Soulful Seas Duet (Soulful Seas Duet)

Chapter 1

ONE

The sun dips below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows that creep like ghostly fingers inside our cozy living room. Nan is nestled in her favorite armchair, her frail form a stark contrast to the vibrant woman she once was.

I’ve just finished preparing dinner, trying to keep some semblance of normalcy amid my mounting worry for her. My gaze wanders to her, and she gives me a soft smile, but the tightness around her eyes betrays her pain.

Maybe I should call her doctor again. The pain medications don’t seem to be working as well as they used to.

As I set the table, a sharp knock at the door makes me jump.

Nan’s eyes dart toward the entrance, etched with concern. “Who could that be, Sloany?”

With a sinking feeling in my chest, I cautiously approach the door and peer through the peephole.

Four men stand on the doorstep—two are dressed in all white, and the other two are police officers with stern demeanors.

Unease coils within me as I reluctantly open the door, sensing that something is very fucking wrong.

“Can I help you?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest to hide my trembling hands.

One of the men in white steps forward, his face blank with unsettling detachment. “We’re here for your own well-being, Miss Wilson. We would like you to come with us.”

My heart quickens its pace, and my eyes widen in dread. “What? What do you mean?”

One of the police officers steps up beside him. “We have a court order for your admission to a mental institution.”

What are they even talking about?

My eyes drift past them to the driveway, where a police car is parked. Next to it is an all-white vehicle that resembles a paramedic truck, but it’s emblazoned with Golden State Mental Health Institute in green letters.

Desperation surges through me, and I feel the world closing in. “No! No, that’s bullshit. Nan!” I whirl around to see my grandmother struggling to rise from her chair.

I just want to get over to her, but the police officer grabs my wrist with way too much force and pulls me back. “You can come with us voluntarily, or we’ll make you. But please, fight me. Give me a reason, crazy bitch.”

Crazy.

The word echoes in me, making a chill run down my spine. But not the usual one.

He pulls me with him a few steps, and tears well up in my eyes as I resist with all my might, fighting against the second officer who comes to help his partner while I scream for help. My panic fuels my strength, every muscle in my body strains, but they overpower me.

Out of nowhere, one of the men in white reveals a syringe.

No!

No, no, no.

“Stop, please!” I scream, tears starting to stream down my cheeks.

Despite my desperate pleas and struggle, the man in white swiftly plunges the needle into my arm.

“Mayor Thomson sends his regards,” whispers the first police officer in my ear, making me recoil from him.

Reality fades into a blurry haze as the drugs take effect. My last glimpse is of Nan, her eyes brimming with tears. Her voice quivers with a mix of anguish and determination. “Sloany, I’ll call our lawyers immediately. We’ll get you out, I promise.”

But darkness claims me, and I slip into unconsciousness.

Sitting at the bar, I take in the rough-and-tumble atmosphere.

Everything seems shabby, and the noise is overwhelming.

I’m already regretting the choice of bar, as the scent of cheap perfume in the air triggers the vivid memory.

It’s the same overpowering spices mixed with a hint of chemical sharpness that the police officer wore the day I was admitted.

That smell, both sweet and intrusive, had clung to my senses then, just like it’s doing now.

But sitting alone in my van isn’t an option. Not tonight.

I lean over the counter in search of the bartender, but the surface is sticky, and I quickly sit back on the stool, some of my long blonde hair still stuck to the surface.

Grimacing, I pull the captured strands back, gathering my hair behind my shoulders to keep it away from anything else that might cling.

Ew.

If there were another option to choose from, I would just leave. But I checked. In this small town, the Rusty Ripper is the only bar in a twenty-mile radius that’s dark enough to sit and stew on my own.

And drown my grief.

When I look around to find the bartender once more, a chill runs down my neck, and my gaze catches on a ghost giving me the evil eye on the other side of the dimly lit bar.

Just perfect.

I try my best to ignore him, but man, it’s hard with that intense stare. The bartender finally sees me and walks over, hitting me with a gruff, “What’s your poison?”

