Page 79 of Ghoul Me, Maybe
“That funny, huh?”
“You—you glared at a hamburger like it insulted your mother,” I gasp.
“It did!” he argues. “It tricked me. With softness.”
That just makes me laugh harder.
I haven’t laughed like that in years.
Not since before the wreck. Before the ghosts. Before magic and death and aching choices.
And here I am—under neon, with a reanimated sailor and a half-eaten cheeseburger—and I feel...alive.
Like everything terrible finally made room for something good.
Elias finishes the burger, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and grins.
“You gonna make fun of me every time I eat now?”
“Only when you look personally betrayed by condiments.”
He leans in.
Kisses my cheek, warm and sure.
“I’ll allow it,” he says.
CHAPTER 27
ELIAS
The first thing I feel when I wake up is pain.
The kind that thuds through bone and muscle like it’s trying to carve its name into my ribs. Every breath tastes metallic—like blood and something else. Something sharp. Somethingreal.
I stretch my fingers. My knuckles ache, skin split and bruised. There's dried blood on my shirt, a smear on the inside of my forearm. I don’t remember how it got there.
Sienna’s beside me, still asleep, her face turned toward the window. The morning light catches the edge of her jaw, and for a moment, I forget the fight. The fear. The feeling of fists connecting with flesh.
But the memory hits quick.
It started atRusty’s, a dive tucked two miles inland. Low ceiling, sticky floor, dartboards that look like they’ve seen wars. The kind of place where the jukebox only plays Springsteen and fights break out if you ask for water without lemon.
We were trying to be normal. Whatever that means now.
Sienna was laughing. God, I could listen to that sound forever. She was leaning over the bar, chatting with the barkeep—some dude with tattoos on his knuckles and a beard that couldstart its own folk band. I stayed close, keeping an eye on the exits, the shadows, the way everyone looked at her.
Thenheshowed up.
Broad shoulders. Sunburned neck. The kind of guy who drinks light beer and thinks a woman’s smile is an invitation. I caught his scent before I saw him—cheap cologne and old sweat.
He zeroed in on her like a shark on blood.
I watched his hand slide across the bar, fingers brushing her elbow.
And that was it.
I was already moving before my brain caught up.
