Visions
Page 64
“I would.”
His arm tightened around me. “Good.”
“They’re your dad’s parents, I presume?”
“His mom. His father isn’t in the picture. Never was. He sent plenty of money, but there was no contact. That’s one reason my dad insisted on keeping me, and made sure my mother stayed in touch.”
“Wanting something better for you.”
“Yeah.” He shifted again and made a face, reaching under him.
“Yes, the ground is cold and rocky.”
“That’s not it. I’m lying on . . .” He pulled out the boar’s tusk. “Um, okay . . .”
“Actually, that’s mine. It must have fallen out of my jeans. Did I mention I wouldn’t tease you about your superstitions? I have my own. It’s a good luck charm.”
“Huh.” He turned it over in his hands. “I’d remember if I’d seen it before, but it looks familiar. A tooth of some kind?”
“Boar tusk—the tip of one.”
“Really? And the writing? What does it mean?”
“I have no idea. I had someone take a look, and she could only decipher enough to figure out it’s a protective amulet.”
He peered at the etched letters. “It’s old, whatever it is. Very cool. Especially this.” He ran his thumb over the entwined moon and sun. Then he touched the words under it. “You have no idea what this says?”
“Nope.”
“Huh. Well, as hard as I try not to be superstitious, I think you’re right. It’s good luck. You should keep it close.”
“I am.” I stuffed it into my jeans. “And I suppose I should put these back on so I don’t lose it, which probably means we should head back to the cabin. It is a little nippy out here.”
“We’ll head back, and I’ll get the fireplace roaring.”
—
Ricky was having a dream. A bad one. I woke when he kung-fu-chopped me in the neck.
I scrambled up, ready to fight whatever monster had attacked in the night, only to find Ricky tossing and turning, moaning softly. Sweat plastered his hair and soaked the pillow. I tugged the covers off, in case he was just overheated.
He mumbled something I couldn’t make out. He kept mumbling it, over and over. I rubbed his sweat-drenched back.
“Ricky?”
More mumbling. Then he shot up so fast he startled me.
“I know,” he said, grabbing for me. “I know it.”
His eyes were wild, those golden flecks I’d seen earlier glowing. He held my arm tight, gaze fixed on mine, sweat dripping from his face.
“I know it, Liv.”
“Okay.” I loosened his iron grip on my arm.
“Sorry, sorry.” He let go. “I know it.”
“All right,” I said. “What do you know?”
“The tusk. The writing. I know what it says. What it means.”
“Okay. What?”
His mouth opened. Panic flooded his eyes. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no. I know. I know.”
“Ricky . . .” I shifted to kneel beside him. “You were having a bad dream.”
He shook his head, sweat-soaked hair lashing as I gripped his shoulder. “No. I remembered. It’s important. It’s so important.”
I leaned in. “You’re still half asleep. It’s okay. It was just—”
“No! You need to know.”
He pushed me away. It wasn’t a hard shove, but it caught me off guard and I fell back.
“Fuck!” His eyes rounded as he grabbed my arms, steadying me. “Sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m fine.” I reached out, ran my hand through his wet hair, and leaned over to brush my lips across his cheek. “You’re having a bad dream.”
He nodded and took deep, shuddering breaths. His arms went around me, pulling me against him, and I fell into them. He held me tight, still shaking, as I rubbed his back.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
“Stop.” I nuzzled his neck, kissing him. “It was a nightmare.”
His head shook against my shoulder. “Not a nightmare. Well, yes, kind of. But more like a dream. I knew what the writing on the tusk meant, and I had to tell you. It was so important to tell you, and . . .” He took deep breaths. “And it was just a dream.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Fuck.” He pulled back, looking abashed. “It seemed so real. I had to tell you, but part of me didn’t want to, like I’d lose you if I told you, but you needed to know, and . . .”
Sharp breaths now, and I could feel him shivering as the dream passed and the sweat dried, leaving him cold and confused. I pushed him back on the bed and crawled in beside him, tugging the covers over us.
“Stay with me,” he said.
“It was only a dream,” I whispered as I curled up against him.
“I know. Just . . . stay with me.”
“I will.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Despite the events of the night before, I had little trouble waking up at the crack of dawn. I’ll credit Ricky with that. His methods of waking me were much nicer than any alarm clock. The fact that he felt guilty over disturbing my sleep last night only made him that much more determined to ease my waking.
There wasn’t much to pack—you can’t fit a lot in saddlebags. Then homeward bound. Ricky dropped me at my apartment and zoomed off to make his morning class.
I showered and changed and fed TC, who was peeved and ignoring me. Then I took off to the city.
“Good morning,” I said, handing Lydia a tea as I walked in. I heard voices in the meeting room and lowered mine. “Still in his appointment?”
“No, he had to cancel it. A more urgent one came up. You didn’t get his message, I take it?”
Shit. I’d checked for messages over breakfast, when I had cell service, but only had e-mail, which I’d ignored. Ricky’d had a call from his dad. Some problem with a member of the gang. Nothing urgent, just asking him to phone later. Now that I could catch the voices from the meeting room, I knew who was in there with Gabriel.
“Olivia?”
Gabriel opened the meeting room door. Don Gallagher stood behind him. Another man sat across the room.
Gabriel walked out. “You didn’t get my message?”
