Chapter 2
TWO
Ghost
Christopher. It was a nice name.
I wished mine would return to me.
My smile slipped. What the hell had happened to me? Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away. I was trying to accept all this. But somewhere out there, I’d had a life and dreams for myself. I’d had people who must miss me and a home. I don’t belong here.
And how could there be an actual sting of tears if I were dead?
Fear launched in my stomach before sinking there like a weight. The longer I didn’t act, the heavier it got. Maybe I didn’t recall my life, but I was a planner. At least I thought so. I didn’t want to float around waiting for something. How the hell had I gotten here? Somebody must have dropped the ball or made a mistake. Shit must have gone wrong. No second chance. ’Cause here I was. Dead.
No amount of positivity would change that. Forget the gratitude journaling, if I did such stuff. I was angry at the unfairness of it all. I’d probably never gotten the chance to fly first class to Europe or drink really expensive booze. Or who knows what else? My heart sank. Had I ever been in love? I hoped that I’d at least fucked a lot and had fun.
Christopher moved to go, and I felt a pang of panic. I needed him. For one thing, he was breathing.
For another, Christopher talked.
When I’d approached other ghosts, they hadn’t seen me, or had pretended not to. I’d been alone. And whoever I was before…I didn’t think I’d liked being alone. Then Christopher had arrived.
Thank God.
I didn’t care if he found me foolish, a hot mess of a ghost. Despite his gruff attitude, I didn’t want Christopher to leave. I was afraid that after he went, I’d close my eyes and be in total blankness.
I wanted to keep staring at him.
And truthfully, I liked his face. He had good, strong features with those dark eyebrows and that blunt nose. Maybe it was the fixed scowl, I liked? Or the leather jacket stretched across those nice strong shoulders.
Maybe all of the above? His solid bulk drew me. And his eyes—a piercing, inky blue.
Jesus. Yes, please. To all of it.
I wasn’t sure if I could have sex, being dead and all. Yet my desire to fuck remained. Also…I was clearly, fabulously gay.
I didn’t remember a boyfriend or a lover. Not even a hookup. Had no clue if I was totally vanilla or kinky as hell. My sexuality, though, clung to me. More a fact than memory.
2+2= 4
This ghost is gay as fuck .
“Christopher?”
“What?”
I had nothing to say, really, but I wanted to keep him speaking.
“There air is different here.”
He raised his bushy eyebrows. “How so?”
“I don’t know.” I noticed my nails were ragged at the edges. Did I bite them often? “Have you always been able to talk to spirits?”
He nodded. “Since I was ten. My foster dad hurt me to the point I was dead. Once I was revived in the hospital, I began to see things.”
My mouth fell open. “God, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. They took me away from that family and placed me with a better one.”
“When you woke in that hospital and began to have visions of the dead, did it freak you out?”
“Hell yeah, but I had nobody to talk to about it, so I tried to ignore everything. Eventually, I accepted that seeing other realms was a part of me.”
“What about personal ghosts? Did you ever seek out your family?”
Christopher’s face tightened. “My mom and dad could float right by me, and I wouldn’t know them.”
That got to me—his loneliness. It felt so much like mine.
Part of me wanted to reach out and hold him, whisper in his ear that everything would be fine. For us both. But if I said the wrong thing, or moved too fast, I might cause Christopher to leave. He looked poised to run already with his harsh tone, defensive stance, and haunted eyes.