29. Leyland

Leyland

Starting therapy wasn’t easy. My first session felt like walking into a room with all my fears laid bare, but I told myself I owed it to Clementine—and to myself—to stick with it.

It took time, more than a few sessions, but slowly, I began to unravel the tangled mess of thoughts that had been holding me hostage. I told Dr. Simmons about the coma dream, about how real it felt, and how waking up felt like losing something vital.

“I shared all of that with Clementine,” I said. “I told her how scared I was of waking up and none of this being real. Of having to start over again when all I wanted was to be with her.”

Dr. Simmons nodded, his pen resting on the notepad. “And how did she respond?”

“She understood,” I said, a small, incredulous laugh escaping me. “She listened. And for the first time, I felt like maybe... maybe I wasn’t crazy for feeling like this.”

Dr. Simmons leaned forward slightly, his gaze calm and steady. “What was it about her response that stood out to you?”

“It was the way she said it,” I replied, searching for the right words. “Like she wasn’t afraid of the weight of it all. Like she wanted me to let go of the pressure I’d been carrying to make it all perfect. But even now, there’s this part of me that worries—what if letting go means I lose everything?”

Dr. Simmons took a moment before replying. “It sounds like Clementine is giving you space to explore this together, to understand together. That’s an important foundation. But your worry—this fear of losing her—is rooted in more than the dream. What do you think it says about how you view yourself in this relationship?”

The question caught me off guard. I sat back, running a hand through my hair. “I guess... I don’t know if I deserve her. She’s this amazing, strong, compassionate person. And me? I’m just the guy who woke up with some strange connection to a reality that doesn’t exist.”

“Do you think Clementine would agree with that assessment?”

“No,” I admitted. “She told me the way I see her, the way I treat her—that it makes her feel seen, understood. She said she hasn’t felt that with anyone else before.”

Dr. Simmons smiled faintly. “And yet, you’re still holding onto the belief that you’re not enough.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, the weight of the words sinking in. “I guess I am.”

He tapped his pen lightly against the notepad.

“Here’s something to consider: the connection you’re building now with Clementine is based on who you are, not just who you were in the dream. She’s choosing to be here, to take this journey with you. What would it look like if you chose to fully believe in that?”

I let the question hang in the air, unsure how to answer. Finally, I said, “I think... it would feel like finally letting myself breathe.”

“Then that’s where we start,” Dr. Simmons said. “Not with trying to prove you’re enough, but by recognizing that you already are. The dream may have been a catalyst, but what you’re building now? That’s entirely yours to create.”

Maybe this wasn’t about holding onto the dream after all. Maybe it was about learning how to live—and love—in the present.

I left my session feeling a little raw, like I’d taken a scalpel to my thoughts and sliced them open. But I also felt lighter, like I could finally see a path forward.

There was still a lot to unpack, but for myself and Clementine, I would do the work.

I checked my phone as I walked toward the car. A text from Duke had come in while I was in my session.

Meet us at the spot. Got a surprise for you.

I sighed, knowing that Duke’s “surprises” usually involved drinks and some kind of trouble. Still, it was exactly the kind of distraction I needed after therapy. I shot off a quick reply, letting him know I was on my way, and headed toward the bar—the same one I’d last seen them at before waking up in the hospital.

The place was already buzzing when I walked in, even though it was only three in the afternoon. In the corner, I spotted Duke, Reggie, and Dre settled at a table. Reggie noticed me first and tipped his head to alert the others.

“Almost thought you were lying about sliding through,” Duke said, pushing a beer in my direction as I sat down.

I wasn’t in the mood for drinking and didn’t touch it, though.

“Alright, what’s the surprise? Or do I need to brace myself now?”

Reggie leaned back in his chair, a smug smile on his face. “No bracing required. I’m dating someone.”

The table fell silent for a beat before Duke raised an eyebrow. “Man, you better not be talking about—”

I could tell this wasn’t the surprise Duke had texted about.

“Olivia,” Reggie finished, his tone unapologetic.

Duke groaned, while Dre shook his head slowly.

I almost laughed.

“Olivia,” I repeated, just to be sure.

Reggie met my gaze without flinching. “Yeah. We ran into one another a couple of weeks ago. I know she’s your ex, but you have Clem, and this feels good.”

I didn’t know what to say, other than I didn’t really care, which might feel like I did to him. Olivia and I hadn’t been together in years, and I’d long since let go of whatever we’d had. But hearing this now—especially after everything I’d been grappling with—stirred something strange in me.

Déjà vu.

But the story isn’t exactly the same.

“You good, man?” Duke asked, his voice low.

I nodded slowly, forcing a smile.

“Yeah. It’s just... surprising. But if it works for you two, that’s all that matters.”

