Chapter Thirty
I wake to gentle kisses and strong arms. I fold into them, the grogginess of sleep giving everything a warm glow.
Callum’s skin is hot and smooth against my hands, his body firm and his touch soft.
He rolls himself on top of me, then leans down and kisses me, deep and wet and messy.
I pull him closer, arching my hips into him.
The weight of him is a comfort, hard in all the right places.
Our hands are everywhere, our bruised lips crushed together again.
Legs tangled, feet rubbing against feet.
Nothing has ever felt so perfect. He slides down my body, kissing along my rib cage and across my belly until his mouth finds its way between my legs.
I sigh softly as his tongue teases and swirls, back and forth, over and over while I wriggle and gasp.
Then I’m bursting to life, bliss reaching every part of my body as I pulse against his mouth.
He gazes up at me with mussed-up sexy hair, sparkling eyes and a smile so proud and pretty I almost forget how to breathe.
‘Morning, Sunshine,’ he says, his voice croaky with sleep.
‘Hi,’ I barely squeak back.
‘I hope I can give you many more mornings like this,’ he murmurs into my skin, then softly kisses my belly. ‘Every morning. All the mornings.’
‘Do we call this morning?’ I say, with a laugh. It’s still dark out.
‘Oh, I woke you.’
‘I’m not complaining.’
He checks his phone by my bed. ‘Shit. It’s not even five. Guess I couldn’t wait.’
‘Again, not complaining.’
‘Go back to sleep,’ he says.
‘Only if you promise to wake me the same way?’
‘You got it, Sunshine.’
I curl into his chest as his arms encircle me, and I feel him kiss the top of my head as I drift back to sleep.
When I finally open my eyes again, the sun is creeping into my room. I stretch, sleepy and happy and kind of sore, in the best possible way. My legs reach for Callum, but all they find is empty sheets.
I sit up. ‘Callum?’
Sliding out of bed, I push open the bathroom door, finding it empty. I stand still and listen. The apartment is silent. My heart begins to thud.
I pull on clean underwear and grab a T-shirt from the floor, dragging it over my head as I move down the hall.
‘Callum?’ I call again.
By the time I get to the kitchen, I’m in full panic mode and it only took me about thirty seconds to get there. That’s when I spot a note on the kitchen table. I snatch it up, then smile at the blocky black writing surrounded by tiny, scribbled hearts.
Morning, Sleeping Beauty. If you wake before I get back, DON’T PANIC! I’ve gone to grab us coffee and food (you need to go to the store and get something other than frozen pizza!). I should be back by 9.30. If I’m not, PANIC. Kidding. See you in a bit xox
I let my head flop back and breathe out a relieved sigh that quickly becomes a pitiful groan. I hope I’m not going to be like this every time he leaves the room. He’s not going anywhere and you’re not going anywhere .
I pour myself a glass of water and gulp it down as a rush of hunger hits my stomach.
No dinner and a whole lot of sex has left me starving.
I check the clock on the stove. It’s just before nine.
I don’t think I can wait for Callum, so I make a slice of toast and crunch into it as I flop onto the couch.
I grab my laptop and flip it open, heading straight for my emails.
There are two that make me sit up straight.
One is from Ola Hutchings. The other is from someone I’ve never met: Katherine Browling.
I put my toast on the table, steel myself and open Katherine’s first.
Holly,
I found your card in Richard’s office. I thought you might like to know that Richard has started talking.
Not just a word or two, really talking. It feels like a miracle.
I wanted to tell you because I understand you visited him, and he seems to think his recovery has something to do with you.
He asked me to let you know that he’s okay.
I don’t know what will happen next, but if this is because of something you did, thank you.
You’ve given me my husband back, and my children their father.
Katherine Browling
I smile so wide my cheeks ache. Whatever I did in that cellar with Elizabeth and the other spirits, it released Richard too.
I know it’s not over for that family, but at least Richard is speaking again.
I close the email, making a mental note to reply later, then with a steadying breath, I open Ola’s. It’s addressed to both me and Callum.
I’m assuming you heard about the Western house being destroyed by a fire.
Sadly, there was nothing to be saved. A tragic loss.
But somehow a relief. We just have to hope no more Westerns come out of the woodwork to rebuild!
Not sure if you need these now, given the circumstances, but my colleague found them at the bottom of a box when logging documents for our new website.
They were with some information from the local paper, wrongly filed.
