He rubbed the back of his neck to chase away the chill. “Is it Leroy or Stanley?”
Her mouth hung open. She rose to her feet and shuffled toward him tentatively, rubbing her arms as if she also felt the chill. “You can see it too?”
“No, but I can feel it. Tall and thin or short and round?”
She blinked rapidly. “Tall. But how…” She tilted her head to the side and looked past Gage. “Have you been doing this to the lights?” Crossing her arms, she tapped her foot on the floor. “Well, I would appreciate it if you would stop. I’ve got a show to produce.”
The buzzing energy around him dissipated, and the air warmed to a normal temperature. He closed the computer and turned to Erica. “I didn’t know you could see ghosts.”
“I didn’t know you could feel them.”
“Everyone can feel them. Most people don’t recognize what they are. You saw him, though. Have you always had that ability?” Maybe he didn’t know Erica quite as well as he thought he did.
“Since I was a kid.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I couldn’t. I…it’s a long story.”
He leaned against the table. “I’ve got time.”
Looking into his eyes, she furrowed her brow as if unsure of how much she should share. “This is the first time I’ve seen one here. Where did they come from? And if you can’t see them, how do you know their names?”
“Sounds like we have a lot to talk about. Want to go get dinner?”
She shivered. “I do.”
Chapter Seven
Erica’s heart pounded as she pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex. She slid out of her seat and met Gage at his Jeep. The thought of asking him to come inside briefly crossed her mind, but she dismissed it. She was about to confess the secret she’d been keeping from him…from everyone…her entire life. If they were alone inside her apartment, she might fall apart. At least in a public place, she’d be forced to keep it together.
She slipped her hand into his and allowed the familiar warmth of his skin to calm her nerves as they strolled toward a small Italian restaurant three blocks away. “I’ve never talked about this with anyone but Mrs. Spencer.”
He squeezed her hand. “She could see them too.”
“How did you know that?”
He grinned. “I’m an IT genius by day, paranormal investigator by night.”
“Really?”
“I work for the Detroit Area Paranormal Society. D.A.P.S. for short. When Mrs. Spencer did the renovations a couple of years ago, she woke some spirits who’d been in the building for decades. She wanted physical evidence to show her family, so D.A.P.S. investigated for her.”
They made a left and shuffled down the sidewalk under a canopy of oak branches. The setting sun filtered through the leaves, dappling the sidewalk in light and shadows. Erica paused by the restaurant. “I didn’t know ghosts slept.”
He opened the door for her, and they followed the hostess to a table in the back. As soon as Erica slid into her seat, with a light puff of breath, she extinguished the single candle burning on the table.
Gage glanced at the wick. “I guess woke isn’t the right word. Leroy and Stanley had been there all along, but they were quiet. Content to sit back and observe the living without making a fuss. As soon as the renovations started, it stirred them up. Their home got a makeover, and they weren’t happy about it at first.”
The waiter arrived to take their order, and Erica asked for a long pour of cabernet with her meal. She’d managed to avoid thinking about the significance of the date for most of the day, but the explanation Gage needed…that he deserved…for why she’d kept her ability a secret wouldn’t be an easy one to give.
“Are the ghosts dangerous?” Her stomach sank. Was she putting her students in danger by holding classes?
“Nah. They’re harmless. Probably just wanted your attention. Say hello every day, and they shouldn’t bother you.”
“I wonder why they didn’t show themselves to me before.”
“That, I don’t know. I don’t have the ability to communicate with spirits. I run tech on the team. Cameras, EVP, EMF detectors…” His eyes brightened as he talked about his side job.
“I’ve seen the TV shows.”
“Most of the time, it’s not nearly that exciting. Sometimes we come across a nasty one, though.” Gage sipped the beer the waiter set in front of him.
Erica ran her finger up and down the stem of her glass. “I’m glad Leroy and Stanley aren’t nasty.”
“They told the psychic on our team they were happy there, so we let them be. You can cross them over if they bother you.”
Cross them over? She couldn’t even see them until they wanted to be seen. How was she supposed to force them out? She took a long sip of wine. “I don’t have that ability.”
“Sure you do. If you can see spirit energy, you can help it find its way to the other side.” He said it matter-of-factly, like it should have been the easiest thing in the world.
“I don’t even know why I can see them.”
“I know someone you can talk to about it. Her name is Allison. Strongest medium I know. She’d be glad to help you develop your gift.”
Gift. She had to chuckle at that…but talk to a medium about her ability? She couldn’t do that. Aside from promising her mom she’d never tell anyone she could see ghosts, she’d also sworn her secrecy with Mrs. Spencer. When her teacher had discovered Erica could see Colette, the ghost in the mirror, Colette had made them both swear never to tell anyone about her. Never to talk about spirits. She’d been keeping her secret since she was a child, so Colette’s request didn’t seem strange.
But now, sitting here with Gage, who didn’t question her ability…who accepted her as she was…she wanted to share her secret. She wanted to tell him everything.
She reached across the table to hold his hand. “I’ll think about it.”
