I wake up and sit up in my bed, rubbing my eyes as my old bedroom comes into view. The early afternoon light from the window illuminates the space. Confusion causes me to squint at the Johnathan Taylor Thomas poster on my wall.

Didn't I take that down years ago?

As I roll out of bed, I look down to see I have on an old summer dress, a red one with tiny white flowers printed on it. I used to wear this all the time but haven't in years. I then notice a book on my dresser and walk towards it. I immediately recognize the very old and tattered copy of The Neverending Story. 

 I open the book to find the note I tucked inside all those years ago. the memory feels so fresh as if I've been transported right back to that day. 

Hey, sleepy; I didn't want to wake you, so I'm creepily writing a note at your bedside. If that doesn't scare you away, will you meet me in the barn when you get up? We should talk. Is what is scribbled on the note. It's torn from a notepad with a little monkey at the bottom holding a sign that says, take a message. 

I don't want to relive this memory, it hits me in some form nearly every time I come home and here it is again it seems, but I can't seem to wake up, and I cannot take my eyes off the darn note and that perfect handwriting.

I guess even my subconscious loves to torture me. 

A noise from downstairs shakes my attention from the tiny paper in my hand and I hope I'm waking up from this thing. 

Not the case, instead, everything changes. I realize the poster is gone, and the walls are simply bare white, other than some patchwork like it looked before my dad painted it. It's no longer brightly lit. Instead, it appears to be early evening. The book that was just there is gone; in its place, a bottle of wine, the fancy overpriced stuff, with two glasses on either side. The note in my hand is no longer written on the monkey paper but rather a torn page from a romance paperback sitting next to the wine. 

Julian... I recall when this was, and remember momentarily getting mad about the torn page, but then all I focused on was the words.

Grab the wine and meet me in that old barn- got a surprise for you is what's written on this note in much sloppier handwriting.

"Fuck, wake up," I tell myself, but I don't. 

I flipped out that day... when Julian left me that note. I read the words, meet me in the barn, and it brought it all back. I hadn't been back in that barn since he left... and...

The next moment, I am standing outside the barn holding the note with a shaky hand. Suddenly I walk inside, I have no control over my body in this dream, and I desperately want to wake up. 

But I can't.

Julian is standing there waiting for me. My eyes wash over his handsome and youthful face. The fine lines from all his long days and hard nights are not there yet. His curly chestnut locks are still overgrown and adorable, not yet cut into a short conservative style he wears now, his emerald eyes full of hope and not bitterness. It's like a punch in the gut remembering what I used to see.

"You forgot the wine," he comments. "It's okay; we'll go somewhere after. I didn't realize how dusty and rundown it is here."

He pauses when I don't speak but doesn't see something is wrong. He never was good at reading signs. Instead, he lets out a nervous breath. "Never mind any of that. Kinsey, I have something to ask you." His sensual lips curve into a soft smile as he drops to one knee.

"No... Jules, I—Please. I love you, but not here... we can't do this here..." I hear my voice, but it sounds so distant.

I am outside of myself now, it's a weird feeling. I can see my younger self standing there looking at Julian, at the ripe age of twenty-four, so in love and ready for a future with him. Until that note that reminder of the barn and what it meant to us, sent me reeling.  

"What? Why? Babe, are you okay?" Julian frowns, looking nervous, and then I watch as the door flies open, and my younger self runs out; Julian chases after me in a hurry. "Kinsey, wait!"

The barn door slams shut with a loud thud, and I look at it in stunned silence. I still have the damn torn paper in my hand. A part of me wants to run after my dream self and tell her to say no when he asks again at the beach the next day, but I know I can't change my choices now.

"Who tears up someone's book as a romantic gesture? Wow, Kinsey, you should've known better."

I gasp at the voice as I whirl around, and then I see him, standing where Julian just was, his back to me; he's wearing one of his thin checkered shirts with dark jeans.

"Olly..." I whisper the name into the air as tears fill my eyes.

"You married the wrong guy."

