The dream started with a plan.

We were supposed to meet at a roadside market just outside a tiny country town, the kind where the gas station sells bait and the diner closes at two. The sky hung low and silver, heavy with the threat of rain, and the air smelled like wet dirt and diesel. I remember stepping out of my truck and realizing my arms were already full—canvas bags cutting into my fingers, a thermos tucked under my elbow, my phone slipping dangerously close to the pavement.

My back felt impossibly heavy, like I was carrying more than groceries like someone had draped a saddle across my shoulders and forgotten to take it off. Every step pulled at my spine. I kept thinking, Why does this feel so hard? It’s just supposed to be a simple hangout.

But nothing about it was simple.

You well, in the dream your name was Rowan kept appearing and disappearing. One minute you were leaning against the faded red brick wall of the market, sunlight catching in your hair. The next, you were gone, replaced by strangers brushing past me like I wasn’t even there.

We started fighting without either of us saying anything clear. It was the kind of argument that feels urgent but makes no sense later. I accused you of something vague. You shrugged like you didn’t understand why I was upset. My back throbbed harder, and all I wanted was to go home.

Instead, we ended up driving your old forest-green Suzuki down a gravel road that stretched into open ranchland. The tires kicked up dust that glowed gold in the late afternoon light. On either side of us were endless fields stitched together with barbed wire fences and wandering cattle. In the distance stood a sprawling white ranch house with wraparound porches and string lights fluttering in the wind.

Apparently, it was your cousin’s wedding.

Music drifted across the fields fiddles and laughter and the clinking of glasses. Women in pastel dresses stood in clusters under a massive oak tree. Men in pressed shirts and boots lingered near long wooden tables covered in lace runners and mason jars filled with wildflowers.

I was still furious.

You vanished again. I walked through the reception alone, heels sinking into soft earth, scanning faces I didn’t recognize. The air smelled like barbecue smoke and sweet tea. Someone bumped into me and didn’t apologize. Someone else handed me a slice of cake I didn’t ask for.

I stepped away from the noise and pulled out my phone to call myself an escape. That’s when I noticed my truck wasn’t where I’d left it.

“Hey,” I asked a woman in a sunflower dress. “Did you see a blue pickup out front?”

She blinked at me like I’d asked about a spaceship. “Honey, there hasn’t been a blue truck here all day.”

But I knew it had been there. I had driven it. I could still feel the steering wheel under my palms.

Suddenly, two familiar figures emerged from the barn Noah and Lila, old friends I hadn’t seen in years. They were laughing, arms full of brightly wrapped Christmas presents, even though it was clearly late summer. They started handing them out to wedding guests like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Why are we doing Christmas?” I asked.

“It’s tradition,” Lila said, grinning too wide.

That’s when I heard barking.

I turned toward the far pasture and saw Orion my dog darting through tall grass, his golden fur flashing between fence posts. But he wasn’t alone. There were dogs everywhere. Dozens of them. Big shepherds, scrappy terriers, lumbering labs. They tore across the ranch like a wave of fur and noise.

“Orion!” I shouted, running after him.

My back didn’t hurt anymore. My heels were gone. I was barefoot in the grass, chasing him toward the open barn doors. Rowan appeared beside me, along with your sister her name was Mara now and you both tried to corner Orion near a stack of hay bales.

“Grab him!” I yelled.

“I’ve got him,” you said.

But you didn’t. You lunged and missed. Orion slipped past you, tail wagging like it was all a game, and bolted toward the parking area.

That’s when the sirens started.

Two sheriff’s cruisers rolled up the dirt road, red and blue lights slicing through the golden haze. Apparently, some guests had gotten drunk and started trouble near the bonfire. Deputies stepped out, boots crunching against gravel, voices calm but firm.

And in the middle of it all my truck.

It was back. Parked crookedly near the fence.

But someone was inside it.

A guy in a wrinkled button-down shirt Tommy, someone yelled was behind the wheel, laughing wildly as he spun the truck in tight circles. Gravel flew in every direction. The engine roared. Smoke curled from the tires.

And in the passenger seat…

Orion.

I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

“Stop!” I screamed, running forward.

The truck fishtailed dangerously close to the fence posts. One of the deputies shouted. Another reached for his radio. Tommy whooped like he was in the middle of a rodeo event.

Then, abruptly, everything slowed.

The dust hung suspended in the air like glitter. The music from the wedding warped into something distant and underwater. Rowan stood a few feet away, looking at me like you wanted to say something but your voice didn’t reach me.

The truck spun once more.

Orion looked straight at me through the windshield.

And then…