To Free a Phantom

by Carrie Pulkinen

  The crackling energy intensified. Colette thrashed in pain.

  Erica could no longer feel her heart in her chest. It was beating in her throat, threatening to rip it open with each pulse. “She’s in the portal. Why isn’t she crossing over?”

  “Shit.” Gage loosened his arms around her but hesitated. “Will you be okay if I let you go? The machine is holding her here.”

  “Yes. I’ve got this.” Though her stomach churned with nausea, she sent another wave of relaxation through her body, loosening her muscles even more, focusing more intently on the light.

  Gage released her and dove for the device. A booming crack sounded from above, but she didn’t have time to worry about what it may have been. He flipped the switch.

  The vines of electric blue light crackled and died, and Colette’s contorted face fell slack. She raised her gaze to Erica’s and cast her one last pleading look before disappearing into the portal.

  Erica allowed herself to feel five seconds of relief that she’d defeated the so-called mentor who turned on the ones who’d trusted her. She was finally free.

  “Let’s go.” She rushed to the stairs, her legs feeling fluid as pudding, but strong enough to run a marathon at the same time.

  Gage rose to his feet as the culpable object that had cracked above crashed down on top of him. The curtain rod itself must’ve weighed fifty pounds, the heavy, red fabric doubling its weight. A mass of flaming curtain buried him.

  “No.” The memory slammed into her mind like a sledgehammer. An eight-year-old girl, tangled in her bed sheets. The heat. The searing pain. The screams. “Gage!”

  She darted toward him. He moved beneath the fabric. Hopefully he hadn’t been burned yet. Oh, please, dear God, don’t let him be burned.

  Fumbling with the weighty cloth, she folded the unignited part over on itself again and again, tossing it aside until she found him. His foot protruded from the curtain, and she latched on to his ankle, pulling with all her might.

  He gasped as she freed him, his wild eyes darting about the room as if he didn’t see her. Linking her arms beneath his shoulders, she dragged him to his feet and down the stage steps.

  As they made it to the aisle, his coherence returned. “Holy shit.” He grabbed her hand, and they raced toward the exit. Shoving his shoulder into the massive lobby door, Gage pulled her through the exit.

  She squinted against the bright sunlight as they stumbled into the parking lot. She needed to stop, to catch her breath, but Gage kept pulling until they reached the sidewalk across the street.

  “Thank God you’re okay.” Tina threw her arms around Gage’s neck and hugged him tight. Then she pulled Erica into an embrace.

  The first bit of pressure built behind her eyes, but she would not cry now. Not here. Even though this woman, whom she’d only just met, was hugging her as if she cared for her. Tina had risked her life to help her. They all had.

  Trent clapped Gage on the shoulder. “I was about to come in after you, man.”

  Lindsay blew out a hard breath. “That was intense.”

  “Tell me about it.” Gage wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, streaking soot across his skin. The hem of his shirt was singed, but he otherwise didn’t appear burned.

  Erica swallowed the thickness from her throat. “Are you okay?”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Never better. Come here.” He pulled her to his chest, and this time, she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. His signature, musky scent peeked out from beneath the smoke smell as she pressed her face against his shirt. His arms formed a protective cage around her, silently reassuring her he’d be there for her. That everything would be okay.

  But it wouldn’t. He’d nearly died because of her. Again.

  The blare of sirens pulled her from the edge of the deep, dark ravine of thoughts she’d almost fallen into. She wiped the tears from her ash-stained cheeks and turned to watch the firemen attack the blaze. Gage’s hands felt heavy on her shoulders, but inside, numbness consumed her. The theater her former teacher and mentor had wanted her to run burned to the ground before her eyes, and she felt nothing. Not sadness. Not fear.

  Nothing.

  The police came. The paramedics. They questioned them. Examined them. Extinguished the fire. After what could have been hours or only minutes, she and all the people who tried to help her were free to go.

