by C. C. Hunter
“I don’t see him being pissed at you.”
“Well, he should be. He almost died.”
I drop down on the bed beside her. “This isn’t on you, Kelsey. So stop thinking it is.”
She sits up. “I was a bitch to him when he asked what happened to my mom.”
“Yeah, you were. And while I understand you went off on him because you didn’t want to talk about what happened to your mom, maybe you should apologize for that.”
She pulls a knee to her chest and hugs it. “I suck at apologies.” She closes her eyes as if fighting tears, and after a few minutes, she looks at me. “Seriously, if he hadn’t come in when he did, Charles might have… He had his gun against my face.”
“I know. We both owe Dex a thank-you.”
She gazes toward the window and stares at the streams of sunshine spilling in. “I wonder why he didn’t tell me he has a black sister.”
“Have you ever asked if he had any siblings? Talked about his family?”
“No.”
“Then why would he tell you?”
She bites down on her lip. “You’re right. I just—”
“You just don’t like it that some of your reasons for not giving him a chance are falling apart.”
That earns me an eyeroll, along with an “I gotta pee.”
I watch her run off. Call me crazy, but the possibility of something good coming out of what happened last night lifts my gloomy mood. Not much, mind you, but I’ll take it.
I reread Hayden’s message and type. Thanks for the Dex update. See u later.
I set my phone down, but Kelsey’s questions replay in my head. So what now? Is he dumping Brandy? Are you two back together?
Kelsey hesitates before knocking on Dex’s hospital door. “What if his dad is here and he’s pissed at me?”
“Then we’ll explain what happened.” I reach around her and knock before she runs off.
“Come in,” a female voice says.
I push open the door, and we walk inside. A woman in scrubs is changing the bedsheets. The chairs are empty, and the bathroom is open. Her gaze shoots to my face, and she flinches the way everyone does when they see me.
“Where is he?” Kelsey looks at me with panic as if she thinks…
“He went down for a test,” the nurse says. “I’m told he’s on his way up now.”
“How’s he doing?” I ask.
“I’m still alive,” Dex’s voice, a little weak, sounds behind us.
Kelsey and I both turn around. He’s in a wheelchair with an IV pole attached. Behind him is a male nurse.
“Perfect timing. His bed is ready,” the nurse says and goes to the door. “I’ll be back to check your vitals in a few minutes,” she says to Dex and squeezes out.
The other nurse pushes Dex into the room.
Dex looks pale, but considering what he’s been through, pale’s not bad.
He smiles. “You two may want to leave the room or risk being given the great honor of seeing my ass. Someone in this hospital stole my underwear. No one is confessing so far.”
The fact that he’s able to joke is promising. Kelsey and I are grinning when we step out.
When the wheelchair and the male nurse leave, we move back in.
Dex looks at me. “Nice shiner.”
I smile. “I think it’s pretty.”
His gaze shifts to Kelsey. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she says, and I swear she sounds nervous. “In part thanks to you, but…coming in like that was stupid. You could have died.”
He grins. “What can I say, I’m a sucker for damsels in distress.”
Kelsey tilts her head to the side. “Call me a damsel again, and I might be the next one to shoot you.”
He chuckles, then puts a hand to his chest. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
Melissa walks in. “The underwear goddess is here. I hope you like lip-printed boxers.”
Dex starts to laugh, then seriously groans. “Don’t make me laugh.”
We all pull in our smiles, but it’s hard because I think all of us are doing a mental happy dance that Dex is alive.
Ten minutes later, I feel a chill brush against my skin. I look around. Standing right outside Dex’s door is the dead bride. I’m about to say my goodbyes when Jacob walks in.
His gaze, like everyone else’s, goes right to my face, to my eye. “Ouch. You okay?”
I force myself to play nice. “Yeah.” Frustration swirls around my chest, as I remember he’s been an ass lately.
