In Your Dreams

by Ginger Scott

  I lift the painting from the ground and test a few places along the wall where I think it would look best, deciding on the space by the doorway, across from my desk. I’ll see it daily, and it will renew me with determination.

  I make a small mark on the wall with a pencil, then tuck my writing tool between my teeth and hold the painting with one hand and a hammer in the other as I step from my office in search of a nail. I don’t expect to run into an angel, but when I do, I halt and take every bit of her in.

  “It was unlocked,” Murphy says, her voice the same as the last time we spoke, when she told me she was happy where she was and I knew she wasn’t really.

  I spit the pencil out on the floor to free my lips. She laughs. My chest fills up.

  Home.

  “I’m glad it’s you and not one of the vagrants my sisters swear are going to come in here and loot the joint,” I say, my eyes not blinking, not leaving her face. I’m taking a thousand pictures in my mind.

  She laughs again at my words, and it’s that familiar laugh, the one that comes from knowing the truth behind the little things. She knows my sisters.

  “I’m pretty sure I was the only person out on the street a minute ago. This place,” she says, looking around at my humble headquarters. Half-painted and torn-up floors, it isn’t much to look at yet, but the vision is starting to come together. She grins when her gaze lands back on me. “It’s hard to find, but wow…Casey.”

  Hearing her say my name is like a dream. Maybe she’s a ghost.

  “I know…it’s rough. Paige is helping, and she’s got plans for just about every wall in this place, and I’ve got a few clients lined up. Business will come,” I shrug.

  “I know it will. I saw the article in the paper. Mom sent it to me,” she says. “And this building…I see it. It’s good it’s hidden. Only the right people will find it.”

  “Exactly,” I say.

  There’s a pause—a beautiful one—after she compliments me. I live in it and revel in her beautiful face and the silence and her smile. Looking to the side, I search for a place to set down the painting and hammer, deciding on a box filled with plastic sheeting and paint supplies.

  “I heard your single,” I say, and her eyes brighten. She’s nervous, afraid I won’t approve. How could I not. “They’re playing it on heavy rotation on the country station here. Your brother…” I start, falling away into an “ahh” at my slip.

  “You’ve been talking to Lane,” she says, her smile falling a hint as suspicion and questions come into her eyes. I’m a little surprised he’s kept it a secret, but then again, he promised he would.

  I breathe in deeply.

  “I have,” I say.

  I missed her. And I missed her family. I let two months go without a word, but I knew she had gone. I kept in touch with Noah, just enough to make sure this time, things went as they should for her. I knew they would though. He’s class. I stopped by her parents’ house one afternoon on my way to a club opening in St. Louis. Lane answered the door, and before I knew it I was at the dinner table being fed and listening to stories about crazy renters and how the football team has decided Lane is lucky, so they insist he leads them out on the field. My cheeks hurt from smiling that night. It had been so long since I had a reason to, I was afraid I didn’t remember how. I didn’t care that I was five hours behind schedule in hitting the road. I skipped sleep in return for time with them. Lane’s been texting and calling ever since. Hell, at this point, I think he calls me more than Houston does.

  “We’re kind of like…bros,” I say, taking a fist to my chest, my mouth twisted in a smirk.

  She laughs lightly because I’m ridiculous. Her eyes fall to where my hand touched my heart, and I wonder if she can see how fast it’s beating?

  “Lane loves your song,” I say, clearing my throat and rolling my shoulders to get feeling in my fingers again. I scratch at the side of my face and try to hide the fact that I’m looking at her. I’m studying her, looking for changes—the effects of fame. She’s only on the brink, but that fame is here. She’s still the same girl though—nails polished, but chipped, hair fading, but purple, clothes lost somewhere between country and rock.

  “It’s his birthday, you know,” she says.

  “Real? Or half?” I tease.