"I know." I take a step closer and hold my breath as he turns around.

And then it's all gone- my old self, Julian, Olly, the barn, all of it; my eyes fly open, and just like that, I'm awake.

I sit up and wipe the tears from my eyes; of course, I'd wake up before I saw his face. He did say I'd never see him again, didn't he?

Guess he kept that promise.

I'm still in my old bedroom, not the barn. It's dark, very dark, I can hardly see a thing, so I flip on the lamp by the bed. As the dim yellow light illuminates the room, I see the calming blue walls and know for sure I'm awake and back in reality. The walls have been that color since my dad painted them all those years ago. Mama has it sparsely decorated with a few pretty pictures other than that, it's kept simple.

Technically it's a guest room now, but we already have the other guest room that my grandparents stay in, and overnight guests are rare, so it's pretty much still my room.

I stand, stretching my stiff legs as I do. A glance at the clock shows it's nearly eleven; after my bath, I crawled into my old comfy bed and passed right out. The dream/nightmare, whatever it was, is lingering, and I can't shake it off.

Oliver could always chase away a bad dream, we always read each other's books, and he sure loved his Steven King novels, but they always got too scary for me. So, he'd make up an alternate ending when I couldn't finish the book. 

"Damn it, Olly." I curse as I stand up, making my way to my dresser, tears burning my eyes; I open the front drawer, and there it is, right where I left it.

The Neverending Story and tucked in it will be the note that changed everything.

"Damn it! You weren't supposed to leave. You said forever. You promised!" I pick up the book and toss it angrily across the room, it hits the wall and lands on the carpet with a soft thud, and I gasp.

"No, no, no, no." I run over to pick it up, and sure enough the binding is broken.

One of Olly's favorite books; it was one of the ones I liked as much as him, so he always let me hold onto it.

The stupid note on the monkey paper slips out as I pick the broken book up, and it's all I can do not hurl it across the room again. Instead, I set it down carefully on my dresser. I can only hope there's still someone at the bookstore that can fix old books.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper to the book as I wipe back more annoying tears.

I don't know if I'm crying over Julian, Olly, or the damn book at this point. Maybe all of the above.

I decide to head downstairs and see if I can't find some wine; there's no way I'll go back to sleep easy now.

I open the closet and am glad to find my old clothes hanging up and smelling fresh, like lilacs and summer, courtesy of my wonderful mama. I slip a flannel over my long sleep shirt; the soft, warm fabric helps calm me somewhat.

I'm quiet as I slip out of my room and downstairs, as my parents are usually in bed by nine and up at the crack of dawn. Luckily, I've had plenty of practice sneaking out as a teen. The carpeted hallway is easy to glide across. It's the wooden staircase that's tricky—the fifth, third, and second step squeak. I skip the fifth step easily; the double step is a little tough; I'm not as limber as I once was. I gingerly grip the railing, placing one leg down and then the other.

I somehow make it to the bottom step without incident and do a silent cheer; I still got this!

I hop down and land on something soft and squishy; oh, my lord, what is it? Before I can gather any thoughts, it makes a loud and shrill squeak. Gasping, I clamp a hand over my mouth and jump away from the thing.

It's furry and, oh good god...is it an animal?? 

Oh wait... I peer closer and realize it's a cat toy... 

The orange and yellow cat, named Daisy, meows from the corner where she sits enjoying my inner humiliation, I meet her eyes, and I swear she's mocking me. I give her a look right back, and she saunters off. She's old and quite a snob, despite her chipper name. 

I step into the kitchen and notice a light from the window above the sink; as I get closer, I see that Hunter's trailer is lit up.

It's late. I can't go over there right now...

Can I?

Why not? It's Hunter; not like he'll be mad about it, and he's up anyway, so—

Without further thought, I slip out the kitchen door, gulping back emotions when my eyes fall to the barn behind the house. I force my eyes forward as I start across the field. Hunter's trailer door opens, and he steps out, so he must've seen me through the window. He waves me over, and I hasten my steps, wrapping the flannel tighter around me as the wind blows.