  Tina hugged them both. “Call us if you need anything.”

  Trent shook Gage’s hand and then hers. “I wish it could’ve been under better circumstances, Erica, but it was nice to meet you.” He slapped Gage on the back. “Take care of this guy.”

  She flashed a half smile and averted her gaze. How could she take care of him? She’d almost killed him twice.

  “My offer for a girls’ night still stands,” Lindsay said. “You have my number. Take care, guys.”

  “Well.” Gage held both her hands. “The worst part’s over. Now all we have to deal with is the clean-up, the rebuild, where to hold your classes while it’s being rebuilt. Minor stuff.” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

  A heaviness formed in the pit of her stomach as if she’d swallowed a brick. “There is no we in this, Gage. This is my fault. I have to deal with it.”

  He furrowed his brow. “I want to help.”

  “I know you do. You always want to help, but I need to do this on my own.” She had to get her act together or she would continue screwing up other people’s lives.

  “I don’t understand.”

  She cast a glance at the charred building. No flames leapt from the windows. No billowing smoke remained. A firefighter swung an ax onto his shoulder as he trudged out of the entrance. Tomorrow, they’d allow her inside to assess the damage. Right now, she needed to rest. To think. To figure out what the hell she was going to do with her life.

  “I need space. I’ve spent my entire life doing what I thought I should do. Living for other people because I was too afraid to make a decision for myself. I went to LA for Carter. I became a graphic artist for my dad. I took on this theater for Mrs. Spencer. I almost killed you for Colette. But this…” She gestured to the burned building. “If this isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is. It’s time to make my own decisions. To do things my way. I need some time alone.” She shuffled toward her car.

  “Erica.” He caught her by the hand. “I’ve always supported you, no matter what decisions you’ve made.”

  The sadness in his eyes tore her heart in two, but she needed to figure out her life for herself. “I know. And I appreciate that. You’ve always been my best friend, and you always will be. But, right now…I need to be alone.”

  She pulled from his grasp and slid into the driver’s seat. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stood there, watching her as she started the car and drove away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  At their monthly brunch at Angelica’s Café, Gage toyed with the last bite of omelet on his plate as his sisters chatted around him. Once he’d congratulated Deanna on finally getting an engagement ring from Mark, he’d only been half-listening to everything else they’d said. His mom was getting serious with her cop boyfriend. All of his sisters had someone. It seemed no one needed him anymore. Not even Erica.

  “Gage? Did you hear me?” Chelsea tapped his plate with her fork.

  He blinked his gaze into focus. “What? Sorry…I was daydreaming.”

  “I saw Erica when I went to visit mom yesterday.”

  “Oh?” His heart thrummed, but he lifted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug…trying to play it cool.

  “She’d just been to see her dad when I pulled into the driveway.” She gave him a pointed look, screwing her mouth up to the side as if she were waiting for him to ask for more. “Aren’t you curious about what she said?”

  He inhaled, lifting both shoulders this time and drumming his fingers on the white linen tablecloth. Hell yes, he was curious. But if he let on about how much spending two weeks aw
ay from the woman he loved was eating him alive from the inside out, he’d never hear the end of it.

  “She’s selling the theater. Said she never should’ve taken it on in the first place and she had other plans for her life.”

  The news didn’t surprise him. Though she’d never said it outright, owning her own community theater had never been her life’s ambition. “Did she mention what those plans were?”

  Chelsea folded her hands in her lap. “No. And she also didn’t mention you. She didn’t ask how you were…nothing. What are you doing, Gage?”

  “What do you mean?” He folded his napkin and dropped it on his plate, preparing himself for the scolding his little sister was surely about to hand him.

  “I thought you loved her.”

  “I do.”

  “So, why aren’t you fighting for her? You should be calling her. Going to her house. Chasing her down. Something.”

  He let out a dry chuckle. “What good would that do? She said she needed space, so that’s what I’m giving her.”

