Someone is walking toward me in a black sweater and dark joggers. White sneakers, backward hat on his head. Long strides that bring him closer and closer. I blink, positive this must be a dream, and then he’s there. Right in front of me, and the earth stops moving. Brody. “I thought I was late. I thought I missed it.” He scrubs a hand over his face, but I can’t answer. “But I made it.”