"Hey, Kinz," he greets me with a curious flicker in his eyes. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Just woke up. Mama must've drugged my tea earlier."

He laughs. "Well, good, you needed some sleep." 

"You weren't about to go to bed, were you?" I asked as I moved back to the house. "Don't be afraid to send me on my way if you were."

"I'd never send you away, little Darlin, and you know it."

"Oh, put your charm away," I say with an eye roll as I bite back a grin.

"Pft," he scoffs. "You haven't seen me at my most charming, or you wouldn't be saying that."

You're right. I probably wouldn't, but you never wanted to charm me. If you did, maybe I wouldn't be having nightmares about any exes... 

 Is what I don't say.

"Is there room for me over here with your big ego taking up so much space?" I ask instead, and he cracks a grin.

"Always, room for you, Kinz. Are you hungry or anything? I was just having a beer, but I can pop a pizza in."

"I'd rather join you for a drink."

"Sure, but I don't have any wine. It's whisky or beer." He opens the trailer door for me, and I slip in; it's bigger than I expected. The interior is spacious; it has room for a couch and TV on one side. The other side has a kitchen that sits in a bump out and has space for a full fridge. Across from that sits his booth-styled kitchen table, which has a cold beer sitting on it. I see a small staircase that must lead up to a sleeping loft.

I spy some fruit on his counter and head over. "You have oranges. I'll just make an old-fashioned."

He pulls his bourbon from the cabinet along with two lowball glasses. He fills one with ice as I slice an orange up into quarters.

"You know that squeezing an orange into whiskey isn't an old-fashioned, right?"

"Will be if I add cherries, you got any?" I open the fridge and grab a small jar. "Bingo."

"I wouldn't," Hunter warns. "There's no telling how old those are."

"I don't think they expire." Still, I put them back. Death by maraschino cherry is not the way I want to go down.

Hunter pours each of us a bump, mine over ice and his straight. I squeeze a generous bit of orange over the whiskey, then sit at the booth as he sits across from me.

"It's comfy," I offer as I lean back and sip the robust booze. It burns, but after that dream, it feels good.

"Much better than the one I first had, huh?"

"That thing was a shoebox! You kept hitting your head." I laugh. 

"Yeah, surprised I don't have brain damage from that summer."

"Sorry." 

"What are you apologizing for? It was the best summer ever, Darlin. Well, I mean expect..."

"The two weeks I tried to become one with my bed and snapped at you every time you tried to pull me out of it?" I offer a sheepish smile. "I can say sorry for that, at least, right?"

"No, you can't because that is not your fault." There's a flicker of anger in his eyes, but it quickly passes.

"Then I'll just say thanks for pulling me through it."

"If you start feeling like that, and you need to go somewhere, or whatever you need, just tell me, Okay?" 

"I'm not going to fall apart like I did then," I assure him, seeing the relief on his face. Those were some dark months after Oliver left; and I don't think I'd have made it through without Hunter. 

I sip my drink slowly as I ponder. "It's not that I'm not sad over Julian, I am. I'm also angry, disappointed, and even regretful, but... then, I'm also relieved. It was this slow thing that destroyed us bit by bit. Then it felt like the poison was seeping out over time, and we were living in it."

"Fuck, I feel that." He holds up his glass, and we clink them together, before we each take a nice hearty sip. That burn feels real good going down. 

"How long were things bad?" I ask with a curious tilt of my head. He met Amber right after I got engaged and married her a few months after I married Julian. I was stunned at the time. It was all so fast.

"That first year was like a whirlwind; she came into my life when I needed something, a distraction, a change, I don't know." He brings his glass to his lips. "She helped, though."

"From what?"  

"It... I don't need to get into that now."

I want to push but I don't, it leaves me feeling a little offput though. I know we weren't as close then but, sucks that he had something going on and didn't come to me. 