Their food arrived, and Erica ordered another glass of wine. The first one had finally taken effect, spreading a pleasurable warmth from her stomach to her limbs. Her body relaxed, but the man sitting across from her had her heart thrumming. A comfortable silence stretched between them as they ate. Though the curiosity in his eyes was evident, he didn’t pressure her to spill her secrets.
She sat up straight and grinned as she watched him take the last bite of his manicotti. She had feelings for Gage, and he liked her too. At least she had one good thing happening in her life.
He caught her gaze and returned the smile. “What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. You’re…”
“Different?”
“But the same.” She finished her second glass of wine. Or was it her third? She couldn’t remember. Whichever it was, it had finally given her the courage to talk about her secret. “I never told you I could see ghosts because I promised my mom I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“Why would she make you promise that?” He paid the tab and offered her a hand to stand.
She rose to her feet. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
She paused and considered him for a moment. He did have time…because he made time. For her. The butterflies took flight in her stomach again as a warm ache spread through her chest. She’d missed this. Missed him. “Want to sit at the bar for a while?” Another glass of liquid courage might be enough to get her through the story.
They found two seats at the end of the bar, and Erica ordered her third glass of wine before excusing herself to the restroom. Gage ordered a beer, but he didn’t intend to drink it. Whatever story she was about to tell sounded like it wouldn’t be easy for her to share, and he wanted to make sure he caught every word.
Erica rarely talked about her mom, and he understood why. But having the ability to see ghosts had to be scary for a child. Not being allowed to talk about it would’ve made it worse.
She returned from the restroom an
d slid into her seat, flashing him a small smile before turning to her drink. She took a long sip, draining half the glass before setting it on the bar and tracing her finger up and down the stem. “Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome.” He took her hand and held it in her lap. He needed to get her talking before the wine clouded her thoughts. “Why didn’t your mom want you to talk about your ability?”
She inhaled deeply, tightening her grip on his fingers, focusing her gaze on the glass. “When I was a kid, my dad was an alcoholic. Now he only drinks once a year, but when I was little, it was pretty bad.”
“Yeah, you’ve told me that.” He moved his other hand on top of hers.
“When I was eight, he forgot about my mom’s birthday. Spent the day passed out on the couch.” She pulled from his grasp and chugged the rest of her drink. Lifting a hand to the bartender, she pointed to her glass, and he refilled it.
“Hey.” Gage rubbed a hand across her back. “You’ve already told me this story. You don’t need to relive it.” He couldn’t begin to imagine the pain, the fear, an eight-year-old child would have felt in such a horrific event. Why would she want to tell him about it all over again?
“I didn’t tell you everything.” Tears glistened in her eyes.
“Come here.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. If he’d have known his questions would lead to this godawful memory, he’d have kept his damn mouth shut.
“I knew my mom was sad my dad forgot, even though she tried to play it off. So, when she was in her bedroom, I shook my dad awake and begged him to take me to buy her a cake. He told me to make her one myself.”
His heart ached for her. Why was she torturing herself by reliving this memory? “You don’t have to talk about this.”
She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I need to.”
“Okay.” If she needed to tell him this story, he’d listen. As much as it tore him up to hear it, her pain had to be a million times worse.
“I had one of those Kinder Cookin’ Ovens, but the old kind from the 1980s. My mom got it from a garage sale. I wasn’t allowed to use it upstairs, but I wanted to surprise her, so I set it up on the floor in my bedroom. I plugged it in to heat it up, and my mom came upstairs. I threw a blanket over it, so she wouldn’t see.” She sat up straight and took another drink of wine. “A blanket. On an oven, Gage. How could I have been so stupid?”
“You were eight. You weren’t stupid.” He rested his hand on her thigh and gave it a squeeze. She’d told him her mom died in the fire, but she’d only given him the condensed version of the story. This detail was something new.
“She told me to come downstairs for ice cream. My dad was passed out on the couch, but my mom and I celebrated her birthday, and I was so excited I forgot all about the cake. Until I went to bed.”
Running her hands over her hair, she smoothed it down the side of her face. “The fire started with the blanket, but my room was a mess, so it spread quickly. By the time I woke up and screamed for help, the entire upstairs was ablaze. My bed…”
A sob bubbled up from her throat, and she covered her mouth. “My mom came bolting through the flames like a superhero. She scooped me out of my bed, but it was already on fire. The pain was…” She shivered. “The last thing I remember is my mom tossing me out the window. Then I woke up in the hospital a few days later.” She buried her face in her hands.
He rubbed her back, trying desperately to think of the right words to take her pain away. If he could have reached into her chest, pulled out the agony, and endured it himself, he would have done it in an instant. But this was an ancient pain that was so much a part of her, there was nothing he could do to separate her from the torture. “I’m so sorry.”
Lifting her head from her hands, she glanced around the room as if suddenly remembering they were in a public place. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and finished off her fourth glass of wine. “The fire was my fault. I killed my mom.”
No wonder she rarely talked about her mother. The guilt must have been eating her alive all these years. As an eight-year-old, she probably did believe she’d killed her mom. He held her hand. “It was an accident.”
