“Sweetheart, where are you? Come back to bed.” The male voice comes from inside the apartment, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on high alert.
Sweetheart?
Come back to bed?
What the fuck?
There’s a guy? In her bed?
It’s then that I notice Harper’s disheveled hair. Did she seriously just have sex while I flew across the country to see her? My stomach churns violently.
Harper’s face has lost all its color, and she puts her hands in the air. “Ryan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I can explain.”
“What the hell is there to explain? There’s . . . there’s a guy in your bed.” I don’t care that I’m yelling. Not one bit. I feel like someone kicked me straight in the chest, and it’s hard to breathe.
“Harper?” A man walks around the corner of the entryway and stops short. “What’s going on?”
“Who’s that?” My voice is like ice, and the grip on my anger is slowly slipping away.
Harper hangs her head. “That’s Ben.”
I rear back like she slapped me across the face because she might as well have. “Ben as in your ex-husband?”
“Damn straight that’s me.” Ben walks over to us—blond hair, light eyes—puffing up his chest like he’s fifty pounds heavier and five inches taller than he is. What a joke. “Also, we never finalized our divorce, so we’re still married. So whoever you are, you’re not welcome here.”
“Fuck you. That baby is mine.” My shock has fully turned into rage now, and I’m staring at the perfect target.
Ben opens his mouth to say something, but I can’t understand what he’s saying. Why does he sound so distorted?
I shake my head, but the noise around me keeps changing.
“Sir.” A female voice.
Who’s calling me?
“Sir. Sir?”
Someone shakes my shoulder.
My eyes fly open, and I gasp for air.
Holy shit.
“Sir, we’re getting ready for landing. I need you to lift your seat, please.”
I nod, my throat too dry to talk.
I do as the flight attendant says and make sure everything else is stowed away correctly.
Then I lean my head back against the headrest and rub my face a few times.
Fuck.
It was a dream. A fucking dream.
My heart still hasn’t caught up with reality, racing like I ran a marathon.
I close my eyes and focus on my breath. Trying to slow it down, needing to get control of my body back. At least that’s something I can manage. My brain seems to have gone off the rails with this dream.