Heart manic and each breath painful, it took me longer than I should to make sense of what was happening.

"It was just a bad dream, sweetheart," Deacon was saying. His hands cupped my face, much like he had in my dream, but his touch was gentle and kind. I still fought, but once I had managed to sit up and he had backed away, I managed to take in my surroundings.

We were in bed. The lamp on one side was on. Deacon was hovering, and I . . . was crying. Tears rolled down my cheeks and each breath I took was hindered with a sob.

"Deek?" I...