"So, then all of a sudden, she's pregnant," Hunter continues. "We got married fast; her dad insisted on that. Some days were great. We were excited for the baby; she loved the house I was building and being part of it. But others were terrible, one fight after the next, and after Harley was born, it was even worse. She has a short fuse, unlike y'all's silent fights; she would go off first and apologize later. But the thing is, all those fights left bits of anger behind, and that turned into that poison you talked about."

"Yeah." I'm nodding in agreement before swallowing down the rest of the bourbon with a wince. "You try and live in it. You think you are, but it's actually slowly killing you."

"Exactly that." He finished his too and then rises with our glasses, he steps over the kitchenette to refill them. 

It's such a strange sense of relief that I'm not alone, and he's gone through this too, even if I am still a little jilted that there's stuff Hunter went through, I don't know about that Amber does. I try not to be jealous of her, but with a little booze in me, I can admit I am, just a little though. 

"So, to answer your question. It was rocky from the start of our marriage. We tried for Harley, but in the end, we knew he was better off without us fighting all the time."

"How is he doing with everything?"

Harley is flipping adorable, he has Hunter's blue eyes, and dark hair, making him look a lot like his dad, but his freckles and cute smile with the dimples are from his mom. 

"It took some time, but he's better; he still gets sad leaving Amber and leaving me, but he snaps out of it quicker now. I get him after school, Tuesday and Thursdays till bedtime, and every other weekend." Hunter knocks on the tabletop. "This flips over and becomes a bed; he digs it. He seems to be happier here than in the duplex."

"It probably feels like an adventure," I offer.

"That and your mama loads him up with sugar."

"Of course, she does." I smile fondly, I am very excited to be to be spoiled with her sugary treats. I love cooking but I never had the knack for baking that she has. 

"They been so great letting me stay here. The house I built my ma is small and doesn't have enough land for a trailer. If not for them, I'd be stuck above the bar or something."

"It doesn't seem fair that you build everyone houses and are living in your trailer," I point out.

"It's fine, Kinz. I like it," Hunter shrugs. "I'm out of it, you know? Fighting over stuff like the house isn't worth the effort anymore."

"Neither is fighting over furniture," I add, and he scoffs.

"Not the same; leaving you without a bed or even a couch was a dick move."

"She left you with no roof! That's worse."

"I didn't want to stay there," Hunter argues. "All that house does is remind me how miserable we were there."

"Yeah, I get that. The further we drove away from that place, the better. I could breathe."

We refill our glasses and go over to the couch, where we sit and sip quietly, and it's nice; silence with someone is great if it's comfortable silence. An unintended yawn slips past my lips, and Hunter chuckles lowly.

"You going to make me carry you across that field, aren't you?"

"Afraid you can't lift me anymore?"

"You're tinier now than you were then," he comments as he flexes his impressive bicep. "I think I can manage."

"So are you," I joke, "look at those flimsy little arms."

"You better watch it, little Darlin." He's grinning, and his eyes are flickering with trouble, so I jump off the couch, but I'm not fast enough; he grabs hold of my waist, and I squeal as he easily scoops me up.

"Let go!" I try to squirm away, but he's way too strong for me and hoists me over his shoulder.

"Hunter!" I'm laughing now as he carries me out of the trailer to the field.

"You're going to wake my dad," I warn him as we get closer to the house.

"I am? You're the one carrying on." Still, he lets me down, but the whiskey makes me a little shaky, and I stumble.

He secures his arm around my waist to steady me. "You alright?" He whispers, and his lips are so close to my ear a damn tingle shoots up down my neck.

Knock it off, body, we were over him a long time ago.

"I'm okay." I whisper in a breathy voice. 

He doesn't let go until we reach the kitchen door, and I miss the feel of his arm as soon as it's gone.

"Thanks again for everything," I offer him a soft smile. 

"You don't need to thank me for anything. I'm just glad you're home." Our gazes meet and I see it again, emotions I can't quite read in those pools of blue. "I missed you, Kinz."

"I missed you too," my voice cracks, and he pulls me into his arms again; we stand there under the stars in an embrace for several minutes before we part.

"Good night, Darlin."

"Night, Hunter."