“It was still my fault.”
“You didn’t kill her.”
She sucked in a shaky breath. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. I’ve never told anyone this story.”
He motioned to the bartender to close out their tab. If she drank any more wine, he’d have to carry her home. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“Yes, we do. I want you to know the truth.”
Would she be telling him this if she were sober? Or was her sudden openness merely a side effect of the alcohol? It didn’t matter. He’d listen for as long as she needed him to. Whatever she wanted to tell him.
“I had a point in telling you this story. Oh, right…the ghosts. When I woke up in the hospital, my mom was there. She stayed with me the whole time while my dad went to rehab. He quit drinking after that.” She let out a dry chuckle. “I guess I would have too.”
“I thought your mom died in the fire.” He signed the check and slid his credit card into his wallet.
“She did. The firefighters were able to rescue my dad, but by the time they got to my mom, it was too late.”
“Her ghost stayed with you.”
She bit her bottom lip and nodded. “It was the first time I’d ever seen a spirit. Maybe the trauma of the fire triggered something in my brain to jumpstart the ability. I don’t know. When my mom figured out I could see and hear her, she made me promise never to tell anyone. She said it was dangerous, and people would either call me crazy or try to take advantage of me.”
That must have been why she couldn’t see the ghosts in the theater until today. She’d never developed her ability, so she had no control, no idea what kind of power she possessed. “That had to be hard keeping a secret like that for so long. Especially for a child.”
“It was. Walk me home.” She stood and swayed on her feet.
He jumped up and caught her by the arm.
“Sorry.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t usually drink this much. My head’s spinning a little.”
“Let’s get you home.” Gage held her by the arm to steady her and led her out of the bar. “You told Mrs. Spencer about your ability, right?”
“She found out the same way as you. She had a…” She clamped her lips together and glanced at the sidewalk. “I reacted to a spirit at her house. I didn’t tell her about my mom. We didn’t talk much about our abilities at all, but it was nice just knowing someone else could see what I could see. I’m sorry I never told you.”
“I understand why you didn’t.”
She sighed and leaned into his side, so he wrapped his arm around her and guided her home. She stumbled on the steps, but he managed to get her to the second-floor landing safely. Sliding the key into the lock, she paused and turned to him. Her tears had dried, and a tiny smile played on her lips. “Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime.” He reached for her, planning to hug her and say good night, but the air temperature around him plummeted. Goose bumps pricked at his skin, and a chill ran down his spine.
Erica shook her head. “Not now, Sandra.”
“You have a ghost at your apartment too?”
She glanced at the door before placing her finger on his lips. “Shh…I don’t want to talk about ghosts anymore tonight.” Trailing her finger down his chin, she rested her hand on his chest. “It’s early. Do you want to come in?”
His heart dipped into his stomach. “Is that you asking me, or the wine?”
She giggled. “Probably both.” Stepping through the threshold, she waited for him on the other side. “Come on.”
He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, ready to follow her in, but he stopped. Temptation urged him on, but he couldn’t…even though he really, really wanted to. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’ve had a lot
to drink, and I don’t—”
“Oh, Gage.” She grabbed his arm and yanked him inside. “Don’t you see? This something different that’s happening between us…I like you. And I really want to kiss you right now.”
Oh, hell. He wanted to kiss her too. To do a whole lot more than kissing, but he couldn’t gauge her soberness. Could the alcohol be fueling her desire? She’d had four glasses of wine. He’d be able to think straight after that amount of alcohol, but how well could Erica handle her drinks?
She placed her hands on his chest, and electricity pulsed through his body. She blinked up at him, gliding closer, erasing the space between them. “Please kiss me, Gage.”
He touched his fingers to her cheek, and she closed her eyes. As he slid his gaze to her plump, pink lips, the memory of the way they’d felt pressed to his came rushing back. Tender. Warm. Just a kiss. He’d indulge in one brief brush of the lips, and then he’d say good night. He leaned in and took her mouth with his.
A soft moan emanated from her throat as she snaked her arms behind his neck and melted into his embrace. She felt so damn good in his arms; if she’d been sober, he’d have scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom. She roamed her hands over his body, slipping them beneath his shirt. Her soft fingers danced over his skin like velvet, the intimacy in her touch hardening him with desire. But as her caresses neared the waistband of his jeans, he had to put the brakes on before they did something she’d regret.
He grasped her hands. “I should probably head home.” Giving her fingers a squeeze, he released them and stepped back.
She dropped her gaze to the floor and smoothed her hair over her scar. “I understand. It’s hard to get excited about someone who looks like a monster.”
“Whoa. Where did that come from?” He reached for her shoulder, but she jerked away.
“It’s okay, Gage. I’m ugly. I know that. I shouldn’t have expected anything more than rejection.” She tucked her scarred hand into her sleeve and angled her face away from him.
“I’m not rejecting you. Erica…” He hooked his finger under her chin, raising her gaze to his. How could she say such horrible things about herself? “I think you’re beautiful.”
To Free a Phantom (Spirit Chasers Book 3) Page 8