  “You need to call her before she gets away.”

  “I’m giving her what she asked for. What else can I do?”

  Chelsea sighed, defeated. “You always give. You give and give, and you take care of people, and you never ask for anything in return.”

  “I don’t see a problem with that.”

  She rested her right hand on his shoulder, gripping his bicep with her left as if to drive her point home. “It’s okay to ask for what you need sometimes too.”

  He opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but his sister had a point. He needed Erica. Then again, if she didn’t need…or want…him, his needs were futile.

  “Here’s the thing, Chels.” He shifted in his seat to face her. “Erica said she’s been living her life for other people. Doing things everyone else wanted her to do and not thinking for herself. If I pursue her…chase her down like you say I should…our relationship will be no better than any other decision she’s made to please someone else. If Erica comes back to me, I want it to be because she decided to. Not because I wore her down or talked her into it.”

  Chelsea crossed her arms. “You’re willing to sit back and watch her slip away?”

  He spread his hands on the table. It was possible she’d already made up her mind. That she was already gone. He could’ve taken her silence as an answer, but he doubted he’d recover from the effect that would have on his heart. He wasn’t ready to let her go. “If it’s meant to be, she’ll come back to me. The universe has a way of making things happen…if they’re supposed to happen.” Now all he could do was hope and pray that Erica was meant to be his.

  “Wise words, little brother.” Abigail winked.

  He sat up straight. Fantastic. All three of his other sisters had been listening to their conversation.

  “She’ll be back.” Becky emptied the pitcher of mimosa into her glass, dribbling a quarter of it onto the tablecloth. “Right, Deanna?”

  Deanna tore her gaze away from the diamond on her finger and smiled at him. “It’s meant to be.”

  Was she talking about herself or about him and Erica? Hell, it didn’t matter. He truly believed what he’d said. It was either meant to be or it wasn’t, and he wasn’t about to pressure Erica into a relationship she wasn’t one-hundred-percent sure she wanted…even if it left him a broken man.

  After brunch, he said goodbye to his sisters and spent the afternoon at the rock-climbing gym. He worked until his arms shook and his muscles burned with exhaustion. Using his body to its limits helped calm the storm of thoughts raging in his mind. His limbs felt like noodles as he gathered his things and headed home.

  He tossed his sweaty clothes in the hamper and checked his phone. No missed calls or messages lit up his screen. He swallowed hard, unable to fight the lump of disappointment settling in his stomach. He’d been disappointed every goddamn day since the fire.

  Wise words, his sister had said. Maybe his outlook on the situation was wise, but it had taken him a week and a half to get there…and it still hurt like hell.

  He had tried calling Erica. He’d left her messages three days in a row until she’d finally texted him: I’m fine. Figuring things out…on my own.

  He could take a hint. He hadn’t tried to contact her since.

  Dropping his phone on the dresser, he shuffled to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. The warm water gliding over his skin reminded him of Erica’s soft hands and the intimate ways she’d touched him.

  Fuck. What was he doing? It had been two weeks since the fire. Eleven days since she’d sent that text. Maybe he should check in with her. Make sure she was okay.

  No. She wanted space.

  He finished his shower and shut off the water. Ruminating on what might have been with Erica would do him no good. He’d wallowed enough the last two weeks. It was time he did something productive.

  He dried off and threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. As he reached for his sock drawer, in his peripheral vision, his phone screen seemed to have dimmed. Had it been lit with a message notification? He picked it up and pressed the home button, and his heart lodged in his throat.

  A message from Erica lit up the screen: Can we talk?

  He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans, trying to get the damn thing to accept his fingerprint and unlock. Finally, it opened, and he entered his response. His thumbs felt so thick and clumsy, he nearly hurled the damn phone across the room. It took seven tries to type the words of course.

  Her response came back almost instantly. Are you home?

  Yes.