“Two tequila shots, please?” I ask him, and he pours the liquid into two small glasses, making them nearly overflow. He pushes them toward me, the glasses nearly tipping as the bottoms catch on the tacky surface, and I nod in thanks, handing over some of the last of my money.

Don’t overthink this, Sloan.

Out of the corner of my eye, the ghost is full-on glaring now, and I have to clench my teeth not to ask him what his fucking problem is.

Seriously, tonight’s not the night to fuck with me.

I’m on edge and barely holding on.

“On you, Nan,” I whisper, tilting my head back and quickly taking both shots one after the other.

The fiery liquid burns its way down my throat, and I can’t help but shudder and grimace at the strong taste.

“Ugh.” I gasp, scrunching up my nose. But I can’t deny the feeling of the alcohol warming my insides is a welcome change from the icy numbness that has gripped my heart lately.

“Why do you drink that if you don’t even like it?” a deep voice filled with humor asks, catching me off guard.

I turn to see a very good-looking guy sitting next to me, sipping his beer and grinning mischievously. He wasn’t there a minute ago, and his striking blue eyes are fixed on me.

I feel a blush creeping up my cheek.

You’re such a weirdo, Sloan.

My heart races a little faster, not just from the tequila’s burn but also from the unexpected company. I’m not used to guys casually striking up a conversation with me, especially ones this hot.

“Not everyone’s a fan of bad beer,” I reply, trying to play it cool even though my voice shakes slightly. The warmth of the blush on my cheeks intensifies, and I hope the dim lighting hides it.

His laughter fills the air, and it’s a strangely pleasant sound. “How do you know it’s bad if you haven’t tasted it?” he teases, offering me his beer, his eyes not leaving mine.

I find myself smiling despite the turmoil inside. His presence is oddly comforting. It’s strange how a simple conversation can momentarily lift the heavy veil of loneliness and anxiety that has been suffocating me.

I look down at the beer and notice his tanned, rough hand holding the glass.

Following the lines of his defined forearm, I take in the vibrant tattoos of boats, lobster, and fish.

He’s wearing a snug navy blue sweatshirt with the sleeves bunched up, showing off his muscles, probably gained from hard work rather than hitting the gym.

He seems tall, and his oh-so-blue eyes sparkle with mischief.

He maintains that cocky grin, which only serves to deepen the dimples in his cheeks as my gaze finally returns to his. A few unruly strands of his brown hair peek out from beneath a black beanie, adding to his rugged good looks.

I notice how his gaze lingers on me with genuine interest, not the usual fleeting look I’m accustomed to receiving lately.

People tend to overlook you when you try to blend in hard enough.

His smile is disarming, and for a moment, I feel a flicker of something akin to excitement, a feeling I thought had long been extinguished in me.

“Go on, give it a try,” he urges, his voice carrying a hint of challenge and a touch of charm that makes it hard to resist.

I glance at him, biting my lip. The room is blurring a bit, and I’m definitely already tipsy. I’m not one to drink, but today is different. I need something, anything, to keep myself from drowning.

It’s been a year since she’s been gone, a year since she left me alone in this world. Alone with the gift, as she called it. The gift to see the spirits that walk alongside us, the gift to help the ones in need, to help them find the light.

With her gone, it feels more like a curse.

A curse that left me broken, traumatized, and alone.

An outsider in a crowd of people.

But tonight, there is no crowd. It’s just this handsome stranger and me.

My gaze shifts.

And that damn ghost.

He’s still there, watching. His stare isn’t menacing anymore. It’s almost curious. I wonder if he knows I can see him, if he understands that this gift isn’t just about seeing but hearing and feeling them. Their regrets. Their pain.

When I dismiss the ghost and look back at the stranger, he seems to have noticed my hesitation and takes his beer back, his expression shifting from playful to something more earnest. He takes a slow sip, his eyes filled with curiosity and genuine concern.

Fuck it.

I’m usually not one to engage, but tonight, I feel a rare urge to connect and not be so isolated in my own gloomy world.

