“Shit. Sorry.”
He withdraws, stands, tucks himself back into his jeans, and zips them up. Then he helps me stand, handling me carefully as he brushes earth and leaves from my skin.
“You’re all scraped up,” he says in a hushed voice, wincing as he dusts me off with feather-soft strokes of his fingers. “Your knee is bleeding.”
I sigh deeply in satisfaction. “That’s what happens when bunnies get fucked in the woods. I’m sure I’ll be sore as hell tomorrow. Where are my clothes? I’m getting cold.”
He leaves me briefly to gather my shoes, shirt, jeans, and his jacket from where he tossed them to the ground earlier. Then he helps me dress in silent concentration, handling me gingerly as if he’s convinced I might crack.
His tenderness and concern are touching. He’s being so sweet and gentle, the opposite of my dominant, snarling beast from only minutes ago.
It’s incredible how many different people one body can hold. We all walk around with a thousand strangers inside us, slumbering quietly until someone else wakes them up. Like the jolt of electricity that reanimated Frankenstein’s monster, all it takes for our sleeping giants to jump to life is a single spark.
When I’m dressed, Aidan takes my hand and silently leads me out of the woods. When we emerge into sunlight, we look at the sky, then at each other.
Something passes between us, unspoken and profound.
He looks away first, squeezing my hand and smiling.
That smile could break my heart.
We spend the rest of the day at his apartment. I have to take another shower to get all the remnants of leaves and dirt off my skin. Afterward, Aidan puts Neosporin on my cuts and scrapes and bandages my knee.
He looks unhappy as he does it, his brows drawn down, his lips pressed to a thin line.
Though my injuries are minor and gained in the most wonderful way, he hates to see me hurt.
I spend the night again. He wakes me up at dawn and makes love to me with a wordless urgency that leaves me breathless. Then he withdraws into that quiet place inside his head where he goes when he needs to hide.
But I don’t ask him what’s wrong. I don’t push. I let him be.
He’s not the only one keeping secrets.
By the time I get home, Fiona is already there. I find her in Michael’s office, which sends a spike of irritation through me.
“What are you doing in here?”
Holding a feather duster, she whirls around from his desk and starts when she sees me.
“Kayla!”
“Yes, it’s me. I live here, remember?”
Her smile is apologetic. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t hear you come in. You walk like a cat.”
Uncomfortable, I hesitate at the threshold. I haven’t been in this room since the accident. The door has been shut, and the air is stale. Something about it makes me feel claustrophobic.
“I didn’t want this room cleaned. I thought I told you that.”
“Did you?”
“Didn’t I?”
She laughs. “Well, if you did, I don’t recall.”
“Oh. Sorry. To be honest…neither do I.”
Remembering what she said last week about the possible cause of my memory lapses, I grow even more uncomfortable. My cheeks heating, I shift my weight from foot to foot and clear my throat. “But I’d like to leave this room alone for the time being. It’s just…” I gesture helplessly. “I haven’t gone through any of his things yet.”
She says gently, “Oh, dear. I completely understand. I’ll start on the kitchen.”
“Thanks. Um…about that séance thing we talked about.”
Fiona brightens. “Yes, I spoke with my sister! She says we should hold it on the next full moon, which is in three weeks. Oh, and she also said you shouldn’t wear any perfume or jewelry. No other accessories, either, especially cell phones. Apparently, they annoy the spirits.” She chuckles. “Like the rest of us.”
My laugh is small and embarrassed. “Actually, I think we should just forget about the whole thing.”
Fiona gazes at me for a moment, thoughtfully pulling at the feathers on the duster with her fingers. “Oh?”
Her tone is mild, but it seems to require an explanation. I sheepishly provide one.
“I’ve decided I’m going to see a therapist.”
She raises her brows. “How can a therapist help with your ghost problems?”
I exhale, shaking my head. “Just the fact that I even considered the possibility that I’m being haunted strongly suggests the need for therapy.”