Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
His face is in front of mine suddenly, and there’s a sweet look in his eyes. “I don’t know what it is about you, Griffin. Your cute, sexy smile. Your compassion.”
“Already sharing your wedding vows?” I tease him.
“Or the way you’re looking at me right now,” he goes on. “Whatever that something is … it makes me feel like the luckiest man alive.”
For a moment, we’re trapped in each other’s gazes, falling deeper the longer we look at one another.
It’s not that we’ve been missing a spark or anything like that. Sure, we’ve had ups and downs over the years, but Byron and I have been happy. We enjoy our lives. We have fun together. We care for each other.
But in this moment, it feels like something has been missing that neither of us noticed—something we’re only just now discovering together.
Is it the unadulterated honesty we found tonight?
Is it revealing our deepest secret to each other?
Was Westley and Byron’s dads a wall in the way of us falling more in love?
Byron leans forward and takes me by the lips again, catching me by surprise. I kiss my beautiful barista right back, forgetting all of my worries at once. I sure hope the closing manager remembered to lock the front door on her way out, because soon, neither of us are wearing any clothes, and whomever comes through that door is about to get quite the greeting.
We cuddle in the booth. I have my underwear back on, my hair’s a mess, and sweat glistens on my chest. Byron wears nothing but his boxer-briefs and a sock on his left foot he never quite managed to remove. We’re out of breath. I lean against him, face against his chest, with his arm tucked around my back. It’s probably well after midnight, but neither of us have bothered to check the time in a while.
“I still need to find him.”
Byron flinches. “Hmm?”
“He’s out there somewhere. Lost. Alone. Afraid.”
“I think you’re worrying too much. He’s already a ghost. He can’t die again, right?” I feel him chuckle as he squeezes my side. “Maybe you freed him. He’s off making new ghost friends in the streets.”
From the tone of Byron’s voice, it’s clear he isn’t taking this seriously. “I feel like something’s wrong.”
“You’re safe with me, babe.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I just am.”
I pull away from him and face him. “I went to Mrs. Shaheen for help, and she basically told me I’m playing with fire here by letting West share my body. I’ve been doing something dangerous for two years. What if that’s what happened? What if West, like … faded out of existence when we separated in the street? It didn’t feel right,” I insist yet again. “It felt like a part of me was tearing away along with West.”
Byron sighs, clearly exercising patience, as he lets go of me and leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Your landlord’s a strange woman with strange beliefs. As far as I know, her beliefs aren’t based in science. Not like my dads, who studied this stuff their entire lives. Take what she says with a grain of salt.”
“Well, even with that grain of salt, I don’t like the taste,” I fire back.
“It’s good that he’s gone,” says Byron with sudden force, his eyes burning.
I blink, stunned. “What?”
“Westley Harmeyer. He … He doesn’t belong here. Don’t you understand that? Ghosts aren’t natural. We don’t all become ghosts when we die. Ghosts are stuck here. Mrs. Shaheen might not know what the hell she’s talking about, but she had it right with one thing: you’ve been playing a dangerous game with Westley.” Byron looks at me. “It’s good that he’s gone.”
I turn away, shocked by Byron’s change of tone. I don’t even know how to respond to that. Is he right? Is he wrong? Is he just jealous of my secret friendship with West and this is how it’s coming out?
Maybe he’s not as okay with everything I’ve shared as he first let on. He just wanted to be compassionate. He wanted to be patient.
But he’s actually mad at me. He thinks I’ve been foolish. He just doesn’t want to say it.
“Why can’t you see this is for the best?” he asks my back, his voice softer. “It can just be us now. We can let go of that apartment and all its dark history. Maybe he finally moved on. He could be at peace.”
“But he’s …” Why am I almost in tears? “But he’s my best friend, Byron. Maybe my only friend. He’s not just a ghost.”
“Babe …”
“HE’S NOT JUST A GHOST!!” I shout, unable to hear Byron contradict me one more time.
A long silence passes. Raindrops start tapping on the front windows of the café, indicating a surprise late night shower I didn’t see on the forecast. On cue, a loud boom of thunder rumbles by, and quite suddenly, we’re in the middle of a storm that couldn’t better reflect both of our states of mind right now.