  She bites her lip, leaning her head as she walks a few steps into the front room, running her finger along the dusty windowsill. “Are you saying half birthdays aren’t real, Casey Coffield?” she accuses. It’s flirty, the way she talks, and my heart pounds harder. God, I miss this girl.

  “I wouldn’t dare say such a thing,” I say, shaking my head for a slow no. She can have any birthday she wants—a million birthdays. A year’s worth. I would shower her with gifts. “And no, I didn’t know it was his birthday. I’m surprised he hasn’t told me—Lane’s a talker.”

  She giggles, nodding in agreement.

  “You can come to the party…if you want. It’s tomorrow. You know the drill—cake and Ghostbusters,” she says.

  “My favorite combo,” I chuckle. I rest my weight on the wall opposite of her, and it’s quiet again.

  I breathe. She breathes. Our eyes dance, but we hold our tongues. I didn’t know seeing her again would be so hard, but then, there hasn’t been anyone since she’s been gone. I’ve been driven, and nobody else has what she had. The focus has been good for me, but now, all I want is her to distract me every day.

  “You look good, Casey.”

  She says my name again, and I feel it in my chest.

  “You…” I begin, stopping and letting my mouth curve into a slow smile as I stare at her long enough to watch her neck and face blush from my attention. I look down to my feet, my chin tucked to my chest as my hands find my pockets to hide how nervous I am. I look up at her with a sideways glance, and smile like a fool. “Well you’re as beautiful as you’ve always been. But a little more so. You look…you look happy.”

  Her eyes crinkle, and eventually she breathes out a laugh.

  “I am happy,” she says.

  “I’m glad,” I answer, feeling the waves of adrenaline roll through my insides. I knew I’d see her again, but I also knew I would never be prepared. I was right. I’m not.

  “I should go,” she says, her words hesitant, her feet still here despite them. She doesn’t want to leave, but she should—she’s on her way. Or maybe she’s already there. Perhaps she is the destination now. I’m still in the beginning, trying to figure out how to fly.

  I swallow my nerves.

  “I’ll walk you out,” I say.

  I lead her to the door, pushing it all the way open, noticing the bells on the ground outside that must have fallen when Paige left. I chuckle to myself and pick them up, looping them over the doorknob. This is how my muse snuck up on me.

  She’s paused a step or two away from me, and I wonder if I look as afraid and unsure as she does. She glances over her shoulder to her car parked a few yards away along the side of the road, then turns back to me.

  “I think I can find my way. But maybe I’ll see you? For Lane?”

  I hear her, but I don’t answer right away. I’m too busy counting the freckles that stretch from one side of her smile to the other. When I meet her grays, I fall all over again.

  “You will,” I say, “for Lane.”

  For you.

  Always for you.

  She smiles and nods, and her timid fingers form a delicate wave before she finds the courage to step into me and touch my face with her small but gifted hands, pressing her lips to my cheek as old friends do when it’s been a while.

  But we aren’t friends. And with every step she takes further from me, the more my chest breaks open and reason and logic fly from our picture. I’m here. She’s seven hundred miles away. None of that matters though, because it only takes me a dozen steps and a single heartbeat to catch her before her hands reach for her car door. My fingers wrap around familiar shoulders as Murphy stops everything, dropping her keys f
rom her hands while her body trembles.

  “Casey,” she whimpers, and my lips fall to the back of her head as I breathe her in with closed eyes. I’ve missed her so much. I can’t do this. I can’t, because I’m selfish. I need her.

  “Don’t go,” I say before I know any better, and I squeeze my eyes closed hard, hating that I will have to take this all back. And I will, because that’s what’s right, but I still have to say it. I have to, because I mean it. It’s the only real truth there is, and I can’t not let her hear how much I struggle when we’re apart.

  “Why,” she says, turning slowly in my arms. Her hands find the center of my chest, and her eyes square on the small diamond shape on my shirt as if it’s a shield for my heart. Her fingers grasp at the fabric as she slowly looks up at me, honest eyes that have missed me too. “Why did you make me go?”

