Chapter 10
Thank fuck we did this episode in March and not August.
I respect the ship’s desire to be authentic and give guests an immersive hotel stay, but I could have seriously gone for some air-conditioning. All we have to cool the room is a single wire fan that made a terrifying noise when I tried to turn it on at two a.m. I woke Hayden with my antics and he captured an unflattering shot on the night-vision camera of me trying to reach the fan cord, thinking I was our French ghost.
Birds chirp outside the porthole and a distant cargo ship honks aggressively at the port. They are the first real sounds I’ve heard all night. No ghosts, no demonic possession. So far, we are zero for two on finding ghosts at haunted hotels. Hayden is an alarmingly light sleeper.
I can’t tell if it’s from years of caring for his dad or if he just desperately wants to find a ghost.
I rub my eyes with the base of my palm, wrapping my arms around the pillow beneath me. My fingers curl around thin fabric that smells like amber and lemon verbena. The horror sinks in immediately.
A pillow should not be this firm and rigid. A pillow should not smell this good.
Nor should it breathe.
I’m not pressed against the starchy sheets beneath me, nor am I swaddling a pillow in my sleep.
I’m hanging on to Hayden.
Everything about him is consuming. His scent, the soft touch of his arm behind my back, the rhythm of him breathing. My head rests against his chest as he lies on his side, an arm draped over my body. Our legs weave together, a brush of knees beneath the covers. Hayden’s head rests on top of mine, lips close enough to kiss my hair. His body’s firm but inviting, corded muscles along his chest and stomach, cushioning the bony parts of his shoulders and ribs. Heat spreads wherever we connect.
In short, I want to die.
I’m not entirely sure if I want to die in a good way or a bad way. When I imagine a perfect morning, I imagine waking up in someone’s arms, someone who cares and wants me there, where nothing is enough to drag me from underneath the covers, no bony cuddles or morning breath bad enough to make me pull away.
Hayden is the one to finally paint the picture for me.
Want simmers in my stomach, the same as it did last night when he first climbed into bed. It’s the magnetism in my brain trying to tell me he’s different. I fear the mess that could come from falling for another coworker, but what scares me even more is how right everything with Hayden feels, in ways that it really never has before.
I feel him breathing beside me, hyperaware of the soft touch of fingertips on my hip. As much as I want to claw at his T-shirt more and slide closer, I pull myself away. Before I scramble too far, I watch him. He doesn’t seem to notice I’ve left or that I’ve been cuddling him in the first place. His hair is a messy mop of dark waves. On overnights, he doesn’t bother shaving, letting the usual layer of scruff on his cheeks come in heavier. He looks so much more peaceful while sleeping.
Hayden doesn’t carry the same concentrated tension in his shoulders that feels like an ever-present wall between him and the world. I think of all the years he must have spent doing nothing but working and taking care of his dad. Shuttling back and forth to appointments, cooking every meal, ready to jump out of bed to help at the first sign of trouble. He gave up years for someone else and put himself second.
Because of all this, I let him rest.
?
?
We spend most of the car ride back to LA in silence.
I stutter out a “thanks” when Hayden brings me coffee after he checks us out. He asks what music I want to listen to in the car, but words are few and far between. I feel his heavy gaze on me the entire time, like he’s waiting for me to say something, and he doesn’t know how to fill the space.
It’s hard to look at him without thinking of how good it felt for someone to keep me close. If the fear of falling for him or dating another coworker didn’t fester in the back of my brain constantly, I might have snuggled closer. I might do something . I have enough evidence to believe Hayden would reciprocate.
He’s kind enough to drive me all the way back home, even though it involves trekking entirely across Los Angeles and over the hill. It’s an extra forty-five minutes of trying to pretend I’m not imagining his touch or warmth, not imagining the deep rasp of his voice in the morning.
As Hayden pulls up in front of Nora’s place, he beats me out of the car and fetches my duffel for me. I think of the little things Hayden does on a daily basis: compliments my fun patterned leggings, notices when I paint my nails new colors, made it a point to memorize my coffee order early on in our friendship. Having someone who cares the way he does makes me want to try and be brave, facing the fears and feelings that bubble beneath the surface.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the bag from him.
“Sure.” His grip doesn’t loosen yet, like he’s hanging on to my things and his words at the same time. Finally, he releases. “Hallie, you all right?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Fine. How come?”
“You’re just quiet.”
Does he know? Hayden wakes up when the wind blows too hard in a room, swearing it’s a poltergeist or a death echo or some weird apparition. He must have felt me snuggled against him, the way my fingers tightened around his T-shirt as I clung to him, thinking he was my pillow or a blanket. If he did, what did it do to him?
