Chapter 38 It's Just a Dream
Olive turned her gaze to the window as the scenery passed by, her chest tightening painfully.When Olive reached their house, her hands were still trembling as she rotate the doorknob.
The moment it opened—
Her mother and brother were there.
Celeste stood in the middle of the living room, a phone clenched tightly in her hand, knuckles white. Her face was pale, eyes swollen and red like she had been crying for hours. Chris hovered beside her, pacing back and forth, running a hand through his hair over and over again like he didn’t know what to do with himself.
They both froze when the door creaked open.
For half a second, no one moved.
Then—
“Olive—!”
Celeste dropped the phone. It hit the floor with a dull clatter, forgotten.
She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Olive, pulling her in so tightly it almost knocked the breath from her lungs. Celeste sobbed against her shoulder, gripping her like she might disappear again if she let go.
“Thank God… thank God you’re here,” Celeste cried, her voice breaking. “I thought something happened to you. I didn’t know where you were—I was so scared—”
Chris was there immediately, arms wrapping around both of them, his grip firm and desperate.
“Where were you?” he asked, his voice shaking despite his effort to stay strong. “We kept calling the hospital. Dominic Verci said you weren’t there. We thought—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “We thought something bad happened.”
Olive’s chest tightened painfully.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, her voice rough as she held them both. “I’m so sorry for making you worry.”
She stayed like that for a moment—just holding them, breathing them in, grounding herself in the familiar smell of home. For the first time since everything happened, her knees felt weak in a different way.
Safe.
She pulled back just enough to look at her mother. “Something unexpected happened,” she said gently, choosing her words carefully. “But I’m here now. I promise… this won’t happen again.”
Celeste cupped Olive’s face with both hands, her fingers warm and shaking as she searched every inch of her daughter’s face. Her eyes moved frantically—checking for bruises, cuts, anything out of place.
“Where did you go?” Celeste asked, fear still clinging to her voice. “What happened to you?”
Olive caught her mother’s wrists and squeezed them softly, grounding her.
“I’ll explain later,” she said quietly. “I really will. I just… I had a long trip. My body feels like it’s about to give up.”
Celeste didn’t push.
She nodded immediately, brushing Olive’s hair back with trembling fingers. “Of course,” she said softly. “You must be exhausted.”
She pulled Olive into another hug, gentler this time, and whispered against her hair, “Thank God you’re safe.”
Chris wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and tried to laugh, though it came out shaky. “You scared us to death, Liv”
“I know,” Olive said softly. “I’m sorry.”
Celeste stepped back and gently guided Olive toward the hallway, one hand resting protectively at her back. “Go to your room,” she said. “Rest first. We’ll talk when you’re better.”
Olive nodded.
As she walked down the hallway, every step felt heavy, like her body was finally allowing itself to feel everything it had been holding back. She didn’t look behind her.
She didn’t need to.
Behind her, Celeste clasped her hands together, eyes lifting toward the ceiling as she whispered a quiet prayer—soft, broken, full of gratitude.
And Olive, finally safe inside her own room, closed the door behind her and leaned against it, letting the silence wash over her at last.
She jumped into her bed and barely managed to pull the blanket up to her chest before sleep took her.
Her body gave in all at once—heavy, drained, completely empty—like someone had flipped a switch and shut her down.
When, suddenly, a gunshot split the air.
Olive’s eyes flew open—
Blood.
Bodies sprawled across the ground, twisted at impossible angles. The smell of metal and smoke filled her lungs, thick and choking. She stumbled backward, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst through her ribs.
She tried to run, but her legs wouldn't obey.
It was like the ground itself is dragging her down, gripping her ankles, refusing to let her escape.
More gunshots exploded around her.
Too loud. Too close.
She opened her mouth to scream—
Nothing came out.
Then she saw him.
Leo.
He stood in the middle of the chaos, face cold and unreadable, eyes sharp and empty of warmth. A gun was raised in his hand.
He fired.
Once.
Twice.
A man fell at his feet, blood spraying across the dirt.
“Leo—!” she tried to call him.
Her chest tightened painfully. Her breathing turned frantic—short, shallow, out of control. The world began to tilt, the sounds crashing together into something unbearable. The gunshots, the shouting, the thumping of her own heart—it all blurred into one crushing noise.
She folded in on herself, hands clamped over her ears, eyes squeezed shut—
Then…
Olive gasped awake.
Air tore into her lungs as she sucked in breath after breath, her chest heaving violently. Sweat clung to her hair, her neck, soaking into the sheets beneath her. Her heart raced wildly, like she had just run for her life.
She bolted upright, eyes darting around the room.
No blood.
No bodies.
No gunshots.
Just her bedroom—dim and familiar. The blanket tangled around her legs. The faint hum of the night outside her window. Shadows resting quietly where they always did.
“It’s just a dream,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Just a dream…”
She pressed a trembling hand against her chest, forcing herself to breathe slower.
Gradually, the room stopped spinning.
But the tightness in her chest remained.
As she lay back down, staring at the ceiling, her pulse still loud in her ears, she knew the truth she didn’t want to face.
The fear hadn’t stayed in the dream.
It had followed her home.