The Forbidden Throb Chapter 177

Emma's POV:

The dream came slowly.

Daniel stood beside me, wearing a dark gray sweater and khaki pants. In his hands, he held a deep blue umbrella—the kind with a long wooden handle that looked like it belonged in an old movie.

The scene felt achingly familiar, like déjà vu wrapped in cotton. I'd been here before—I *had* been here before.

I was waiting. Standing on the beach in my thin jacket, watching the road for Mom's car. The rain had started as a drizzle, then grown heavier, and I kept telling myself she'd be here any minute. Just a few more minutes.

But she never came.

I remembered now—how I'd stood there, clutching that stuffed bear tighter and tighter as the rain soaked through my clothes. How my teeth had chattered. How I'd felt so small and forgotten, watching other kids get picked up one by one until I was the only one left.

The bear had gotten completely drenched. So had I.

But in this dream, everything was different.

This time, from the very beginning, Daniel was standing next to me. Holding the umbrella over both of us.

I looked down at my hands. The bear was dry. My jacket was dry. I was warm.

Because he'd been there.

His hand found mine, warm and steady.

"I've got you," he said, and his voice was younger but unmistakably his. "I won't let you get wet."

The umbrella above us seemed to hold more than just rain. It held sea spray and seagull feathers, the sound of fishing boats and first snow, and countless Boston autumn nights.

All of it suspended in that deep blue fabric, keeping me safe.

Then the scene shifted, the way dreams do—not jarring, but flowing like watercolors bleeding into each other.

We were somewhere else.

Suddenly, we were standing at a street corner near Boston University.

Dusk had fallen, and the streetlights were just beginning to flicker on, casting pools of warm light on the sidewalk. The air had that particular autumn chill that made you want to find someone to hold onto.

In the dream, I knew what to do.

I ran to him.

Not walking, not hesitating—*running*, the way I'd wanted to so many times in real life but had been too scared, too uncertain, too caught up in what I thought I should do instead of what I wanted.

I ran to him, and he caught me, and I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him.

Poured everything into it—all the gratitude I'd been too overwhelmed to express, all the love I'd been too frightened to acknowledge, all the apologies for not seeing him sooner, all the promises I wanted to make about never letting him go.

The kiss tasted like salt air and coffee and coming home.

When we finally pulled apart, he was smiling—that rare, unguarded smile that transformed his whole face, the one I'd only started seeing recently.

"Took you long enough," he murmured against my lips, and I laughed, actually laughed, feeling lighter than I had in years.

"I'm here now," I whispered back. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

The dream began to fade then, colors bleeding into watercolor washes, sounds becoming distant. But the feeling stayed—that sense of being exactly where I was supposed to be, with exactly who I was supposed to be with.

The last thing I heard was his voice, soft and certain: "I know, baby. I've been waiting for you."

---

I woke slowly, consciousness returning in gradual waves.

I rolled over instinctively, reaching for him, wanting to burrow into his warmth and confirm he was real. But my hand met only cool sheets and the smooth expanse of an empty mattress.

My heart clenched—a sharp, hollow feeling.

I forced my eyes open, blinking at the bedside clock. 5:47 PM. Reality slowly filtered back in. I scrubbed roughly at my face, feeling the dried tear tracks on my cheeks, then stumbled out of bed toward the kitchen.

The kitchen was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the range hood. A pot bubbled gently on the stove—clam chowder, I realized, the rich aroma filling the small space.

The electronic lock at the front door chirped twice.

I turned instinctively, my heart jumping into my throat.

Daniel stepped inside, shrugging off his coat. His eyes found mine immediately across the apartment.

The moment our gazes met, his lips curved into that gentle smile.

"You're awake," he said softly, his voice carrying that note of warmth reserved only for me.

And just like in the dream, I ran to him.

I crossed the living room in quick steps and threw myself into his arms, wrapping mine around his waist and burying my face against his chest.

He went still for a moment, his hands hovering in the air as if he didn't quite know what to do. Then, slowly, his arms came around my shoulders, loose and careful.

His voice came out rougher than usual, touched with something warm and wondering. "What's going on? You're being extra clingy today."

I shook my head against his chest, not trusting myself to speak. My arms tightened around him, holding on like he might disappear if I let go.

Daniel didn't push. He just stood there, one hand coming up to stroke my hair in slow, soothing motions. His other arm stayed firm around my shoulders, anchoring me.

After a long moment, I managed to mumble against his shirt, "Where did you go?"

"I came home around five," he said quietly, his chin resting lightly on top of my head. "You were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you, so I made some chowder and went down to take out the trash."

His arms shifted, and suddenly he was lifting me completely—one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. He carried me to the living room and sank onto the sofa, settling me in his lap with my legs curled to the side, held securely against his chest.

His arms wrapped around me, one hand resuming those slow strokes through my hair while the other rested warm and steady at my waist.

"Emma." His voice was gentler now, concerned. "What happened? Did you—did you see her today? That student who spread the rumors?"

I stayed silent, just burrowing deeper into his chest, breathing in that familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the faint antiseptic smell from the hospital.

Daniel's hand continued its soothing path through my hair, patient and unhurried. When I didn't answer, his voice softened further, taking on that coaxing tone he might use with a frightened child.

"Did something happen between you two?" he asked quietly. "Did she say something to upset you?"

His thumb traced small circles against my waist through the thin fabric of his shirt, the gesture achingly tender.

"You can tell me, baby. Take your time."