Maybe I don’t want to know.
“Just tired. I don’t sleep well in the heat.”
Hayden smirks. “ Or it was something else keeping you awake.”
“Your snoring?”
“I don’t snore,” he shoots back.
I pinch my fingers together. “A little bit. Whatever it was, it was not a ghost.”
“You keep telling yourself that, Nonbeliever. Rest up.”
Nonbeliever . It’s a far different nickname than I’m used to, and certainly not one I could imagine finding in a Cosmo sex tips article, but it makes something flutter in my stomach.
“I’ll text you tomorrow,” I say. “We’ve got some road-trip planning to do.”
His smile quirks, and he nods. “We do. Bigfoot hunting is serious business. See you later, Hal.”
Nora’s at work, leaving Lizzie and me to unpack and lounge for the rest of the day. I’ll provide her with a single grape to appease her into not doing anything weird or throwing herself at the walls of her terrarium. I still don’t know if it’s a hobby of hers or if she’s trying to break free. I’m too scared to ask.
I shower, ridding myself of the sweat I’ve accumulated overnight. By the time I’ve dried my hair and changed into my cozy clothes, there’s a knock on the door. I expect it to be one of Nora’s Amazon deliveries or a company asking her to sample their products in exchange for a review and promo on Skroll.
I peer through the peephole and my heart drops into my stomach. A sharp chill shoots up my spine. I’m sure he’s heard my footsteps by now and knows—
“Hallie, I know you’re home.”
It shouldn’t shake me the way it does, but Cade is at my apartment—the apartment I’d run to when I ran from him . I’ve always felt safe here, and it feels easy to pretend I’m healing and moving on. Nora’s got a dead bolt, and Nora’s a security system in her own way. I’m convinced the girl could use anything as a weapon if she tried hard enough. A Taser hangs from the key rack, and I’m tempted to use it.
I would love to see this man pee his pants.
I steady myself before opening the door. I don’t even greet him before he steps into the doorframe, keeping me from shutting it in his face again.
“Hi,” I say. “What do you want?”
Fear ratchets through my body. We’re alone. At work, I can count on him to be unpleasant or sickly sweet in a way that’ll discredit me. It’s why I’ve never gone to HR, never tried to escalate the things he’s done. It’s my word against his, and Kevin likes him. There’s no proof, just a whisper network of female employees telling each other not to get involved with him.
“Some greeting.”
“What are you doing here?”
We’re inches apart, but he deems that insufficient and steps into the apartment. I can’t show him the weak spots in my armor that he put there. Instead of giving me a forceful tug or shove, Cade lowers my hand from the doorframe, allowing himself inside.
“I need the external trackpad.”
I raise my eyebrows. “ My external trackpad?”
He nods.
“The one you bought me for my birthday last year?”
Cade toys with one of the picture frames on Nora’s bookshelf. “That’s the one.”
“It’s mine.”
“I bought it.”
“Are you five? This is five-year-old logic, Cade.”
His lips turn up in a contentious smile. It took long enough to learn everything about him has a sound. Every one of his movements sounds like: “Are you sure about that?” Every smile sounds like: “Oh, Hallie .” Everything he does is there to remind me how insignificant I am. Every emotion I have is silly and frivolous.
He eyes me, surveying the worn-in floral-print leggings I’m wearing. I’m not wearing a bra under my hoodie, but it’s not like anyone can tell. I’m sure Cade’s thinking of all the ways I’ve let myself go since our breakup.
“It was my money, so I feel like, if I need it, I should be able to use it.”
I shut my eyes. “Again, five-year-old logic.”
“Hallie…”
“Cade,” I shoot back.
“It’s the least you could do. I could charge you for a lot of things, if I wanted to. I never made you pay for utilities even though you used them. I could have. But I did that for you.” He turns, approaching me. He rests a finger along my jaw. At one point, I was so flattered by the attention. Now I can’t stand the thought of him near me. “I just wanted you to be happy, and you never appreciated it.”
“You never wanted that.”
“For someone who talks about how much I invalidate your feelings, you’re sure gung ho to do it to me.” Silence burns between us at an impasse. He waits before speaking again. “Hallie, I want the trackpad. Noobie Brothers needs it for one of our sessions. I’m not buying a new one. I’d hate to tell Kevin the reason we’re late on this episode is because you refused to play nice.”
My breath catches in my throat. I worry Kevin likes Cade enough to reprimand me or cancel my show because I’m letting my personal feelings interfere with Skroll’s business. No show, no job. That’s the power Cade has always had. It’ll always be his word over mine.