His arm tightened around me. “Good.”
“They’re your dad’s parents, I presume?”
“His mom. His father isn’t in the picture. Never was. He sent plenty of money, but there was no contact. That’s one reason my dad insisted on keeping me, and made sure my mother stayed in touch.”
“Wanting something better for you.”
“Yeah.” He shifted again and made a face, reaching under him.
“Yes, the ground is cold and rocky.”
“That’s not it. I’m lying on . . .” He pulled out the boar’s tusk. “Um, okay . . .”
“Actually, that’s mine. It must have fallen out of my jeans. Did I mention I wouldn’t tease you about your superstitions? I have my own. It’s a good luck charm.”
“Huh.” He turned it over in his hands. “I’d remember if I’d seen it before, but it looks familiar. A tooth of some kind?”
“Boar tusk—the tip of one.”
“Really? And the writing? What does it mean?”
“I have no idea. I had someone take a look, and she could only decipher enough to figure out it’s a protective amulet.”
He peered at the etched letters. “It’s old, whatever it is. Very cool. Especially this.” He ran his thumb over the entwined moon and sun. Then he touched the words under it. “You have no idea what this says?”
“Nope.”
“Huh. Well, as hard as I try not to be superstitious, I think you’re right. It’s good luck. You should keep it close.”
“I am.” I stuffed it into my jeans. “And I suppose I should put these back on so I don’t lose it, which probably means we should head back to the cabin. It is a little nippy out here.”
“We’ll head back, and I’ll get the fireplace roaring.”
—
Ricky was having a dream. A bad one. I woke when he kung-fu-chopped me in the neck.
I scrambled up, ready to fight whatever monster had attacked in the night, only to find Ricky tossing and turning, moaning softly. Sweat plastered his hair and soaked the pillow. I tugged the covers off, in case he was just overheated.
He mumbled something I couldn’t make out. He kept mumbling it, over and over. I rubbed his sweat-drenched back.
“Ricky?”
More mumbling. Then he shot up so fast he startled me.
“I know,” he said, grabbing for me. “I know it.”
His eyes were wild, those golden flecks I’d seen earlier glowing. He held my arm tight, gaze fixed on mine, sweat dripping from his face.
“I know it, Liv.”
“Okay.” I loosened his iron grip on my arm.
“Sorry, sorry.” He let go. “I know it.”
“All right,” I said. “What do you know?”
“The tusk. The writing. I know what it says. What it means.”
“Okay. What?”
His mouth opened. Panic flooded his eyes. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no. I know. I know.”
“Ricky . . .” I shifted to kneel beside him. “You were having a bad dream.”
He shook his head, sweat-soaked hair lashing as I gripped his shoulder. “No. I remembered. It’s important. It’s so important.”
I leaned in. “You’re still half asleep. It’s okay. It was just—”
“No! You need to know.”
He pushed me away. It wasn’t a hard shove, but it caught me off guard and I fell back.
“Fuck!” His eyes rounded as he grabbed my arms, steadying me. “Sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m fine.” I reached out, ran my hand through his wet hair, and leaned over to brush my lips across his cheek. “You’re having a bad dream.”
He nodded and took deep, shuddering breaths. His arms went around me, pulling me against him, and I fell into them. He held me tight, still shaking, as I rubbed his back.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
“Stop.” I nuzzled his neck, kissing him. “It was a nightmare.”
His head shook against my shoulder. “Not a nightmare. Well, yes, kind of. But more like a dream. I knew what the writing on the tusk meant, and I had to tell you. It was so important to tell you, and . . .” He took deep breaths. “And it was just a dream.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Fuck.” He pulled back, looking abashed. “It seemed so real. I had to tell you, but part of me didn’t want to, like I’d lose you if I told you, but you needed to know, and . . .”
Sharp breaths now, and I could feel him shivering as the dream passed and the sweat dried, leaving him cold and confused. I pushed him back on the bed and crawled in beside him, tugging the covers over us.
“Stay with me,” he said.
“It was only a dream,” I whispered as I curled up against him.
“I know. Just . . . stay with me.”
“I will.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Despite the events of the night before, I had little trouble waking up at the crack of dawn. I’ll credit Ricky with that. His methods of waking me were much nicer than any alarm clock. The fact that he felt guilty over disturbing my sleep last night only made him that much more determined to ease my waking.
There wasn’t much to pack—you can’t fit a lot in saddlebags. Then homeward bound. Ricky dropped me at my apartment and zoomed off to make his morning class.
I showered and changed and fed TC, who was peeved and ignoring me. Then I took off to the city.
“Good morning,” I said, handing Lydia a tea as I walked in. I heard voices in the meeting room and lowered mine. “Still in his appointment?”
“No, he had to cancel it. A more urgent one came up. You didn’t get his message, I take it?”
Shit. I’d checked for messages over breakfast, when I had cell service, but only had e-mail, which I’d ignored. Ricky’d had a call from his dad. Some problem with a member of the gang. Nothing urgent, just asking him to phone later. Now that I could catch the voices from the meeting room, I knew who was in there with Gabriel.
“Olivia?”
Gabriel opened the meeting room door. Don Gallagher stood behind him. Another man sat across the room.
Gabriel walked out. “You didn’t get my message?”
