Trey told her, a year or more after it had begun to settle, as her wounds were just beginning to seal over—closed, but not yet healed—that those months at the epicenter of it all were when he'd fallen in love with her. That he'd known if she could withstand that, and if he could withstand it with her, then the two of them could withstand anything. It was them against the world.
It had been a stupid cliché, but it had been the truth.
So what did she have now?
A swell of sorrowful anger rose in her chest. All she had to show for the years they'd spent loving one another, was a dead boyfriend and no way to make anyone understand that “boyfriend” wasn't even the right word for it.
The sound of knuckles on the window beside her made Cecily gasp, her head shooting up from where it had been resting on the steering wheel.
Alyssa was standing on the other side of the glass; her expression went from curious to worried. "You okay?" she called through the window, reaching for the handle.
Cecily beat her to it and popped the car door, ending the music she hadn't been listening to. Cool air rushed into the cab of the car, and it was only then she realized strands of hair had fallen from her ponytail and were sticking to the back of her neck, damp with sweat.
"Were you crying?" Alyssa asked, stepping back as Cecily opened the door in earnest and climbed out of the car.
Was she? Cecily brought her hand to her eyes only to draw away damp, mascara-tinted fingers. "Yeah, I guess I was."
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
Cecily tucked her feet under herself on the sofa. "Well, it sounds like he's into you," she said.
Seriously, Zander was all understated about it, but that was just her style—Cecily had never known her oldest sister to be anything but calm-cynical about anything. The message was in the things Zander wasn't saying. She hadn't called this guy she'd had coffee with an idiot, nor a slob. Plus, she'd outright said he was good looking! And considering Zander's outward reaction to any generally-accepted-as-hot guy was rather cool and unimpressed, Cecily could only imagine the magnitude of sexy this dude had to be.
And, she kept trying to change the subject away from the whole topic.
"Okay, so tell me more about this week's haunting," Zander said, mirth so thick in her voice it was surprising she didn't choke on it.
Cecily made a snotty face, even though Zander wasn't there to receive it. Zander could poke fun at it only because she hadn't been there.
Because she was never there to see any of the creepy stuff that happened when she wasn't home.
Cecily had spent the afternoon laughing off concerned glances and passive-aggressively caring questions from Alyssa after being found crying in the car. She thought she'd done an acceptable job of playing the whole thing off. At least at this point, it didn't seem like Alyssa had clued Zander into the drama, so that was a good sign. Not that the two of them talked on the phone or texted much. They got along fine, they just weren't as close as Cecily and Zander were. Now Alyssa was out with friends and wouldn’t be back until the wee hours of the morning—which meant Cecily had the place to herself.
"You make fun, but I'm dead serious," Cecily said. It felt good to have a real conversation.
"Pun intended, I hope," Zander replied with a chuckle.
Cecily snorted a laugh. "Unintended, actually, but I'll take credit for it."
"Nope, you admitted it was not intentional—pun points revoked."
"Damn it." Cecily sighed dramatically. "But seriously—the damn freezer door again. And disturbances on the television, but no way to know if that's paranormal or not."
The freezer had opened on its own—like, straight up popped the seal and swung open. Then stopped mid-swing. There was nothing not-creepy about that. It had all happened early in the day on Sunday—hours before Cecily had been woken up by her dead boyfriend's voice over and over. Not that she planned to mention that part to Zander. Or anyone, really.
Yeah, the more she thought about it, the more Cecily was convinced her prognosis probably wasn't stellar...
"Just the freezer door, really?" Zander replied. "That's all you can come up with?"
"I'm not coming up with anything," Cecily argued. "The freezer opened by itself. Nobody in the kitchen. How is that not creepy?"
"When the seal is weak," Zander replied. "Or it needs to be defrosted. Or, you have so many gallons of ice cream in it that it can't close properly—and don't even try to pretend that hasn't happened before."
Cecily tried for indignant but fell short. The ice cream thing really had happened once. "It was none of those scenarios, thank you very much."
"I'm not sure you're a good judge of a tidy freezer." There was smile in Zander's voice, but the response still stung.
At some point, Zander was going to have to admit that the rest of them weren't making this stuff up. "Well, then what about the TV?" Cecily challenged. "The screen keeps going weird with no explanation."
"It's an old TV, Cissy."
Cecily drew a slow breath and let it out with a sigh. "You are a level-headed kill-joy, you know that?"
Zander laughed. "I like that. I think I'll get it embossed on my business cards."
"You do that," Cecily replied, trying not to sound as annoyed as she felt. It was a stupid way to react in any case. Had she really thought Zander would respond with anything other than cool detachment to what she'd just told her? Of course not. And, what's more, that level-headedness was part of why the two of them got along so famously despite the years between them—one of the many things Cecily loved about her oldest sister. So what was her problem, then?
"Was Alyssa there for the haunted freezer?" Zander turned her voice all spooky for dramatic effect but dropped the act for her next question. "And be honest, are you setting the whole thing up just to mess with her?"