Hope to see you out here again one day,
Ola.
There are three photos attached.
The first image is labelled ‘Young Edward’.
A shiver rolls through me. The photo looks as if it was taken around the same time as the black and white one I found at Callum’s apartment, but this one is in colour.
His golden eyes pin me back against the couch with a chilling intensity, and I have to remind myself that he can’t hurt me or Callum anymore. I quickly close it and move on.
The second photo is labelled ‘Brendin Western 1959’. He’s standing in the garden, flower beds in bloom around him, with a man who can only be Albert Rosing’s father. Equally bland, equally beige looking and equally creepy.
The third attachment is labelled ‘Cillian Western/Iarthar’.
Edward’s brother. Callum’s grandfather. The photo is dated to the ’70s, which would put him somewhere in his thirties in this photo; around the same age Callum is now.
I click on it, curiosity buzzing inside me.
My hand slaps over my mouth in horror. If there was ever any doubt Edward Western was telling the truth about Callum’s heritage, this photo completely blows it away.
Callum’s grandfather was almost a double of his grandson.
The same sparkling eyes, the same smile, the same soft face.
I close Ola’s email and slam my laptop shut. I really don’t like the fear that just surged through me. Rubbing my eyes as if I can rub it all away, I take the last bite of my now-cold toast and head for the shower. Of course, the moment I squirt shampoo in my hair, Callum calls me.
I drip across the bathroom floor to the basin, where I left my phone, wincing from the suds stinging my eyes.
‘What are you wearing?’ Callum asks.
‘Shampoo.’ I think I hear him splutter. I pull a towel off the rack and wrap myself in it.
‘Send me a photo.’
‘No!’
He laughs. ‘Did you check your emails?’
‘Ola’s message? Information we could have done with sooner, right? I mean, the photo of your grandfather.’
‘Yeah, quite the looker, huh?’ He laughs again, but this time there’s no humour there. In fact, his voice has a quiver. ‘Why wouldn’t Aideen tell me? I’m trying really hard not to be mad at her right now.’
‘Callum, no. She loved you and she wanted to protect you.’
‘I know. I do. But Holly, it’s not just the photos. I got another email, this one from a lawyer in London, about Western’s estate. I’ve already spoken to him briefly. He’s calling me back in a couple of hours.’
‘But how does he even know about you?’
‘That’s the thing. Edward left instructions that in the event of his death or if he was deemed no longer capable of making decisions for his estate, the lawyer should get in touch with me.
And no, my great-uncle isn’t dead. Yet. I checked.
But there’s been no improvement, and the doctors aren’t expecting one.
He’s locked in his body. Sweet justice.’ Callum sighs heavily.
‘Anyway, I’ll know more when the guy rings back. ’
‘That’s…’
‘Yep.’
‘I don’t think I like it.’
‘Me neither. I’ve also got to figure out what I’m going to do about my show. I promoted the crap out of a special on that house. But what the hell do I even say? Yeah, it was haunted, by one of my relatives as it turns out, and the ghosts of the women my family murdered…’ He trails off.
‘Maybe you can tease out something on Maddison House instead? Tell them about George the friendly ghost. Did your cameras pick anything up that night?’
‘Nah. It was probably a moth or something.’
‘Well, that’s annoying, considering what that moth interrupted.’
‘We made up for it,’ he says, all gravelly.
‘Anyway,’ he sighs deep, ‘I need to spend a bit of time on all of that today. I have sponsors to answer to. I know I promised you coffee and food, but would you be okay if I drop it by on my way back out? I need to sort some shit. We could do takeout and watch a movie later.’ There’s a short silence. ‘Or, you know, something… else.’
‘We can do all those things,’ I say.
I hang up and stare into space, shampoo dribbling down the side of my face and goosebumps popping coolly across my skin. A feeling I don’t like is growing inside me, and if there’s one thing East Mill taught me, it was not to ignore my feelings.
Callum arrives around four that afternoon, carrying a large duffle bag. ‘Are you moving in?’ I ask. ‘That’s a lot of baggage.’
‘I think we both have a fair amount of baggage,’ he says with a grin.
He drops his bag on the floor and gathers me into his arms. My feet lift off the ground as he pulls me to him with a grunt.
‘I forgot how heavy you are,’ he says, quickly putting his lips to mine before I can complain.
‘Mmmpffh,’ I manage to protest before the tip of his tongue touches mine and stars explode behind my eyes.