Page 18 of Come Back To Me
And that’s where my fantasy ends. He can’t do all the things Gareth did. He can’t even leave the house. He takes a long sip of his coffee, throat bobbing with each swallow. His dark eyes watch me as I reach for the top pancake on my plate. Folding it in half, I keep my gaze on his as I take slow bites.
“That’s a good boy. Food is nourishment, and I can tell how much you need it. You’re looking more dead than me,” he muses.
I shove the remaining pancake into my mouth and stand up from my chair so fast the chair almost crashes to the floor. “I’m going to shower. You should take care of the situation downstairs while I do.”
“Sure thing, buttercup.”
My lips twist. “You said I have to follow through with my promises. Then so do you. You shouldn’t be able to take what you want without giving me what I asked for.”
His lips tilt. “Technically, I’ve already fulfilled my end of the bargain. I’m doing that by sitting here, drinking his disgusting infused coffee while pumping life into his body, which could use some more muscle by the way.”
“That’s not enough.”
The muscles in his cheek twitch. “Too bad. You should have been more specific.”
“The spell—”
“Says the body will rise again. You didn’t fully think this through, did you? Don’t worry, I’ll give you more of your husband when I feel you’ve earned it. Right now, you’re nagging me and it’s making me experience whatever you humans call a headache.” He leans back in his chair looking pompous.
I have to get rid of him. He can’t stay here. I’ll keep him alive long enough to get the closure I need from getting to talk to Gareth one last time, and then I’ll slip some coolant into his next coffee, or into whatever body parts he leaves behind in his pockets. I shudder.
I’ll make things right.
It’ll be even more right for everyone else. I brought him here without thinking about what it might mean for others. I was selfish. I deserve whatever wrong he brings. What the woman said in the Wiccan shop was only partly true. Gareth isn’t who he was when he was alive, but he isn’t gone either.
Every now and again, if I look closely, there’s a flash of light he once held in his eyes. He does that lip twitch when contemplating. And right now, as I put my dishes in the sink, he’s twisting the material of the sleeve of his hoodie between his fingers as he reads a sympathy card that was planted in the rose vase on the table.
I want to reach for him. To lean down and wrap my arms around his back and say, “Read me what you’re reading.”
It was another one of our things.
I walk past him, leaving a small enough gap for him to grab my wrist without overexerting himself. “Riley,” he says, and I freeze. “I’m only a phone call or text away. I’ll always be here when you want to talk. Doesn’t matter what time of the day. We’re all here for you, Ry-Ry.”
He takes a breath before adding, “Love, your brother from another mother. You know who.”
My lips threaten to lift in a smile. Those flowers were from Leo, and I hadn’t had a chance to read it. It was going to be tucked away in a drawer with the rest. I guess it can stay where it is now, or maybe I’ll replace it with another and see if he’ll read that one too.
His cold fingers run over my pulse point, and he rubs another finger over the cardstock. “That’s because you were doing as I said. Figured you deserved a reward of some sort. A little more of Gareth.”
“Thanks.” Not knowing what else to say, while also resisting the urge to roll my eyes at myself for thanking a spirit who plansto keep assaulting me whenever he feels like it, I gently pull away from his hand and make a beeline for the bedroom.
Shuffling sounds come from the kitchen as I turn on the shower. My hand sits under the water until it’s hot enough, and I step forward, wrapping myself in the caress of the fast-moving stream. Glass clinks in the sink and the vacuum roars to life only feet away minutes later. He’s cleaning, something Gareth hated doing. I constantly picked up after him, snatching his shirt from the floor as soon as he missed the hamper.
The loud humming goes on while I scrub shampoo into my scalp, and I go still when the door creaks open. Heart skyrocketing, my eyes lock on the shower curtain, and when it moves, my fingers tighten around my wet strands. He steps in, filling the space in front of me, barely fitting. It was always a tight squeeze but Gareth never cared. On more than one occasion he mentioned building me a bigger shower and making it separate from the tub. It had been years since he’d first said it, and after a while I added it to Gareth’s “will never happen but it was a nice thought” list.
“Was getting lonely out there. Thought I’d join you. Also, not a fan of being cold for too long. You managed to help me with that yesterday so I figured you could now too.”
“You showered already.”
“Yes, but not with you. You said that before, remember?”
“Is he telling you things, or are you stealing his thoughts from his brain?” I’m both curious about how it works and also in a bitter mood.
“A little of both. It’s really weird and I can’t fully understand it myself yet. Some things aren’t meant to make sense. Like your husband crawling out of his casket and me wanting someone I hardly know with every fiber of my being.”
My breaths hitch as he steps closer, my skin feeling electrocuted when his fingers run over my hip bone. “You’re sodamn warm. I like your warmth. I like how good your heart sounds when it beats. I like how alive you seem whenever I touch you. I’ve never witnessed someone so alive before. You make me feel like I could stand on my own. It’s both dangerous and illogical.”
“Who are you?” My words bounce on my tongue.