"No. She wasn't even home," Cecily shot back. "She’s gone all the time lately. And I have better things to do than pull stupid pranks on Alyssa." Better things like finish playing a video game she and her secret, now-dead boyfriend had begun together.
Zander sighed, but there was smile in her voice when she spoke. "Alright, fine. But you know this stuff freaks her out. Don't be mean."
Cecily chose not to respond to that and changed the subject instead. "So when are you going to see the guy you met for coffee again? What's his name, by the way?"
"His name's Callum," Zander replied, smile still in her tone. "And we're meeting for a working date Friday night. Not that it's any of your business."
"You brought him up to begin with!" Cecily exclaimed in her defense, though with only an ounce of seriousness.
"And I regret it already," was Zander's response, the amusement still there in her tone. "But speaking of work, I need to get a few things done before going to bed."
"This is your second week and you're already having to pull extra hours?" Cecily challenged. Not that she thought Zander was lying—more that she thought that sounded seriously shitty.
"I'm a real adult now, I guess," Zander replied. "Hey, you okay? You sound—I don't know—like something's bugging you."
Cecily smiled, equally surprised by the question as she was entertained by the statement before it.
"I'm good," she replied. Except my phone will now only play the one song that makes me cry. "Nothing bothering me." The song that reminds me of my boyfriend. "Just tired." You know, the boyfriend you didn't know anything about—yeah, he died a few months ago.
Zander's pause spoke of being unconvinced, but she didn't pry—another thing Cecily appreciated about her: she wasn't one to dig for details in a conversation when they weren't readily given.
A few minutes later, Cecily tossed her cell phone onto the sofa beside her after agreeing to talk again soon and saying their goodbyes. She pulled the tie out of her hair, letting her ponytail fall loose over her shoulders before gathering it up again and re-securing it with a sigh.
Zander could be a real pain in the—
"Cissy?"
/>
Cecily gasped, her heart shooting into her throat at the same time her eyes shot to the loveseat on her left.
She screamed.
"Holy shit, can you see me?"
Eyes wide, heart pounding, Cecily stared at Trey until she thought her eyes might bug out of her head. "This isn't real," she finally breathed, forcing her eyes away from him but unable to keep them from skating right back again. "I'm losing my mind."
"You're not!" he said urgently. "I am real. I'm really here, Cissy. I swear. I've been here—you just didn't know it."
More staring as her heart gradually started to slow, her gasping breath began to return to normal.
He looked right. He wasn't solid—he wasn't really there—but he was Trevor: her Trey. His brown eyes stared back at her, hopeful but cautious. His sharp jaw angled into his narrow chin. His almost-black hair and warm brown skin were just like she remembered.
It was him.
Oh God, it was him.
Cecily's hands slapped over her mouth as a sob clawed up her throat.
Trevor's expression turned concerned. "No, don't cry!" he urged, reaching forward like he wanted to touch her. "I'm okay. We're okay!"
"You died!" she wailed.
He stopped, then pulled back slowly. "I know. But I'm here."
"How?!" How was he here? How was he so calm? How was this happening? Cecily thought her brain might explode with all the questions fighting inside her skull.
"I don't know," Trey replied. "One second, I was in the car—the next I was here, with you. But I couldn't make you see me."
Cecily sat on the edge of the sofa, running her hands on her jeans, looking at Trey, then away, then back again, waiting for him to disappear. The strange thing was, she wasn't waiting for him to leave—like she would have been if he'd been a hallucination. No, she was dreading the end of this dream, dreading the moment when she woke up and he was gone again.
He eyed her for a second. "Are you okay?"
She huffed a scoff and looked at him, unsure how to answer that question. If this was a dream, it was a damned good one. And if she was awake, well, it was too late to go back. She was either completely bonkers—or this was possibly real?
She gave up trying to figure it out—and gave in to her hope against hope with a whoosh of a sigh. "I miss you so much."
Trey's eyes were sad when he smiled. "I've missed you too, Cissy."
"Wherever you are...are you alright?"
He nodded. "I really am."
When she cried this time, they were bittersweet tears that she wiped away as quickly as they fell. "I'm glad. I guess—I don't know. I guess I worried about that." Though she never would have said so until now.
His smile was exactly how she remembered it, and exactly what she needed.
"Jesus, you're really here," she said, hearing how right that was—suddenly certain. "I'm not crazy."
He laughed, that low, private chuckle she loved so much. "No, you're not crazy." His smile turned teasing, "At least not about this."
Her begrudging smile broke into a laugh of her own.
Then she thought of something. "Wait, have you been F-ing with my music?"
His smile changed to something more conspiratorial.
"You're such an ass!" she exclaimed with a laugh.
"I was trying to let you know I was there!"
"I thought I was losing it!" She threw a pillow at him which fell through his body, landing on the sofa behind him.
Cecily sat, staring at him for a second, and he stared right back. It had been so easy to forget he hadn't been there all along.
"So, do you get to stay?" she asked, scared to hear his answer.
He nodded. "Yeah. I think I get to stay for as long as I want to."
She drew a slow breath before exhaling her fear and bittersweet relief. "Good," she said. "I'm not sure I could handle losing you again."