Reggie relaxed, but the unease in my chest didn’t fade. I tried to focus on the conversation that followed, but my mind kept circling back. The way Reggie talked about Olivia—how they’d reconnected, how it felt like something new—struck a nerve, not because I wanted her but because it was too familiar.

The parallels between their story and what I’d experienced in my dream felt too close to ignore. And it wasn’t just them. Duke’s injury, Dre’s job, my parents visiting the hospital after my accident—all of it had threads that connected to the life I’d lived in my coma.

I leaned back in my chair as the realization settled over me.

What if the dream wasn’t just my mind playing tricks? What if it was piecing together fragments of everything I’d been told while I was unconscious? Stories from my friends, my family, Clementine... what if that’s where it all came from?

The thought gnawed at me the entire drive home. By the time I parked, I knew I couldn’t leave it alone.

Clementine was on the couch when I walked in, a medical book open in her lap. She looked up, her smile softening when she saw me.

“Hey, superstar,” she said, setting the book aside. “How was therapy and your time with the guys?”

I sat beside her and angled my head to stare into her dark eyes.

“It was good. Hard, but good. Actually...” I paused, searching her eyes. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

She tilted her head to match mine, her expression curious but calm. “What is it?”

“When I was in the coma,” I began, feeling like I might have a breakthrough, “did you talk to me? Like... tell me stories, or anything about what was happening in your day-to-day?”

Her brows furrowed slightly, but she nodded. “Yeah. Your parents, your friends, and I all did. I thought it might help. Why?”

I took a deep breath. “Can you tell me exactly what you said? Everything you told me while I was unconscious. Like, did you lose a young patient?”

Clementine jerked back a little, like what I said surprised her. Her eyes searched mine. “You heard me?” she murmured, more to herself than me. “Leyland... what’s going on?”

“I just need to know,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Please.”

She nodded without hesitation, scooting closer and taking my hand. “Alright. I’ll tell you everything. But first, yes, I lost a young patient. I came straight to your room afterward and told you everything. Even though you couldn’t respond, I felt like you were comforting me.”

“I did… I was, I guess. Did Duke hurt his wrist that day?”

Clementine nodded slowly as she leaned her face closer to mine. It wasn’t long before we were nose to nose.

“You think your mind recreated the stories you were being told? Because, I think you might be right.”

Then she jumped up and scurried off out of view before returning seconds later with a large dry erase board from her office.

“Okay,” my baby started, her hands moving faster than she could talk. “I’m going to tell you all the things I know were told to you. And you’ll confirm if something like it happened in your dream.”

I nodded and leaned back, my gaze fixed on her, knowing she wouldn’t disappear and grateful for her understanding.

“First things first…” she spun around, marker in hand. “I really don’t like Dr. James Roker.”

A slow smile spread across my face without my permission.

“I see someone likes that.”

I shrugged, not in the least bit ashamed.

“Waking up to find you engaged to another man was agonizing,” I told her. “But when I met him, it made it worse. He didn’t understand what he had, and you were settling.”

“But when I met you…” her smile grew, and I felt like it was miles long. “I knew, didn’t I? That I was settling? It probably looked like I wanted to run, but deep down I knew, and so did you.”

“You know yourself well, tiny.”

“You know me just as well. Don’t you remember when we first met? I wanted to hightail it out of the gala. You were so intense, but I went home that night and googled you, anyway. Wouldn’t be surprised if this version of me you’re speaking of did the same.”

I couldn’t attest to that, but something told me she was right.

“Did you know if Reggie mentioned my ex when visiting?” I asked.

She nodded and turned to the board, writing Reggie and Olivia’s name together.

“It upset me a little because what kind of friend would date his friend’s ex, but I also understood that you wouldn’t care. At that time, he only managed to tell you he ran into her and she asked about you. Later, I learned they were dating and banned him from your room, but only for two hours. He basically stood outside with puppy dog eyes until I let him in.”

She chuckled, knowing she was a softy.

“I dreamt he told me about her, that she’d asked about me after he ran into her,” I revealed. “He wanted to know if I would give her another chance, but all I could think about was you.”

Clementine gave me a little smirk over her shoulder that made my heart beat a little faster. She knew just how obsessed I was with her, no matter where I am in this world, it’ll always be her for me.

“Tell me more,” I said, stretching my arms across the top of the couch.

As her voice filled the room, recounting memories, stories, and moments I’d somehow recreated, the threads began to weave themselves together in my mind. And the more she talked, the more I started to understand.

The dream hadn’t been meant to make me suffer but to keep me going.

It was a map of everything happening in the world around me, a reminder of what I had to look forward to when I opened my eyes.

And that… that made it easier to swallow, to process.