Swap Out (6 page)

She shakes her head.

“Then why are you doing this to me?”

“I never should have told you,” she says, her eyes closing. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re so full of shit it’s certifiable,” I bite off and her eyes fly open. I brace myself on my hands so I’m looking down on her and she shrinks back, but there’s nowhere for her to go. “You say you don’t have a heart? People who don’t care don’t feel
regret
. They don’t feel
sorry
, Zoe. You’re
lying
. Because you’re right, you are afraid, and you’re making me pay for it.”

I push myself up and stand, wobbling a little. I grab the bottle and take another long swig, then start walking towards my room, my shoulder banging into the doorway as I rebound off it.

“Christ, Zoe, even Hitler got married…”

*              *              *

My body lurches like I want to throw up, but I manage to keep it down. I try to make myself breathe, but all I can do is groan. I flip over onto my stomach, feeling sick as all hell. I don’t even remember getting in bed.

“Luca,” a voice whispers. “I need you to turn on your side. It’s not safe for you to lie like that when you’re this drunk.”

My brow furrows and I do as the voice says, rolling onto my left shoulder and my eyes fluttering open. But when I see the person lying beside me, I am at a complete loss as to what’s happening.

“Zoe?”

She smiles, her hand coming up to rest against my cheek as she burrows deeper into the pillow, my navy blue comforter pulled up to her shoulder. “You’re not going to get sick, are you?”

“You’re still here?”

She shakes her head. “I left after you went in your room and passed out. You’re dreaming.”

“I’m dreaming?” I mutter, and she nods.

This is fucking weird. But whatever, it’s not like I’m gonna remember this anyway.

I reach up and cover her hand with mine, weaving my fingers through hers before I bring them down to my chest.

“You feel real…”

“Just a dream,” she whispers.

I close my eyes, breathing deeply and inhaling the soft aroma of her, letting it float over me as everything else lazily spins. I love that smell. I always have. It’s the scent of graceful beauty and fierce intelligence, long legs wrapped around my body and brown hair tangled in my hands. It’s the laugh that shimmers up her body in the few minutes after, when she’s naked beside me and flushed with the pleasure I brought her. It’s the Zoe only I know, and the one I don’t want to share with anyone else.

“Can I ask you something?” I mumble.

“Of course.”

“Are you pregnant in this dream?”

A long pause, then a softly uttered, “Yes.”

I smile, bringing our interlocked fingers up to my mouth and kissing the back of her hand.

“Does that make you happy?” she asks quietly, and I nod. “You want a family?”

I nod again.

But a wave of nausea rolls over me at the movement and my spine curls, whiskey and loneliness climbing into my throat.

I concentrate on the cool air from my ceiling fan brushing the top of my shoulder, slipping down my neck and through the strands of my hair; slowing down time in my head and just waiting until it passes.

“You okay?” Dream Zoe asks, and I blow out a breath.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she says. “Do you have one, Luca? A family?”

“Shouldn’t you know that since you’re in my head?” I smirk, and she chuckles.

“I’m an illusion, not omniscient.”

“Well, excuse me,” I slur playfully, and she giggles. “I’ve had a few,” I murmur. “None that stuck.”

“I don’t understand.”

I yawn. Why am I yawning if I’m asleep? So fucking weird. “Foster hell.”

I think she sucks in a breath, but maybe that was my A/C kicking on. “What happened to your parents?”

“Mmm…Mom was a junkie.” I snort, then pull Zoe’s hand closer into my chest. Her fingers tickle my skin when she winds the chain of my IDs around her hand, and I’m never going to be able to stop wearing them since she loves doing that so much. “Born addicted to heroin.”

“No…” she breathes, and I smile.

“Yep.” I yawn again. “I’m a miracle.”

I hear her softly laugh, then whisper, “Yes, you are.”

I open my eyes, looking at the smoothness of her skin, the rich depth of her eyes, the fullness of her lips.

“What?” she asks with a smile, and if this was real I’d never say this, but it’s not so I don’t care.

“You’re so beautiful.”

She grins wider. “You’re sweet when you’re dreaming.”

“So are you.”

“You’ve been invading my dreams?” she teases, and I shake my head.

“I meant you don’t hate me right now.” I close my eyes again. “When I wake up, you’ll hate me.”

She stays quiet for a moment, her voice timid when she asks, “What about you? Are you going to hate me?”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to, but you make it so hard not to.”

“I know,” she whispers. “Luca…do you think you’ll ever forgive me?”

“I don’t know,” I tell her, then open my eyes to see hers watering. I reach over the short distance between us and tuck her hair behind her ear. “The guy from before, he asked you to have the abortion?”

She nods.

“Is that what you wanted?”

Her mouth twists, then slowly, she shakes her head.

“You said you never forgave him.”

“Luca…” she breathes, and I smile sadly.

“That’s what you’re doing to me. The real you, anyway.”

She turns her face into the pillow, her shoulders shaking, and I frown. I don’t want her to cry in my dreams.

“It’s not fair,” she says, her voice cracking, and I smooth my hand down her back.

“No,” I agree. “It’s not fair.”

I lightly rest my hand on her far shoulder and pull her onto her side so her back is sheltered by my chest, my arm falling over her waist and palm settling on her stomach.

“Please don’t cry,” I tell her, and she nods. She covers my hand with hers and I smile, nuzzling the back of her neck. The room is still spinning, and my body has that loose, detached feeling that comes with being undoubtedly wasted, but she feels so good and her scent is grounding me in a way. “What do you really want, Zoe?”