“I think Skroll is fine with some friendly competition, but letting your personal grudges get in the way might not be the way to win, Hallie,” Cade taunts.
“No,” I say, “but getting more views and engagement than you is.”
He laughs. “Do you really think people want to watch you hunt for ghosts? You don’t believe in this stuff. You’re selling out for the sake of spiting me. It’s embarrassing.”
I think of the past few weeks—sleeping in haunted hotel rooms, snacking on candy and bags of chips late at night while a Spirit Box thumps in the background, spending hours in Hayden’s apartment as he runs me through yet another slideshow on the most compelling Bigfoot footage and explains how it cannot be a man in a suit. I may not believe in ghosts or monsters yet, but I am having fun in a way I haven’t in years. I’m happy, which is more than I could say for a long time.
“The trackpad,” he repeats. He holds out his hand. “I’m not asking again.”
I disappear into my room and unplug the extra trackpad from my laptop, biting back tears. I hardly use the thing, but the fact that Cade feels like he can walk in and take what he wants from me—that he can still take from me—makes it hard to keep my composure. I swallow my tears, storming back into the living room and shoving the device into his hands.
“Take it and go.”
He stares me down like I’m a child he can reprimand, and I fear him like a kid fearing time-out. Still. “Hallie, you don’t have to behave like this.”
“I want you to take your fucking trackpad and get out of my apartment.”
“It’s Nora’s—”
“And mine now.”
“You just make it a habit of living places and not being on the lease.”
“Shut up—”
“ And using people to your advantage.”
I meet his gaze. He’s a few inches taller than me, our eyelines nearly even. But I’ve never been even with someone like Cade. He will always look down on me. I can’t help thinking about how Hayden physically has to look down at me; otherwise he’d miss me every time. Hayden always looks at me like I’m a view he wants.
“Is that what you’re doing with this guy, too, Hal? How’d you get him to agree to your show? Is it the same way you convinced me to help you move up?”
The dam of tears in my eyes is about to burst. In moments like this, I hate twenty-two-year-old me, who thought there was any kindness in the things Cade did. I hate the girl who agreed to get drinks with him, who liked the attention and was so desperate to feel special. I hate the girl who agreed to go home with him and thought losing her virginity to someone like Cade was a good idea. I hate the girl who took so long to walk away.
Deep down, I know it’s not my fault, but in moments like this, I want to blame someone for the pain. Cade’s good at convincing me not to pin it on him.
“Did this new guy know that he only got lucky because no one else wanted to work with you? If it weren’t for me, you would have been let go in one of the rounds of layoffs. But no, you knew getting in bed with me would help you out, so you did. I’m sure your new co-host seems nice and shiny now, and he’s probably just grateful you plucked him out of dark-web obscurity, but he’ll realize what you are, too. Give it time.”
I struggle to keep my tears back and fail, sniffling them away as much as I can. Cade sighs something patronizing as I wipe my eyes.
“If…if I am so insignificant, if I matter so little to you and everyone around me, then why the fuck can you not just leave me alone and let me live my life?”
I know the answer. It’s because I finally had enough of his bullshit. I’m braver than I give myself credit for, but it’s the reason everything is broken around me, and the reason Cade wants to keep punishing me.
He looks over my meek composure, smiles, and reaches for the door. He’s done what he came to do.
“Looking forward to your next episode.”
The door slams behind him, and I can’t lock it fast enough. I wait until Cade’s out of earshot before the tears come. A stronger person wouldn’t have tolerated Cade’s torment for three years. Someone who wasn’t me would have left sooner. Someone stronger than me wouldn’t let Cade still treat me this way. I swore I was done with it, too. I wish I was more like the brave and tenacious co-host our fans think I am.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, drawing me toward something other than my grief. I open Hayden’s message. It’s a photo of Cthulhu, sitting happily in front of Hayden’s sneakers, presenting him with a small, alien-shaped squeaker toy.
HAYDEN (11:42 AM): He will bring me an entire Area 51 after we’re gone for almost a week.
I wipe my snotty nose with a laugh, and relief washes over me. I worried my panic would drive a wedge between the two of us, but it evidently has not. I think of Hayden and the small things he does to make me happy, especially when there’s nothing in it for him. I think about how he cares, and that despite what I feel about myself, he doesn’t see me that way. Our fans don’t either. I need to trust them and remember what I’m doing matters. I type out a response.
HALLIE (11:43 AM): He missed you!
Against all my better judgment, I already miss him, too.