Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
The pounding of my heart syncs with the rhythmic thud of my sneakers against the pavement. The finish line is in sight, just a few feet away. I push myself, drawing on every last ounce of energy, and sprint toward it.
The weight of the past few months—the stress, the sorrow, the countless doctor’s visits with Nan—propels me forward. Running became my escape, my therapy. And today, crossing this finish line for the cancer charity run is more than just a race. It’s a tribute to her strength and resilience.
A wave of exhaustion washes over me as I cross the finish line, but it’s paired with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.
I did it.
For her.
The crowd is cheering us on, and I see Mayor Thomson standing there, congratulating every runner as they finish. He turns to me, and I stand a little straighter.
“Good work,” he says, clapping my shoulder lightly.
I force a smile, still panting. “Thank you.”
I’m not the biggest fan of our mayor, but he seems to make an effort, based on him being here and what do I know about politics.
Nothing.
But, as I’m about to move on, something—or rather, someone—behind Thomson catches my eye. A short, round man, glaring intently at the mayor.
Our eyes lock, and a chill runs down my spine.
Fuck.
He raises an eyebrow as if challenging me and yells, “Hey!”
I turn quickly, hoping to melt into the crowd and avoid any interaction. The last thing I need right now is to get involved with a disgruntled ghost, especially in such a public setting. But he’s following me.
“Leave me alone,” I whisper under my breath, hoping he’ll get the hint.
But he doesn’t. He’s persistent, trailing behind me. “The mayor killed me,” he hisses out, desperation evident in his voice. “And now he’s threatening my family. I need your help.”
I wake, gasping for breath, my heart pounding in my chest.
No, please.
I can’t start to dream about him now.
Sitting up in my dimly lit room, the faint hum of the radio in the background, I try to steady myself.
It was just a dream, just a memory.
In a whisper, I reassure myself that I’m safe now. “It was just a dream, just a memory,” I repeat like a mantra, trying to calm my racing heart.
Before I can fully regain my composure, a soft voice pierces the silence. “Hey, Boo.”
It’s a voice I never thought I’d hear again.
I turn my head and see him sitting next to me.
Saylor.
A sob breaks out of me, and I want to launch myself at him. But I can’t, of course, so I’m left with hugging air, though tingles spread all over my body where we touch.
“You haven’t left,” I cry, tears flowing freely.
He tries to soothe me, his gentle strokes sending a shiver down my back. “I would never leave you willingly. I’m so sorry I had to.”
“Where were you?” I ask, my heart feeling lighter after worrying for so long.
I thought he was gone for good.
“I don’t know,” he muses. “The last thing I remember was our conversation with Hunter. I told you, sometimes I’m just gone for a longer time. But I don’t think I was ever gone that long.”
The relief I was feeling seconds ago is slightly dampened.
This can’t be a good sign.
“Are you okay?” I reach out to touch the birthmark on his cheek. He smiles and leans in, touching our birthmarks together. Butterflies rise in my chest, and it’s like I can breathe again for the first time in a long while.
“You’re not mad with me?” His tone carries a hint of worry.
“I’m so happy to have you back. You can’t even imagine,” I confess. “I missed you badly.”
“I missed you more,” he says, leaning away just to scoot back in and kiss my birthmark, the short tingles making me giggle.
“I thought you didn’t notice that you were gone?”
“I miss you all the time,” he explains. “It doesn’t matter if I’m conscious or not. It’s a permanent state.”
“Saylor,” I breathe out, so many feelings bubbling up to the surface.
Fuck, having him back is like the best thing ever.
What does that tell you, Sloan?
“Come on, Boo. It’s late. You need some sleep. Lie back down. We can talk tomorrow,” he commands.
“I just got you back,” I protest, crossing my arms over my chest.
“And I will not go anywhere. Now lie down.” He gives me a look, and I do as I’m told, although reluctantly, looking up at him, pouting until he chuckles and lays down next to me.
I can’t stop staring at him—his handsome face, the lock of hair falling into his eyes that I’m itching to push away, his full lips that turn into a grin.
“Stop staring,” he scolds, chuckling, his eyes filled with affection.
“I’m not staring,” I whisper, grinning back.
“Of course you’re not.” He grins and reaches out to let his finger glide down the length of my arm.
“Do you want to go to the movies?” I whisper, and he furrows his brow, confused. Just as he’s about to answer, I add, “Wait, never mind, they don’t allow snacks inside.”
He throws his head back in laughter, and I’m in awe of how beautiful he looks when he’s radiating joy.
If I didn’t know it already, I know it now.
I’m falling for him too.
“How long did it take you to come up with that one?” He chuckles, his eyes filled with mischief.
“The whole ten days you were gone,” I murmur, and his happy face falls.
“You counted?” he asks me in a whisper.
I nod, and my voice is equally quiet when I reply, “I want you to find the light and peace, but thinking you found it without saying goodbye nearly killed me.”
Saylor moves so that he’s lying on my lower half, his arms crossed on my belly and his head resting on them. I may not be able to feel his weight, but anywhere we are connected, a prickling sensation surges, like a space both filled and unfilled.
My hands move of their own accord, reaching toward him, fingers trembling with the yearning to brush through the softness of his hair to confirm the reality in this closeness.
There’s an ache, deep and hollow, as my hands pass through him, a cruel reminder that the feeling that spreads on my fingertips is all I’m going to get.
He groans a sound that resonates as if he’s savoring the connection, as if he’s just happy to feel that little bit we have. And for a fleeting moment, I envy him that simple contentment.
Doesn’t he long for me as much as I do for him?
“We keep each other, Boo. You never have to worry about me being gone forever,” he whispers, and I think about what has happened while he was gone and how hurt he was the last time we spoke, and guilt fills me. He seems to notice me tense because he turns his head to look at me. “What?”
“Some things happened while you were gone,” I start, my voice trembling.
He’s not gonna like this.
I don’t deserve him.
He should stay away from me.
“Shh… I know,” he states, letting his head sink down again, wiggling slightly to demand more head stroking.
“How would you know?” I ask, confused.
Does he really?
“Because I do. And I’m not mad. I understand. Now close your pretty eyes and sleep, Slo.”
He’s not mad about me getting involved with his brothers?
Not just Nash, but all of them?
“I—” I start, wanting to confess and make sure he knows what he’s talking about.
“Slo,” he chides, and I bite my lip and relax into the pillows.
Tomorrow.
While still stroking him, I try, but sleep evades me. After a few minutes, “Right Here Waiting” by Richard Marx comes on the radio, and Saylor starts to hum to the tune.
“What is it with you and eighties songs?” I chuckle, opening my eyes again to look down at him.
“The music of this decade is unmatched. Sleep, Boo. I’ll be waiting here when you wake up.”
I hope he’s right.
I feel drowsy and close my eyes, falling asleep to him softly singing the song, the melody lulling me into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.