  I shake my head in tiny movements, because at this very moment, I have no idea. If I had this task to do all over again, I’m certain I’d fail.

  “Why, Casey? You said you would make me go, and you did. You shut me out. You ignored my calls. You disappeared so I had no choice. You broke my heart,” she says as the cry that’s been building for a year escapes her throat. It’s harsh and ugly, and the tears come fast, and they cut me open. “Why did you make me go?”

  “Because I love you,” I say. It comes out so simple and fast, but it makes everything so complicated. Telling her is greedy, and it’s why I never could. But I can’t lie to those eyes, and a year has only made the hole left behind larger. It’s impossible to fill with anything but her; I only hope the truth might make not having her bearable.

  “I did it because I love you. Because I’m in love with you. And I want more for you, even if it means that I die a little inside giving you up,” I say to eyes that blink away tears. Her lips quiver and her body shakes, so I move my hands up her arms to her face, cupping cheeks that tremble in my touch.

  “Because. I. Love you,” I exhale, my forehead falling against hers as our lips barely touch.

  I hold her here like this, swimming in my confession, while her own mouth struggles to find courage to respond. I’m prepared for whatever it is. I’m ready for rejection, for the “it’s too late” and the “I’ve met someone else.” I’ve had those nightmares ever since the day I promised myself I’d let her go. I can survive them knowing I get to hear her voice where it belongs—on albums and in soundtracks—in the ears of girls who need someone like her to look up to. I can handle it all, because for once in my goddamned life, I did the right thing by someone. I have no regrets. Only wishes.

  “I’m coming home,” she says.

  I don’t react at all, because I’m not sure I heard her right.

  “For you. For us,” she says, and I lean back to put distance between us so I can read her face and make sure I’m not dreaming.

  “I lied,” she says, her eyes locked on mine. My stomach sinks before she lifts me up again. “About Lane’s birthday. There is no birthday. I made it up. I…” she twists to the side, revealing more of her car. I follow her gaze and see everything she owns piled in the back. My eyes are wide as they return to her. “I lied, Casey. I’m coming home, because I love you, too. I spent a year figuring it out, and I knew, deep down I always knew…I just needed to hear you say it. You made me take the leap, and I love you for it. But now that I have, I want more. I want you. And I can go to Nashville when I need to go to Nashville. I don’t have to live there. It isn’t where my heart is. It’s not where home is. Home,” she says, pressing both palms flat against my chest, her head falling to rest on them next. “Home is here with you.”

  “Your record,” I ask in a half question.

  “It’s done,” she says.

  “And Noah…”

  “Is fine with me being here. When he needs me there, when it’s time to work on something new, I’ll go back,” she says, peering up into me.

  “And you…love me?” I ask, baiting her, just wanting to hear her say it again. I’m still in disbelief.

  She smirks on one side and grants my wish.

  “I love you. And I thought maybe…this new studio in town would be up for a few side projects, or maybe just jam sessions where we play nothing but Van Halen songs,” she says with a shake of her head. She smells so sweet and her hair is still like rows of silk between my fingers. I move as close as I can without completely folding into her and look down on her angel face, so happy and so bright in my messy world.

  “I will celebrate half birthdays, plaster on those weird-ass nose strips, and rock out to hair bands with you every night if that’s what you’d like to do,” I say as she moves to the tips of her toes until her nose tickles against mine.

  “I’d like that very much, Casey Coffield. I may even write a song about it,” she says against my lips, and my impatient mouth takes over, kissing her and pressing her body into the still-scratched car door that marks the first time she stole my heart more than a year ago. She’s never gotten it fixed, and I’ve never been the same.