My phone dings with a text. I pull it out and look at it. It’s from Hayden, but I don’t read it. “I should go.” I glance at Dex. “Thanks again for…everything.”
“You’re welcome,” he says.
I nod my goodbyes, even offer Jacob one, but my ire is high. The bride’s gone, but her cold isn’t. Right then, it hits me that I might be feeling her emotion. They do that, sometimes. Transfer what they’re feeling.
I’m eight steps down the hall when I hear Jacob call my name.
Rolling my eyes, I turn around. “Yeah?” I say when he stops in front of me.
“I want to say again I’m sorry for what I said about this being your fault.” He sounds sincere.
I force myself to say, “It’s okay.”
He dips his head down and looks at me. “Is it? You still look pissed.”
I consider asking him what he told Hayden when he was on the phone, but at the last second, lying feels like the better option. “I’ve just got a lot of crap happening. I should—”
“You mean the argument with your dad?”
When I just stare at him, he says, “Hayden told me.”
I’m shocked. No, I’m disappointed. This feels like a betrayal. What else did Hayden tell Jacob?
I get to my car, crawl behind the wheel, and sit there waiting for the anger to fade. Pulling my rearview mirror down, I stare into the backseat. I’m waiting for the chill to disappear or the bride to appear. Neither happens.
I try to calm down by reminding myself that Dex is going to be fine. Yet my mind keeps going back to Hayden telling Jacob my secrets. To Jacob talking trash about me. To Hayden not telling me about Brandy.
I’m pissed. Pissed at men. Yup, this has to be from the dead bride.
My phone rings. Probably Hayden. I need to shake off the man-hate before talking to him. When it keeps ringing, begging for my attention, I look at the number on my screen.
Not Hayden.
Dad.
More man-hate!
“Hello.” I push the word out, and I swear it doesn’t even sound like my voice.
“Where are you?” His frustration flows through the line, and it mixes and mingles with everything I’m already feeling. I draw in cold air through my closed teeth.
“Riley?”
Just breathe. Just breathe. “I’m at the hospital, visiting Dex.”
“Why didn’t you call and tell me you were leaving the house? You have to tell me when you leave. I’m doubling down on that rule. I insist you follow it!”
Like I insisted you go to AA? The internal smartass comes out, but I don’t say that. “Well, that’s why we have cell phones. Gotta go.” Okay, maybe that was a little smug.
“Riley! That’s not good enough. When you get home, call me. I’m leaving work around three. We’ll…talk then.”
I pull in more air. Pull in my anger. “Three won’t work for me, either. I won’t be there until around five-thirty.”
“Riley, you will—”
“I’m taking Hayden to his physical therapy session,” I say directly. And I’m kind of proud it didn’t come with pissy undertones. Again, I remind myself some of these emotions belong to the bride. I can’t let—
“Who?”
“Hayden.” Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it. “He was there last night. The boy in the wheelchair.”
“Why are you taking him? And not—”
“Because he’s my friend and his mom asked me to!” I
’m holding the phone so tight it might crack. Or I’ll crack. Maybe I already have cracked.
“When did you get all these friends that I don’t know about?”
“Errr!” Yup. I’m cracked. “Probably when you were out getting drunk!” I can’t even blame the spirit’s frustration on that one. It’s mine. I own it. “I’ll be home by five-thirty. I’m not doing anything wrong.”
He doesn’t say anything. I know he’s debating.
“I’m helping out a friend.” I manage those words in a noncombative tone.
“Be there at five-thirty or I’m taking your car away. Understand?”
Oh, now he’s using pissy undertones. It takes every ounce of my being not to say that I’m taking his car away because he’s a freaking drunk. But why use my best lines on the phone when I can deliver them in person? Tonight. When we have our heart-to-heart. Or broken-heart-to-broken-heart. Tears make my sinuses sting.
I hang up and throw my phone on the seat next to me.
Almost as if in defiance, the thing dings with another text. I stare at it, wishing I could make it explode. It doesn’t. I pick it up.
