodded, staring out the window.
“How do you… feel about this?” he asked, glancing my way. “The Marines,” he clarified.
I paused, the memories of the night forcing raw emotion into my words.
“I feel like… I hate it,” I whispered, shocked at my honesty. Something snapped inside of me, and I turned to him. “I want you with me. Here. Forever,” I added, wondering just how long that would be.
His mouth fell open, those dark, brown eyes clouding. “Roam, why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Before what? Before you decided to go? Before you spoke to your family, and the recruiter, and all your friends? What right do I have to dictate your life?” I was shrieky, I knew it, but fear took my voice to another octave. “Terrible things happen over there! And they continue to happen every day! This is the longest war in our history, and I don’t want to… to lose you.” Selfish tears filled my eyes.
He pulled his Camry into the school parking lot, quickly finding his space. “I know you’re afraid, and I understand.”
“You can’t understand. Watch me leave, and then tell me you understand.” Angrily, I gathered my backpack. “I can’t.”
He gripped my hands and pulled me closer. I widened my eyes at his intense gaze.
“Marry me.”
“What?” I froze, not comprehending.
“Marry me before I go.”
I let a tear slide down my cheek. “So I can be a teenage widow?”
“Stop it. You’re my practical, optimistic best friend. You don’t know that I won’t come back.”
“You don’t know that you will.” I sniffed, wiping at my tear with the back of my sleeve. “I’ll marry you if you stay.”
He dropped my hands, obviously disgusted. “That’s awfully shitty of you, Roam.”
I winced. I knew that it was, but I couldn’t stop the words from pouring out of my mouth. “I’m really sorry. I take it back, I’m sorry,” I murmured, sliding out of the car. “I’m not marrying you before you leave. But I’ll support you,” I promised weakly.
“Obviously.”
“Come on! You asked how I felt, and I told you. If you didn’t want to know, you shouldn’t have asked.” I flung my backpack over my shoulder, walking to the school without him. I heard him call my name, but I ignored him.
“Ro, walk with me to my locker?” Ally-May must have seen us in the parking lot, catching me as I moved through the door. I nodded, attempting a brief smile. “Are you and Logan in a fight?”
“No,” I answered. Too quickly. “Why?”
“Abby heard you arguing in the parking lot, and said she saw you crying.”
Abby Lawrence. Always, like a thorn in my side. “Well, she can put her binoculars away and mind someone else’s business.”
“She’s such a gossip, you’re right.” Ally-May shifted, moving around a group of freshmen that had gathered in the hallway. “So, tell me all about Mr. Perry!”
I wanted to slam my forehead against my locker.
Repeatedly.
I searched for my history book, but it was not in my locker. Did I leave it at home? “He’s fine. Not that cute up close. He has terrible breath.”
I had no idea why I said it, but it seemed the perfect revenge for his lack of personality in our phone call that morning. Ally-May cleaned her jaw up off the floor.
“Shut UP! He does not! OMG, I have to tell…”
“Don’t tell anyone. I have to go.” Guilt tugged on my hand, and I dragged it behind me, shamed.
West- Mr. Perry- was writing on the dry-erase board when I entered the classroom. His handwriting was neatly written across the board. He had almost completed an outline for The World of the Romans.
He finished just as the bell rang and turned around. He wore a black suit, leaving his jacket hanging over his desk chair. A sapphire blue tie hung neatly from the collar of his crisp, white shirt, accenting his eyes exactly. His hair was messy but stylish, and I fought away the memory of the texture between my fingers.
He met my eyes. I ignored him, slipping into a desk in the back row.
Surprisingly, his lecture was lively. Despite his first-day-of-school warning to not “bore him with opinions,” he was open to meaningful discussion. I refused to answer any of his questions, though I knew all the answers without reading my missing textbook.
The Roman Empire was a favorite of mine, and I had covered the subject during the summer between eighth and ninth grade.
“What is the difference between the Emperor and the Senate? Roam?”
I continued writing in my notebook, copying from the board. “They were supposed to be equal, but the senate was just a glorified civic institution by the third century. The Emperor held the power.”
“Good.” He retrieved a textbook from his desk and moved closer to me, unbuttoning the first button on his collar and loosening his tie. “But why did it exist at all then?”
“The Emperor wanted to appear to operate like a republic.”
