25. Leyland

Leyland

My mother and Clementine were hovered near the window, talking in low voices about my discharge instructions, while my father stood nearby, arms crossed in his usual stance, watching the interaction with quiet amusement.

I leaned forward on the edge of the hospital bed, resting my elbows on my knees as I waited for Clementine to finish coordinating my care. Her calm, no-nonsense tone made the nurse visibly relax, and it brought a faint smile to my lips. Even in the chaos, Clementine was unflappable.

“You really scared us,” my mother said, breaking from her conversation to direct her words at me. Her tone was laced with a familiar maternal worry she had in my dreams.

I shrugged, unable to muster much more than a gentle, “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head.

“You’ve got a lot to make up for, Leyland Graham. Starting with listening to Clementine, because she’s the one who’s going to keep you in line.”

Clementine glanced over her shoulder with a teasing grin that stirred something inside of me. “Oh, I fully intend to.”

The sound of Duke's voice interrupted the moment.

“Am I late to the family meeting?”

He sauntered in, with his usual smirk firmly in place, but my eyes were fixed on the cast he wore—memories flashing briefly in my mind of him getting hurt during a basketball game.

Duke chuckled as he leaned against the doorway.

“Glad to see you’re finally getting out of here, man.” He lifted his cast arm. “Thanks to this, I’ve been stuck with doctor visits for weeks. You know who kept me in check, though, right? Your wife didn’t give me a chance to slip up.”

I glanced at Clementine, who shrugged as if it weren’t a big deal.

“Someone had to keep you from being a liability.”

The familiarity of their banter struck a chord deep inside me. I missed hearing them go back and forth like siblings and wondered if they would’ve gotten to this point in my dream.

My chest ached a little at the thought, but I said nothing, unsure if I was ready to voice how uncomfortable I felt comparing lives—one that exists and always has with one that hadn’t been real at all.

“How’d you do that?” I asked instead, pointing to his wrist.

Duke looked down as if he had to think about it, then said, “Playing basketball. I went a little too hard thinking about you being in here. Clem treated me that day.”

I nodded slowly.

“Told you about it,” he went on. “Wasn’t sure if you heard me, but we all talked to you while you were down.”

I wondered what else they had told me, but didn’t ask.

“Alright,” Clementine chirped, her gaze drifting around the room before landing on me. “Let’s get our guy home and settled.”

Was it a coincidence that I dreamt up what happened to Duke in real life? Or had my mind somehow woven pieces of reality into a fabricated world? I couldn’t make sense of it, and the questions hung heavy in my mind while Clementine drove us home.

“You alright, superstar,” Clementine asked, glancing at me briefly before turning her attention back to the road.

“Just thinking,” I murmured. “Everything has color now.”

She hummed as she came up at our exit and I watched the sky move with us, grateful for this second chance.

When we arrived at the house, my parents were already inside, moving with practiced efficiency. My mother sorted through the kitchen, loudly declaring her intention to stock the fridge, while my father busied himself ensuring the furniture arrangements suited my temporary restrictions.

Clementine fit seamlessly into the dynamic, directing tasks with ease. She laughed lightly at something my mother said, and for a moment, I just watched her. There was something magnetic about the way she moved through our home.

Why hadn’t I thought to pay this place a visit when I was dreaming?

We’d bought it two months before getting married, yet I hadn’t thought of it at all.

Before I knew it, Clementine and I were alone.

Duke had left first with my parents following soon after.

I settled onto the couch, exhaustion tugging at my limbs, but my focus remained fixed on her. She moved around, tidying up nothing in particular, making tea, ensuring everything was in its proper place. Every movement felt deliberate, like she was just as afraid as I was that this wasn’t real.

Eventually, Clementine noticed my gaze and stopped.

“What?” she asked softly, her brow arched in curiosity.

I shook my head.

“Nothing. Just watching you.”

Her expression softened, and without another word, she made her way to the couch and sat beside me, stretching out a little and resting her head in my lap. Having her close instantly eased the restless ache in my chest.

My fingers found their way into her curls, and I gently began to massage her scalp.

“You should rest,” she murmured, voice drowsy. “You need it.”

I didn’t respond, my focus entirely on her. The fear of closing my eyes and waking to find her gone again was too strong. Instead, I observed her as she drifted off, tracing the lines of her face with my eyes, committing every detail to memory.

This was real. She was real.

And I wouldn’t let myself forget it.

Sleep called to me, but I refused to answer, choosing instead to stay awake and watch over her. This moment, this life with her, was too precious to risk losing, even for a second.