Seven
Sometime in the middle of the night, Henry snapped awake to the cries of a young boy in the t****l of a nightmare. It was a dream, he knew, but he couldn’t shake the panic of hearing his son screaming for him and not being able to get to him. He tried to sit up, but his right arm was pinned beneath his sleeping partner, so he lifted his head and looked around. All was dark and quiet, and the dim light of the waning moon illuminated objects he recognized as belonging to his house in Northstar, not the one he’d shared in Denver with Mel. The cool blue glow also caressed the woman in his bed—a woman with a taller, fuller body than Mel’s and long, naturally red hair instead of Mel’s stylishly frosted blonde pixie cut.
Not Mel. Lindsay.
The realization brushed away the lingering fog of
