Page 77 of The Curse of Redwood
I knew I needed to figure out what was wrong with me, but I was just too tired in that moment.
“I’m taking you outside,” Zeke said. “I will not let Redwood have you.”
“I just need to sleep for a while,” I mumbled, rolling to my side. “I don’t wanna leave you.”
Zeke slid his arms beneath me and placed me back on the bed. I was shocked he didn’t fight me on it more, but I sensed he wanted to be beside me just as much as I wanted to be with him.
“What about the ghosts?” I asked, already falling into sleep’s clutches.
“They won’t bother you.” He tucked the blanket around me before lying on top of it, stroking my hair. “Now sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake.”
***
The worst hangover I’d ever had was the morning after my twenty-first birthday.
Finally being able to legally drink, my buddies had taken me to several bars and clubs and we’d drank the night away. I had mixed my alcohol like a moron, drinking rum, vodka, and a bunch of super sweet fruity drinks. The next morning, I had felt like I’d been hit by a bus. I had been dehydrated, nauseous, and weak.
Waking up that morning in Redwood Manor was worse than that.
I groaned as I opened my eyes. What a day for the sun to finally make an appearance after nearly a week long hiatus. I pulled the blanket over my head and squeezed my lids shut. The pounding in my head was so bad I was sure it would kill me.
“Good morning,” Zeke said, putting a hand on me. I felt the coldness of his skin through the thin blanket.
“More like a horrible morning,” I mumbled. “Don’t look at me. I think I’m going to puke.”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he responded, slowly pulling the blanket away from my face. The room looked darker, and I realized he had closed the curtains.
“Wait. What do you mean you’ve seen it before?”
“I cleaned up your vomit from last night once you fell asleep.”
Though it was vague, I remembered puking in the floor when all that crazy shit was happening. “Oh god. Kill me now.”
Was it possible to die from humiliation? Sure felt like it.
“Apart from your hurting head, how do you feel?” he asked, placing a cold hand on my forehead.
I leaned into his touch. His hand was like an icepack and felt amazing to my throbbing skull.
“Better,” I answered, relieved that the nausea had passed at least. The longer I was awake, the more the headache faded too. I sat up, going slow as not to further irritate my head. “What time is it?”
“Just after ten,” he said.
“Shit. I have to go to work. I can’t call in sick again.”
“Do you think that wise?” he asked, sounding like a stern father. “We still don’t know what happened to you last night.”
“I’m sure it was nothing.”
“You were screaming, Carter. That’s notnothing.” Zeke gripped my chin and brought my face closer to his as he scrutinized me. “Something’s different about you. Your eyes… I can’t explain it… but it seems like the light I adore so much is fading.”
“I feel fine now,” I insisted, despite me still having that sense of wrongness inside me. Why was I lying to him? “Stop worrying.”
He kissed me. It was raw. Desperate. As if he was putting everything he couldn’t say into a single, soul-altering kiss. I whimpered against his lips as fear struck me square in the chest—fear of losing him.
If I could freeze time and stay in that moment forever, I would have. Because I feared what would happen once we broke apart.
“When you leave, you mustn’t return,” he said, tearing from my lips. “Too many times I’ve seen tragedy befall those I care for. I refuse to see the same of you.”
