A Thousand Glittering Lights

Chapter 12

“How to tellif you’re being haunted.” Ellie’s finger hovered over the Return key for a long moment. And then she slid it higher and hit Backspace instead, deleting the search.

She wasn’t being haunted. It didn’t feel that way at all. If anything, she felt more alive, more present in the real world than she had for… maybe ever.

She was beginning to make peace with the idea that he was real. That whatever they were sharing was real. She didn’t want to know whether she was being haunted. She wanted to know how to help Josh to stay.

She wrote a new search instead: “How to help a ghost return to its body.” Then read the results for five minutes before dropping her head onto her hands with a tired groan. Honestly, she should’ve known what she would get. A lot of ideas more relevant to one of her games than the real situation she was in. Sacred rituals. Quests. Buying spells. Seeking out a blessing…. None of them helped. Offering a sacrifice was more doable; perhaps she could offer Josh her body? She snorted to herself as she closed her laptop. Yeah, she wouldn’t mind offering him her body.

It had been a long, crappy day. After finding Josh’s side of the bed cold and empty, she’d wandered through the house already knowing he wasn’t there. She’d burned her toast at breakfast, dropped a glass, which shattered into a million pieces, and picked up a text from her father wanting to catch up about selling the Shadow-rift-binding Chronicles, which she’d read and then left without replying—not even to point out he’d got the name wrong again—but hadn’t been able to forget. Then her Wi-Fi had gone down. Living so far off the beaten path meant a low-priority network grid, and she hadn’t been able to get online until midafternoon.

Then, when she finally did get online, it had been to wade into the very swamp she least wanted to spend time in. She’d spent hours doing the due diligence she’d promised Vic. Running numbers, analyzing the opportunities and threats associated with the offer, evaluating long term trajectories. And every way she looked at it told her she’d been right all along. She didn’t need to sell her game. And she didn’t want to.

The problem now was figuring out the best way to let her Dad and Vic know that she had made her decision—and she wasn’t going to change her mind. They were the only family she had left. And they would both be disappointed. And Vic… hell. If she was back with Warren, that made everything a thousand times more complicated.

Of course, those weren’t the only thoughts plaguing her. Memories of Josh had tortured her all day. Josh in her kitchen, watching her with that intent focus. Kneeling in her garden, head tilted up to the sky. In her bed, wrapped around her. Josh pressing her against the tree, his big hands gripping her waist.

Gah. She stood and walked away from the laptop. Stalked back to it because there was still work to do. Her inbox was just as full as it had been—probably even more full—but her mind was agitated and distracted. She hesitated, and then strode away again.

Her kitchen garden had never been so orderly; there were no chores for her to do outside. And the new mafia romance she downloaded—by an author she usually loved—couldn’t hold her attention. It didn’t help that the hero on the front cover, with his piercing blue eyes and brooding stare, could easily have been replaced with Josh.

Maybe he was haunting her. Damn it.

She did another lap of the house—Josh still wasn’t there—and finally found herself standing in front of the mirror in the hall. Remembering the first time she’d seen him.

She reached out and touched the cool surface of the mirror. Since her accident, she’d kept asking herself what the point of anything was. Why bother, when it could all be lost so easily?

But maybe this was the point. She was still standing. She existed. She could see herself, staring back.

“What does real feel like?”

Real felt like life. Like second chances. Like taking action, even when it was terrifying.

Ellie strode into the dining room and dropped a kiss to Nissy’s forehead, then jogged back to the hall, snatched up her keys, and stepped through the doorway, hardly even stopping to think. She wanted Josh, and she had no way to bring him back, but he’d given her a gift, nonetheless.

I believe in you, Ellie.

His faith in her was a precious thing: it reminded her that she had faith in herself. She’d followed her dreams and her gut all her life. She believed in love. She believed in hope. And it was time to find that strength once more.

She stepped outside, paused for a moment to rest her hand on the smooth, solid wood of the front door, and then made her way across the driveway and into the driver seat.

She checked her position. Turned on the cold air and then turned it off again. She’d been too hot in the house, but now she felt chilled. She took a moment to fix the rearview mirror. Her hands were shaking, but she ignored them, just as she ignored the temptation to get out and check the tires. They were fine. She was fine. Wherever he was, Josh was fine—she hoped. Dear God, please let him be fine.

No. She couldn’t think about that now. Later, she would find a way to help him. First, she wanted to do this.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on slowing her breathing. On her safe place. And then on relaxing the muscles in her face and shoulders, one by one. The panic receded, and she opened her eyes.

The air was clear, the sky a hazy blue, clouds building in the south. She opened her window and listened to the birds calling, wishing she could make out the nightingale, but he wasn’t singing or wasn’t nearby. She moved her foot to the accelerator and rolled forward. Through her gate, down the single track, all the way to the main road.

This time, there were no cyclists, no dark SUVs, just the open road. She inched forward. Checked, and checked again, and then moved out.

Her breath came sharp and uncomfortably, too high in her chest. Too tight.

She wished Josh was there. But she didn’t stop. She needed to do this. She could do this. And maybe, one day, she would show him the places she loved. The nearby sandy beach. The ancient forests.

She released a rough breath, holding on to that thought. And, for the first time in weeks, she drove.

She made her way down the main road at exactly the speed limit, getting used to the feel of the wheel in her hands, the sound of her tires humming over the tarmac.

She kept breathing. Kept moving. And with every mile, her anxiety slowly eased. Driving became more natural.

She had done it.

Slow tears rolled down her face, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand and smiled—even if it was a little shaky—letting all her built-up emotions release; relief and gratitude warm within her.

She turned the radio to classic rock and left the sound low as she moved to the back roads for the journey home, driving past houses and through villages. And at the last minute, she drove past her turnoff and down to the beach instead.

The car park was long and narrow, running along the promenade, and still full even so late in the day. She found a spot right at the back and pulled in.

She wound down her windows, and the sea air filled the car, it was starting to cool and full of salt, teasing against her skin. Children played and shouted in the distance, teenagers listened to music a little way down the beach, and the sound of the waves formed a lulling backdrop to it all. It sounded like joy.

Had she ever felt so alive?

Next time, she would take him with her. Next time—if there was a next time—she wouldn’t hold back.