Hayden again. I read his earlier text first.
Hayden: I’m remembering other stuff. Can you talk? Better yet, come over?
What do you remember? You not telling me you had a girlfriend?
Second text: Jacob said he saw you. Said u seemed upset. U ok?
“No! I’m not okay. You told Jacob something I shared in confidence.” My words echo in the silent car. And now I’m sure I’ve lost it. I drive to the exit of the parking lot. I’m in no mood to see anyone. Staring left, then right, I don’t know which way to turn. Don’t know where I’m going. Then I do.
I pull left and drive toward Delicious Donuts.
I drive slowly by the building. I’m hugging the steering wheel, looking for a place where the older car could have turned in last night. I see a driveway, and slowing down to a crawl, I spot a gate. Had it been open last night? Is that where…?
A van behind me honks. I speed up, drive up a block, and then turn around. This time I park at the donut shop, facing the street. Even with the shop closed, the smell of something fried and sweet sneaks into my Mustang. I look around. There’s just one car in the lot.
With my hands gripped around the wheel, I sit there, studying the gate and fence, trying to see if the building behind it has a rectangular window. Unfortunately, due to weed-like vines climbing the metal railings, I can’t see much.
I look up and down the street and consider going it on foot. There’s enough traffic and people around that it should be safe.
So why, when I open my door, do I feel the urgent need to slam it shut again? Why does the back of my neck itch as if someone is watching me?
Looking around, I put out feelers and don’t sense the cold of unearthly visitors, but I whisper, “Now would be a good time to show up, Shane.”
I get no response. In fact, I think my man-hate has dissipated as well. I step out of my car, shut and lock my door. Needing a closer look, I spot the crosswalk.
I head right to it. Pressing the button, I wait, then with hurried steps I get to the other side of the street with seconds to spare.
I move down the sidewalk to the gate where I think I saw the car pull in. It’s more humid than hot, but sweat runs down my shirt. A car passes with the music playing so loud the sidewalk shivers beneath my feet. Stopping, I turn and look up at the donut sign, trying to find the same angle at which I saw the sign in the vision. Is this it?
Right then I sense it again—someone is watching me. I look over my shoulder, half expecting someone to be there, someone breathing down my neck, but I see no one.
Telling myself I’m being paranoid, I turn around and peer through the fence.
My heart trips over itself when I see the building has a couple of rectangular windows. While I can’t tell if they are boarded up on the inside, I think they might be. This is it. Shane was here. Probably died here.
Now what? Is this enough? My gut says no.
Taking a few steps, I look around for a car—an old one, maybe. There’s not one, but I notice the parking lot goes to the back of the building. He could be there. The killer. Shane’s body could still be inside the building.
Fear, like a big spider with eight spiky legs, follows that thought into some dark crevice inside my mind. A place I don’t like to visit.
Footsteps suddenly sound behind me. I swing around. A man dressed in a sweatshirt with a hood is walking toward me. He has sandy brown hair and darkish eyes. And those eyes are on me. Staring, leering at me as if I’m a prize he’s come to collect.
“Yum,” he says and scratches his crotch.
Run, my instincts scream, but I feel glued to the concrete. Before I react, he walks right past me. He does, however, twist his head around and offer me, or rather my boobs, an I’m-a-pervert smile. What? Does he expect them to smile back?
Feeling like I need a shower, I hotfoot it down the sidewalk away from him. The echo of my own steps slapping the sidewalk is like sound effects in a scary movie. I walk faster.
I get to my car and crawl inside, locking the door immediately. I lean back in the seat. My breathing is still fast and too loud. I’ve just closed my eyes when a sharp tap hits my car window.
I squeal, eyes popping open. A man, mid-thirties, brown hair, gray eyes, stands there staring down at me. It’s not the same man I just saw. But chills still run down my spine.
He motions for me to roll down my window. Do I look stupid? “What do you want?” I ask in a voice loud enough to carry through the glass.
