“The dreams. They gave me what I wanted,” he said. “Everything right. Everything … perfect.” He sucked in a sudden, damp breath and blinked. “I can’t explain it. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be okay.”

“Stop saying that! You’re not okay, Shane, there’s something—just tell me. You know you can tell me, right?”

“No,” he said. “I can’t.” He lunged forward and kissed her, hard and fast, clumsy, desperate, and she made a surprised sound deep in her throat but didn’t try to pull away. Instead, she moved closer, wrapping her arms around him as if she never intended to let him go—never. The warmth of his tears soaked the collar of her shirt, made damp spots against her neck. He spread his knees to let her in closer, and then he collapsed back on the mattress, taking her with him.

Then he just … shut down.

She felt his muscles go tense and still, as if he was fighting against himself, and his breathing sped up to a frantic pace, as if he was running a sprint.

“Shane, please. Let me help.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Tell me you’re here.”

“God, Shane—” She bent forward and pressed her lips to his, and tasted tears. “I’m here, I swear I am. What do I have to do to prove it?”

“Tell me her name,” he said. “Please tell me her name.”

“Whose name?”

He was breathing so fast she was afraid he would hyperventilate now. “She was so real, Claire, she was so real and I held her in my arms and she was so tiny, she had blue eyes and I don’t know her name, I don’t know ….” His eyes flew open, blind and almost crazy as his gaze locked on hers. “It was so perfect. Do you understand? Perfect. And I had to let it go. But what if I was wrong? What if this is … what if I never …”

“What if you never left that place?” she guessed, and cupped his face in her hands. “You did leave. We got you out.” All of a sudden, what he’d been saying made sense to her. Crazy, wicked, awful sense. “A baby. You—you dreamed about a baby. Our baby?”

His nod was more of a shudder. “I don’t know her name.”

She collapsed on top of him, trying to hold every bit of him close. “I’m so sorry. It wasn’t real. You know that, don’t you? You know it couldn’t be real?”

“I need to know. I just—I just do, Claire. I’ll go crazy if I don’t know.” His warm breath stirred her hair, and his arms went around her, pressing her as close as his own skin. “Tell me what you’d name her. Just … please.”

It was crazy. Crazy. But if he needed to hear it—it wasn’t that she hadn’t secretly dreamed about all of that, about what it would be like to marry him, to have babies with him. That fantasy life she’d gone through about a million times already, all the details vivid and bright in her imagination.