Page 8 of The Spirit Key
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I ran out the front doors and down the street. By the time I reached Water Street, I was breathing hard and sweating like a pig, my heart pounding against my chest. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I hadn’t seen a ghost in years, so why now?
I slumped against the bank building, nestled in the shade of the surrounding towers, and swiped a hand over my face. Fear of the possibilities had me wanting to rush back to the train and return to my ghost-free apartment. But Tim….
“Fuck!”
The urge to give the middle finger to the people whose heads snapped in my direction hit me pretty hard. How dare they judge me for being crazy!
When I had myself under control, I walked around downtown, seeing the changes that had occurred since I moved. More buildings stood vacant or were under renovation. Still, there were a lot of people milling around. I did my best not to make eye contact with anyone, choosing instead to watch the pavement as I walked. By the time the sun had started to dip below the horizon, I was ready to face Tim.
I found a line of cabs outside the Pfister Hotel, and the nice doorman hailed one for me. I slipped him a couple bucks for the trouble, then slid into the door he’d opened for me. After giving the driver the address that was etched in my memory, I sat back as we moved out of downtown, heading south.
“Sir? We’re here.”
My eyes popped open, and I turned toward the house that was filled with memories for me. I took out a twenty and handed it to the driver, murmured that he could keep the change, and got out of the car. I stood on the sidewalk, noticing the subtle changes to the two-story town house. Where they’d originally had dark blue shutters, now there was a large bay window that had more than a few suncatchers hanging in it, one of which Tim and I had mowed lawns for an entire summer to buy. The house used to have asphalt tiles but was now covered with white siding. It looked different but still held a warm familiarity for me.
Stepping up onto the porch, I rang the bell and waited for a few moments, then rang again. No one answered. I wasn’t sure what to do. Turning to my right, I decided to sit and wait on a bench situated on the porch.
It was a few hours before a car pulled up, with Tim in the passenger seat. He turned to the driver, a pretty redheaded woman, threw his head back and laughed, then reached out and put a hand on her arm. Jealousy flashed through me, but I bit down on it, knowing I had no right to be upset. Didn’t mean I wasn’t.
When he opened the door and stepped out of the car, I had to catch my breath. He was no longer a gawky teen. Now he was wider in the chest and hips, though his waist remained narrow. His dark hair was shaved on the sides and cut very short on top. As a boy, Tim had always been sexy, but now he was fucking hot. He reminded me so much of Matthias Streitwieser, with his smoldering gray eyes and dark complexion. Tim said goodbye, closed the door, then turned toward the house. I could tell the moment he saw me, as his eyes went wide before they narrowed dangerously.
He stalked toward where I sat. “Can I help you?” His voice had none of its usual warmth, and I could see so much pain and hatred in his eyes.
I found it hard to form the words I wanted to say. After clearing my throat, I tried again. “Hey.”
Tim snorted. “Five years and the best I get ishey?” He waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever.” Turning away, he headed for the door.
I got up, rushed across the porch, and stopped in front of him.
“Get out of my way, Scotty.”
Hearing him call meScottyset my heart thumping. Since I’d left, I’d only gone by Scott, and that nickname, from Tim’s lips, had warmth zipping through me.
“Please, can we talk?” I wasn’t sure if I should continue, but my mouth got the better of me. “Believe me, if it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t be here.”
If ever a stupider phrase had been uttered, I would need someone to prove it to me.
Tim’s expression twisted into a sneer as he pushed me aside and strode to the door.
Like an idiot, instead of turning around and leaving, I went after him. “Tim?”
He spun and glared at me, with a sheen of tears in his eyes. “What the fuck do you want from me? You left us—leftme—and disappeared. We looked everywhere we could think of for you. Honest to God, I thought you’d died or something. Do you know what that’s like?”
“No.” My voice was small, pathetic. Why it never dawned on me that he’d be so angry, I hadn’t a clue. Apparently that had been the case for most of my life. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh hell no! You don’t get to besorry. Five years and not a fucking word from you? You hurt my mom—you hurt me. Have you even bothered to talk to your family?”
“No. I came to see you first.”
“Why? After all this time, why now?”
I heaved a sigh. “I thought… I thought you needed me.”
“Yeah, you’re five years too late for that. I don’t need you anymore, so you can just fuck off back to wherever you were hiding out.”
He unlocked the house, then opened the door and stepped inside. He gave me one last look before starting to close it.
With a cry born of anguish and loss, I rushed forward and pushed the door open. “You have to listen to me.” And then, realizing what I said, I added, “Please.”