CHAPTER SIX
Wren pulled her bag from her locker and looped it over her shoulder. She gave the locker's interior one last look to make sure she hadn't left anything behind before closing it tight. Her feet were killing her after ten hours running room to room, talking with patients, helping with procedures, making notes and summarizing them for the doctors.
Just ten minutes more, she thought at her toes as she pushed her way out of the locker room. Just a ten-minute walk would take her home, to her apartment, to her bed.
To Bridgette.
"You headed out?"
Wren turned to see Lindsey, her work-bestie, at the central desk. "Hell yes, I am," she replied with a smile. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Five minutes later, she was on the sidewalk heading home in earnest, walking in the orange autumn sunset light. The temperature was comfortable, but the still air was thick with humidity that made her sweat despite the not-too-hot temps. She pulled her cell phone from her bag while she walked and stole a glance at the screen as she strolled to a stop at a crosswalk. She smiled when she saw she had a text from Zander.
Call me when you have a second, it read. I have a favor to ask.
Intrigued, Wren tapped the icon to call Zander back and brought the phone to her ear.
Two rings, then, "Hey!"
"Hey, you wanted me to call?" Wren said as the light changed and she stepped into the crosswalk.
"Yeah. So, weird question, but do you remember that guy I told you about?"
"The one you met at the bar?" Wren asked. "Yeah, of course."
"I'm having dinner with him tomorrow night," Zander explained.
Huh. That's not what Wren had expected her to say. Zander was generally pretty cool and nonplussed when it came to dating. At least that's what Wren remembered from college. "Nice," she replied. "What do you need me to do?"
"Just know where I am," Zander said with a laugh under her breath.
"Ah." Wren smiled. "You get a sudden case of the Am-I-Crazies?"
Zander's laugh was more heartfelt this time. "Maybe? I mean, he seems completely on the level. And it's just dinner and a working date. We won't even be alone."
"It never hurts to be careful," Wren replied. "But back up. What's a working date?"
"We're getting together to get some work done," Zander said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He's a freelancer, and I have a ton of work to do. So we’re heading to the library to work together."
Wow. That sounded romantic...not at all. Wren felt her brows rise but she kept the snide comments on the back of her tongue to herself. Except one: "So you found someone as serious and as much of a workaholic as you are. Awesome."
Zander had been the type to keep her dorm room closed when they'd been in college. She'd studied on a schedule, turned essays in early, and never procrastinated on anything. And she had the stellar grades to show for it.
In fact, Wren had tried to imitate some of Zander's habits when she went to nursing school. She hadn't managed it quite to Zander's level, but she had gotten really solid test scores.
Zander laughed. "I'm not a workaholic!" she argued. "I just have to get these reports out and they're crazy complicated. They’re killing me."
"Okay, I respect that," Wren replied with a smile she kept to herself. "What I don't understand is why you have to work on your date. Aren't dates supposed to be for getting to know each other?"
"Yeah, of course," Zander replied. "Isn't knowing how somebody works integral to getting to know them?"
Wren laughed. "For you, yes. Point taken."
"Besides, maybe 'date' is a strong word," Zander allowed. "It's more like a get-together."
Wren decided to drop the whole thing. Maybe Zander was right. Maybe it all made perfect sense. It obviously did to her, who had always been pragmatic and tended toward type-A style focus.
"If it works for you, I support you completely," Wren said. "Text me the info of where you're at, and what time you want me to text for a check-in. That way you can use my text as an excuse to bail if you need to."
"You're awesome,"
Zander replied. "I'll text you now."
A few minutes and a set of talk-soons later, Wren was letting herself into her apartment building and jogging up the stairs to her unit.
Hand on the knob, she turned and pushed—and ran into the locked door.
Wren's apartment wasn't exactly in the cheeriest part of town, but Bridgette never locked the door when she knew Wren was on her way home. Unless she was taking a nap—then she always locked it, which was smart.
So instead of trying the knob again or knocking, Wren fished her keys from her bag and unlocked the door. Then as smoothly as her old, sticky doorknob would allow, she cracked the door open and slipped inside.
The apartment was dark, the curtains pulled tight. Wren knew Bridge had had a run of routine appointments with her interdisciplinary team today. Those quarterly check-ins usually left her pretty drained. When she thought about it like that, she wasn’t surprised at all to find her sleeping. So, quiet as she could manage, Wren toed off her shoes and sat her bag down by the door. She peeled off her scrubs and tossed them in the hamper. Then she pulled on a fresh pair of sweats and a t-shirt. She piled her hair up on top of her head. Then she tip-toed across the room and pulled back the corner of the covers—only to find the bed empty.
What Wren had assumed was the shape of Bridgette sleeping in the barely-there light were actually just some pillows left from the night before.
Dread froze Wren's chest.
Where was Bridgette?
She should have been back from her appointments by now. Hell, she should have been back hours ago.
Wren went for her bag and dug her phone out. With numb fingers, she checked for text messages and voicemails. Nothing.
The Cloak's Shadow Page 7