She sniffles. “I don’t know.”

“It’s a dream,” I slur. “You can tell me the truth.”

Her hand tightens over mine. “I want a family too,” she breathes. “I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t deserve to be anything else. Not after what I did.”

“Give me a break,” I mutter. “No one’s perfect. And I’ll tell you what: if you promise to be nice to me, and give me a raise, then you’ve got a deal and we’ll be our own messed up family. Gunshot scars and self-esteem therapy not sold separately.”

She quietly laughs and I pull her a little tighter against me. She’s never batted an eyelash at the marks permanently embedded in my body. The one in my right shoulder that went all the way through, she saw that one first and her eyes widened, but her fingertips were gentle as she felt the circle. She asked if it hurt and I shook my head, then showed her the other five on my back so she wouldn’t freak out if she felt them later. When I faced her again she took a breath and then asked how I was still alive, and I shrugged, telling her I was a hard son of a bitch to kill. She smiled and then hooked two fingers into the chain around my neck, then pulled me into bed with her and we never spoke of it again.

But sometimes when it’s the end of the day and we’re standing around waiting for a realtor or some store clerk, she’ll lace her fingers together and then drape them over my shoulder: one of her palms covering the entrance wound and her other covering the exit, and she’ll lean her forehead against my arm like she’s sorry. And she doesn’t even know the story, because I never told her, but somehow she still just seems to know how that scar is the one that matters.

“Is that all it’ll cost me, Luca?” she says, and slippery relief flows through me that her tone is confident, assured that I will deliver on what I offered. “You’ll give me a family if I give you more money?”

“I consider it a fair trade, and you know I’m worth it,” I tease. “And you have to start kissing me.”

“Quite a list of demands you got there.”

I shrug. “Then counter. You know you’re dying to renegotiate.”

“Okay,” she says and nods. “I want…full control of—”

I cut her off with a buzzing sound and she giggles.

“You didn’t let me finish!”

“Find a compromise.”

“Fine.” She sighs dramatically and I snort. “I will give you a raise, in turn for daily foot massages.”

“Deal.”

“And every time I kiss you, you have to tell me I’m beautiful.”

“Done.”

“Also…I get to name her.”

My eyes open. “
Him
.”

She gasps, peeking at me over her shoulder. “
Her
.”

I shake my head, my thumb sweeping over the planes of her stomach through her shirt. Although I don’t know why she’s not naked in my dream, but I guess you can’t win ‘em all. “You’re wrong, but that’s nothing I’m not used to dealing with.”

She playfully narrows her eyes at me. “And her last name is Pearce.”

“Nope! Wrong again.”

“Luca!”

“
Zoe
,” I say mockingly.

“My daughter’s last name will be Pearce,” she says assertively, and I arch an eyebrow at her.

“Your son’s last name will be Roark, end of story.”

“You’re a tyrant,” she tells me, and I shrug.

“Took lessons from this bossy little home stager I know.”

She rolls her eyes, then looks away while snuggling farther back into me. “Next you’ll tell me you want to get married.”

“Well since you asked so nicely…” I drawl, and she chuckles. I hold her a little closer, just breathing her in and thankful that my buzz seems to be wearing off. “Zoe?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at home,” she says sweetly, and I chew the inside of my lip.

“Are you asleep?”

“No,” she says. “But I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you,” I whisper, and she doesn’t answer. I wait a moment, just thinking, then quietly breathe, “Do you need me to come over?”

She shakes her head. “Not right now. Besides, I’m here with you.”

I chuckle. “This is the craziest dream I think I’ve ever had.”

“That’s what happens when you drink half a bottle of Jack Daniels. And however many beers are all spilling out of your trashcan.”

My brow furrows. “Thought you weren’t all-knowing?”

She daintily clears her throat. “I can smell it.”

I duck my head. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says, her other hand smoothing up my forearm. “Just close your eyes…”

“Am I gonna wake up?”

“Soon,” she tells me, and I shake my head.

“Don’t want to.”

She rolls over and faces me, her hand sweet and gentle when she lays it on my cheek with a smile. “It was a good dream though.”

Pain burns through my chest, my face falling. “But it’s not real. I’m gonna wake up and you’re…you won’t be here. You won’t be happy, you won’t talk to me, and you will never want any of this. You don’t want
me
. It’s all a lie.”

She doesn’t say anything because she knows it’s the truth, and suddenly I’m furious with the deceit of it all.

“Don’t come into my dreams anymore, Zoe,” I snap, and she flinches. “It’s real or nothing.”

“Luca…”

I shake my head, then pull her hand away and roll over, closing my eyes and trying to will her to disappear. But I still feel her hand settle on my arm, her lips carefully pressing into my back.

Please, don’t let me remember this.

Don’t let me remember this…

*              *              *

“Luca!”

My eyes fly open, and then pain lances through my head. I groan, then look around and realize I’m in bed, my best friend standing over me with an amused grin on his face.

“What the fuck, Scott?” I mumble, my hands coming up to scrub at my eyes. “What are you even doing here?”

“You texted me, dipshit. Told me it was an emergency.”

“What?” I mutter, then sit up and groan again. “I don’t remember texting you.”

He snorts. “How much did you drink last night? I mean I saw the empty bottle of Jack in your kitchen, and what the fuck are you doing drinking whiskey anyway? You know you can’t handle that stuff. You always black out like a bitch and then I have to get you out of some geek-off over how many episodes of
Star Trek
there were because the two-parter doesn’t count as one and blah blah blah.”