Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Was this real?
I read the entire thing over and over again.
My God, no wonder Emme had called me. If he’d sounded half as sincere on the phone as he had in this email, I’d have believed him too.
But should I?
My head said no.
My heart said yes.
My gut … I wasn’t sure yet. My inner voice was still silent.
Setting the phone down next to me, I pulled the covers up to my chin and lay there, shivering and scared and wide-eyed in the dark.
I wanted more than anything for his words to be true, for his feelings to exist as he’d described them. I’d never heard him so forthright about his fears or talk about the future like that.
I picked up my phone again and reread the ending.
For the first time in my life, I’m looking ahead and thinking to myself, I’m not done.
I’m not done living, and I’m not done loving you, Maren Devine. Not by a long shot.
Granted, I’m not much of a catch right now, but I swear to God if you’ll give me that second chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life making you the happiest woman alive.
You once asked me to let you love me, and I promised I would. Let me keep my promise.
Now, then, always and only yours,
Dallas
My eyes filled. My stomach churned. What if this was just his fear and adrenaline talking? What if he woke up after the surgery and said, Sorry, changed my mind. What if I showed up at the hospital and he refused to see me?
But … what if he meant these things? What if my head was wrong? What if my heart knew the truth? Which part of myself could I trust?
I closed my eyes. I breathed deeply, in and out, aware of each breath, turning my focus inward. Somewhere inside me was the answer, I was sure of it.
I heard Madam Psuka’s voice. Then the moment the dream is preparing you for has not yet come. The story is not done.
I drifted deeper.
Still the voice was hers. Be stronger. Be braver. Trust yourself. Open yourself up to all possibilities. Stop seeing yourself trapped in a cycle of heartbreak, and a way out will present itself to you—but not if you refuse to let it. Not if you refuse love.
And deeper still, until I’m in a room full of people, but they can’t see me.
I keep trying to talk to them, but I can’t speak. I can’t even open my mouth.
I look down and notice I’m naked.
That’s when I see the snake.
Slithering through the crowd along the dark wood floor, it’s heading straight for me.
Panicked, I start running for the door at the end of the room, carrying the clock. It’s ticking loudly.
Eventually, I reached the door but discover there is no handle. And it won’t budge.
For the first time, I turn around and face the snake. It stops short of me.
I hear a voice. It is my own, not speaking aloud, but inside me. It says, I am not afraid to love.
The snake hisses, as if it heard me.
I welcome the voice, and it speaks again. I am not afraid to love.
The snake begins to vanish.
I am not afraid to love.
The room is empty now; the people have disappeared. I look at the snake again and discover it’s gone.
I am not afraid to love.
I walk to the center of the room and set the clock on the floor, where it continues to tick loudly, neither fast nor slow, but with a steady, reassuring rhythm. Then I turn and look around. The closed door is still there. But there is another door as well, on the opposite side of the room. It has a handle.
I am not afraid to love.
I move toward the door, slowly at first, but eventually start to run. When I reach the door, breathless and exhilarated, I grab the handle and pull hard. It’s heavy and does not open easily, but I don’t give up. I grasp harder and pull with all my strength, will it to give with all my might. I don’t know what’s on the other side, but I know I have to get there.
With one final heave, the door swings open.
“I am not afraid to love,” I whisper.
And I run through.
I woke up with a start, my eyelids flying open. Immediately it all comes back to me—the phone call with Emme, the messages and email from Dallas, the dream.
“Shit!” I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I look at the clock on the bedside table and see it’s after seven already. “Shit, shit, shit!” Was Dallas in surgery already? I’d never replied to his email!
I jumped out of bed and frantically got dressed, brushed my teeth, and braided my disheveled hair, all the while throwing all my crap into my suitcase without even folding it. Thankfully, my phone had charged all night. My first call was to Emme.