  Beautifully broken, but whole together, I take her hand in mine and walk her back into my bare-to-the-bones building of my dreams. It isn’t the one I thought I’d be in, but then again, I’m not the man I thought I’d be, either. And thank god for that, because that Casey wouldn’t have deserved Murphy Sullivan’s kisses. He just deserved her lyrics, and the journey she took him on to get here.

  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  This book is for the dreamers—the real-life Casey Coffields and Murphy Sullivans out there. Dreams come in many shapes and sizes, and the things in our way are just as varied. More than anything, that’s what drove me to write this story.

  I get to live my dream. And that is something I owe to you. Thank you for reading my stories, for sharing your reviews and passing along recommendations to “try me out” to your friends. I’m nothing without your generous and vocal support, and I don’t want you to think for a minute that I take that for granted.

  This book is for you.

  I owe you many more.

  I’m working on them now—I promise.

  I have a few people that I need to give tremendous shouts out to in making this book come to life. First, and always first, Tim and Carter—my dudes. You put up with my late nights, laptops at baseball practice, and I won’t say lack of dinner on the table because we all know I don’t cook, but you feed me, and that does not go unnoticed! I love you two to the moon.

  As always, Shelley, Ashley, Bianca and Jen—you are the Jedi Knights of beta reading. You let me leave you hanging, and say those things I so desperately need someone to say. Thank you so much for spending your nights and weekends with my sweet, selfish, smackable but adorable Casey. He’s better for it—and I know it!

  Tina Scott and Billi Joy Carson—you are mega-warriors of words, and your editing and proofing is my foundation. Seriously—my entire building would collapse without you. You’re so vital and important.

  Wordsmith Publicity—you ladies simply rock! Thank you for making my words echo, my promos live on, and my reach stretch for miles. I’m so grateful for what you do. And to every blogger, reviewer, podcaster and Goodreader out there—thank you for the spotlight. I know you have lots of writers you could spend your time on, so I’m incredibly humbled that you give it to me.

  Now, about that cover. Smokin’, right? This one’s my favorite, and for lots of reasons—I love the vibe and I love the message. But more than anything, I love the team that helped me put it together. Michael Patrick Gleason—you are the hunk of hunky chins and smirks, and you embodied Casey Coffield in every sense of my imagination. Thank you, sir, for becoming The Chin. But you and I know the real master here: Frank Rodriguez of DLRfoto. I’ve known you since skateboards and pegged pants, and your talent has matured into a real art, my friend. This cover is special, and you’re the reason. Can’t wait to do this again. #TeamNeat

  Also, because he was so unbelievably cool to me—Matt from Lids, you’re t
he man for letting me hang out and design Leap hats in your store. I think the final product was pretty tight, yo;-)

  I hope you loved Casey and Murphy’s journey. I hope, as with all of the Falling books, you enjoyed the fall. If you did, please consider leaving a review, sharing your thoughts on this book with a friend, or any of the other little ways you can give us indie authors a boost. We notice, and we’re so grateful.

  Until next time…

  XO

  Ginger

  Books By Ginger Scott

  The Falling Series

  This Is Falling

  You And Everything After

  The Girl I Was Before

  In Your Dreams

  The Waiting Series

  Waiting on the Sidelines

  Going Long

  The Harper Boys

  Wild Reckless

  Wicked Restless

  Standalones

  Blindness

  How We Deal With Gravity

  About the Author

  Ginger Scott is an Amazon-bestselling and Goodreads Choice Award-nominated author of 10 young and new adult romances, including Waiting on the Sidelines, Going Long, Blindness, How We Deal With Gravity, This Is Falling, You and Everything After, The Girl I Was Before, In Your Dreams, Wild Reckless and Wicked Restless.

  A sucker for a good romance, Ginger’s other passion is sports, and she often blends the two in her stories. Ginger has been writing and editing for newspapers, magazines and blogs for more than 15 years. She has told the stories of Olympians, politicians, actors, scientists, cowboys, criminals and towns. For more on her and her work, visit her website at http://www.littlemisswrite.com.