He nodded encouragingly. “How do you feel about this?”
I blanched. “What? I thought opinions were not welcome here.”
“I value yours.”
“Why?” I sounded like an insolent child and I knew it.
“Because, Miss Camden, you left your history textbook here on Monday. So, the information that you are giving me is obviously derived from memory, since none of it is written on the board up there.”
He handed me my book.
Raising my eyes to his, I carefully put my pencil down on my desk. “Civil war is inevitable. For example, the battles of Constantine.” I accepted the book, dropping it to the floor onto my backpack.
He nodded, sitting on an unoccupied desk to my left. “Very good.”
I picked up my pencil again, copying from the board. The rest of the class chuckled, and I ignored them.
When the bell rang, I gathered my books and hurried to the front of the classroom, heading for the door. He stepped in front of me.
“Excuse me, Mr. Perry,” I said politely, trying not to look at his face. My lips tingled at the memory of his on mine.
“After school, Roam,” he ordered, but his tone was noticeably gentler than it had been the day before.
I shook my head. “This isn’t going to work. I’ll talk to you later.”
He stepped in front of me, shutting the door behind the last student. The frosted glass next to the door was completely covered with history posters. No one could see outside… or in. “We have three minutes. Talk.”
“Mr. Perry, I… I have decided that I choose not to participate in this… this quest.” I had rehearsed a dozen lines in the shower, and none of them included the word “quest.” I was making it sound like he’d invited me to a rousing game of Dungeons and Dragons.
“I’ve offended you somehow.” He crossed his arms, looking at me expectantly. “Was it your dream? Me kissing you?”
“No!” I tugged at my fingers, gripping my backpack. “No.”
“Roam, I could kiss you. But you don’t want that,” he reminded me. His authoritative tone forced my stomach to clench.
His forbidden words sent a flush to my face, and I took a deep breath. “I don’t,” I protested, glancing at the clock. Two minutes.
“But what I made you feel, in your dream. You want that.” His voice had dropped to barely a hum.
“Yes,” I whispered, mortified.
He nodded. “Normal. You will find that. If not with Logan, then with some other lucky man, someday, when you’re older.”
I nodded. He took a step closer, tugging on his tie.
He stiffened, obviously affected. His expression softened, and he took an impossible step closer. “It’s overwhelming, I know. I want to talk to you more about it after school. I’m sorry that I was so short this morning. I didn’t sleep much last night,” he admitted, gesturing to his suit. “I have a meeting today with the faculty members.”
Embarrassed, I nodded slowly. “I’m sorry. Okay, I’ll meet you. But not for too long. I have so much homework to do.”
“I understand.” He smiled, reassuring. “Here, 2:45.”
I slipped out of his classroom, and it wasn’t until lunch that I realized what had happened. He had lured me right back in, and actually got me to admit that I longed for him.
Am I that naïve?
I expected Logan to be at his locker waiting, but he was gone. I checked my phone; no texts.
He’s so mad at me.
Logan was nowhere to be found in the lunch room. By fifth period, I was irritated. He asked me how I felt, and I told him. Did he really expect me to accept his parking lot marriage proposal?
I got caught up on my assignments during last period while a substitute teacher showed a French version of Beauty and the Beast. The bell rang to end the day, and still I had no texts from Logan. I decided to offer the olive branch.
Me: I don’t need a ride home. More research to do. See you tonight?
I hesitated at our traditional sign-off, ILY. What was the difference between Ally-May’s OMG and Logan’s ILY? It was not a word. It was just laziness.
I added I love you, Logan to the end of my text and pressed SEND.
In the history room, West propped the door open behind me as I walked in. “We can talk here, but with the door open. We just have to be quiet.”
“Sure.” I shrugged, swallowing hard and bravely lifting my eyes to his. “I told you everything already. You remember… you were there. But I have a question for you.” I edged closer to his desk. “Does your memory of that day… match what I told you? Did I act strangely when you kissed me and try to move away?”
He considered my question for long moments, his striking blue gaze never once faltering. “You’re suggesting that you can change the past in your dream,” he concluded. I nodded. “No, but that’s a great question. I remember that morning very well. You kissed me back and asked me to take you swimming in the ocean.”
Roam (Roam Series, Book One) Page 7