It’s finally time for me to do something other than just exist. I’ll be gone soon anyway.

He never has to figure out how weird I am, and this can just be for tonight.

A break from the year I just lived to keep a promise to my Nan.

To bring her ashes to this little town at the very tip of the country, to release them into the ocean here, where the waves meet the coast at the furthest point east.

His blue eyes are still on me, his head tilting slightly.

Just one little thing I do for me.

Sliding off my stool, I find myself standing directly in front of him.

With a newfound boldness fueled by the tequila coursing through my veins, I gently push his knees apart and position myself between his legs.

Cupping his face with my hands, I meet his eyes and whisper, “You’re right, I should try it. ”

Leaning in, I close the distance and press my lips to his. And they’re so damn soft. He’s quick to react, setting his beer down on the bar, his hands find their way to my hips and pull me closer, making my breath hitch.

His hands are big, his fingertips press into the top of my ass, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.

He tastes like beer, surprisingly good beer, and bad decisions. But there’s also a hint of saltwater, and he smells like the ocean. He’s a great kisser, making the moment electric and intoxicating.

Making me want more.

Maybe it’s the alcohol or perhaps the raw intensity of the moment, but I get completely lost in the kiss. What was meant to be a light and fleeting escape from the overwhelming sadness that has plagued me all day and, truthfully, the past year, quickly turns into something more.

He deepens the kiss, his skillful touch melting away my reservations and weakening my knees and resolve. I let myself enjoy it just a little longer before mustering the strength to pull away. As I gaze into his eyes up close, I notice the white flecks in them, reminiscent of crashing waves.

Ocean eyes.

“You’re right,” I agree, my voice a bit husky, a playful smile dancing on my lips. “Not bad at all.”

He grins as I step back and grab my purse. Then, I make my way toward the exit, smirking at the ghost who has watched the whole encounter, looking surprised when he seems to understand that I really can see him. And thankfully, he stays where he is.

The doors swing open again with force when I’m a few feet away, that deep voice calling out and stopping me in my tracks. “Hey, wait!”

I turn to look at him, a hint of worry flickering through my mind as I wonder if my impulsive behavior just attracted a potential stalker.

At least it’d be an attractive one.

Wait, did I really just think that?

My heart is still racing as he steps closer, pressing me against the wall with his body, causing my breath to catch. With a gentle touch, he tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek.

“I’m still undecided about that tequila,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a seductive edge. “Perhaps I need another sample.”

Before I can respond, he leans in, capturing my lips with his once again, sending a rush of desire through me.

Fuck, now that he’s in control, he kisses even better.

With a skillful touch, he gently tilts my chin with his thumb, altering the angle of our kiss to gain better access to my mouth. His kiss isn’t overly aggressive, though. It’s as if he’s really savoring the taste of me, and it goes straight to my pussy, making me clench.

As if he knows, he presses his knee between my legs, and I feel myself getting wet as he moves it to give me the most delicious friction.

After just a few more moments, he leans down to grab my thighs, lifting me against the wall, and I automatically wrap my legs around his waist. The bulge in his jeans presses into me, making me moan into his mouth.

“Fuck, pretty girl, you’re so damn hot,” he groans out against my lips before biting my bottom one. His hand comes from my thigh up my side, slipping under my dark green sweater, finding my bra, and squeezing my tit over it. “God… dammit,” he breathes out. “So fucking perfect.”

He makes me dizzy.

Or is that the tequila?

Whatever it is, I need more of that feeling. I was numb for so long. This can’t end now, even if I regret it in the morning.

“Do you live far from here?” I whisper into his ear while he’s licking up my throat.

Going home with a complete stranger might not be the smartest idea I’ve ever had, but I won’t, in a million years, take him to my van to have sex.

“Just down the road,” he says, stopping the trail he’s licking to lean back and look into my eyes. His hand wanders from my tit down to between my legs over my jeans, cupping me. In a husky voice, he tells me, “I think I need to try everything before I can decide if I like the taste.”