  A knock sounded on his front door. His heart dislodged itself from his throat and tumbled into his stomach.

  He ran through the living room, skidding to a stop before he could throw the door open. He needed to calm down. As much as he wanted to sweep her into his arms and make her his forever, he had to remember the talk she wanted to have might not be the same talk he wanted…needed…to hear.

  Taking a deep breath, he tousled his damp hair and smoothed his shirt down his stomach. He opened the door. Erica stood beneath the porch light, wearing a lavender shirt and a long, deep-purple skirt. Her braid hung over her shoulder, and she clutched a bright-yellow sunflower in both her hands.

  Her eyes brightened as she caught his gaze, and a sweet smile curved her lips. “Hi, Gage.”

  His heart thudded an irregular rhythm. “Hey.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah. Of course.” He widened the door and motioned for her to enter.

  She set her purse on the table and offered him the flower. “There’s nothing in the rulebooks on what gift a woman should bring a man when she wants to apologize. Guys have it easy.”

  He chuckled, taking the flower and pressing it to his nose before laying it on the table next to her purse. “Thanks. I don’t think anyone’s given me flowers before.”

  Stepping toward him, she ran a finger down his chest. “I like your shirt. How have you been?”

  He glanced down to find a giant Captain America emblem blaring nerd on his chest. He’d worn a superhero shirt to win back his girl? Smooth move. “I’ve been okay. Worried about you.”

  She took his face in her hands and kissed him. And not a chaste I’ve missed you peck. She parted her lips and drank him in like he’d been missing for years.

  His body responded before his mind caught up with what was happening, and he slid his arms around her and held her close, deepening the kiss, tangling his tongue with hers. God, he’d missed this woman. She tasted like a wintergreen Tic Tac, and her body felt so damn good pressed against him, he could’ve taken her right there on the kitchen floor.

  But he couldn’t. Think, man. Get it together. As much as he longed to let this play out—to undress her quickly and make love to her slowly—they had to talk. To establish their relationship and figure out the future because he was done playing the door mat. He enjoyed giving and taking care of people, but Chelsea was finally right about something�
�There was nothing wrong with asking for what he needed sometimes.

  He pulled from her embrace and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

  “Talking can wait.” She leaned toward him.

  “No.” He stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “No, it can’t. If we’re going to do stuff like this, there are some things I need from you.”

  She tilted her head. “Like what?”

  Shit. What was it exactly that he needed? He should’ve made a list. Damn it, if he’d known they’d be having this conversation today, he would have. “For starters, I need to know what’s going on with the theater. Chelsea told me you’re selling it.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand to stop her. His mind had finally caught up.

  “And then I need to know exactly what you want from me. What we’re going to be. Because I can’t handle the back and forth. We’re either a couple or we’re friends. I’m not playing the friends-with-benefits game.”

  Her lips twitched as if she wasn’t sure whether to smile or frown. “I’m sorry for shutting you out these past two weeks. I had a lot of soul-searching to do, and I thought I had to be alone to do it.” She shifted from foot to foot like she was uncomfortable.

  “Do you want to sit in the living room?”

  She wrapped her arms around herself. “No, this won’t take long.”

  Oh, hell. That could only mean one thing. She was planning a getaway. A clean break, and then she’d walk out the door. He steeled himself for the blow that would be.

  “I have a bad habit of making decisions based on what other people think I should do. But this time, every decision I’ve made has been one-hundred-percent my own. I am going to sell the theater. It was a total loss; it would be cheaper to bulldoze the whole building and start from scratch than to try to restore it.”

  “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

  She smiled. “It doesn’t suck, though. I never wanted to run my own business to begin with. I only took on the place because Mrs. Spencer wanted me to. The investigators ruled the fire an accident, so I’m getting the insurance money. That combined with the value of the property…as long as I can find a buyer…will pay off the mortgage and the renovation loan.” She chuckled. “I’ll be free from that nightmare soon.”