“You need something?” he asks.
Yeah, for you to get the hell away from me.
When I don’t speak, he continues, “I’m the manager.” He motions to the Delicious Donuts building behind him.
My gaze goes to the name tag pinned to his shirt. J.T., Manager.
“Are you here for the interview? Are you Paula Covey?”
Interview? I feel stupid and roll down the window, which is the crank kind, so it takes me a few seconds. “Sorry. I’m not Paula.”
“Oh.” He’s staring at my black eye. “I’m meeting someone for a job interview.”
“It’s not me. I’m…lost. Just looking for an address.”
“Can I help you find it?”
“No, I’m fine.”
He nods. “You don’t need a job, do you?”
“No,” I say.
He nods again, and for one second I don’t like how he’s looking at me.
I start the car. It takes several long seconds for him to step back.
The thing about hunting for murderers: everyone starts looking like a suspect.
I pull up at Hayden’s thirty minutes early. I’ve managed to push the fear aside, but I’ve replaced it with fret over what I’m going to say to him about telling Jacob my personal crap. I’m no longer fuming, but I’m still hurt.
Realizing it might take him a while to get to the door, I text him. Just pulled up.
Three dots appear almost immediately. Then they disappear.
I’m getting out of the car when the front door opens.
Wearing jeans and a light green T-shirt, he looks…the word dashing comes into my mind. I’m not even sure how that word snuck into my vocabulary. Probably one of the books I’ve read. But I’m going to look that up to confirm my assessment.
Then I’m taken by his smile and the fact that he’s happy I’m here. I smile back because, in spite of everything, I’m happy I’m here, too.
His eyes stay on me as I walk to his door. The closer I get, the wider his smile gets. My stomach takes a dip, one like you get on a roller coaster. The kind that evokes excitement, fear, and yet makes you feel brave all at the same time. And I realize that’s how Hayden always makes me feel. Exhilarated. Nervous. Yet bold.
Is that love?
He’s holding on to the doorframe, but the fact that he’s walking so soon is nothing less than a
miracle.
I keep moving closer. The anger over him telling my secrets to Jacob lessens. I want to walk right into his arms, fall against him. Kiss him. Instead I stop a few feet in front of him.
“Thanks for coming early,” he says.
“No problem.”
He steps back and reaches for a walker that’s beside the door. “I was told not to do too much before therapy. They don’t want me to come there tired.” He moves over to the sofa. “You want something to drink?”
“No, I’m fine.” I look around. “Your grandmother left?”
“Yeah.” He sits down. “I thought Mom was going to freak about me being by myself. She’s called every thirty minutes.”
“She almost lost you. She’s worried.”
“I know.”
I take a place on the sofa, leaving several feet between us.
His gaze focuses on my face. “Your eye isn’t quite as bright as your last one. Does it hurt?”
“I can feel it’s swollen, and that’s annoying, but other than that, it’s fine.”
“So you and Kelsey went to see Dex?”
I nod. “He felt good enough to joke around.”
“I know. I’ve spoken with him twice. He’s doing good.” He hesitates and then says, “Jacob said you were upset about something.”
I rub my hands over my jean-covered knees, swallow, then blurt it out. “Why did you tell him I was arguing with my dad?”
Hayden looks confused. “I didn’t… Wait.” He frowns. “I guess I did, but I wasn’t…”
“What else did you tell him?”
“Nothing. I wouldn’t…” He exhales. “Look, Jacob was saying you were acting weird, and I told him to give you a break. That you were having trouble with your dad. I didn’t say what it was about.”
I cross my arms. “So he was talking crap about me again.”
“No. He’s more worried than anything else.” Hayden’s lips thin. “He really likes you.”
I almost growl. “Don’t tell me again what a great guy he is.”
“I’m not.” He lets out a sound of frustration. “This is so screwed up. Seeing ghosts. Jacob liking you, and…”
“And?” I push for him to continue.
