by S. E. Harmon
“I appreciate the sentiment. Even if I find it hard to believe.”
“What’re you talking about?”
I snorted. “Last week at the grocery store? Remember that guy? The one who dared to ask me for a recommendation on coffee creamer? I must’ve been dreaming when you threatened him with a box of Honey Bunches of Oats.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he grumped. “But if I did—and that’s a very big if—I wish I’d had something heavier in my hand. A can of peas would’ve probably done the trick.”
I rolled to my side, facing him, and inched over to close the space between us. “So are you ever going to tell me?”
“I forgot the question.”
You so did not. “Why didn’t you find someone else?”
“Rain, we have work in the morning,” he said pointedly. “Early in the morning.”
“Right.” I sighed. “Sorry.”
I didn’t know why I was pushing for an answer he might not even have. It just seemed like he’d placed absolute faith in our relationship before I’d even given him a reason to. I watched the dust rotate on the ceiling fan, wondering if he’d have an absolute conniption if I Swiffered the hell out of it really quick.
I jumped when he broke the silence. “They weren’t you,” he said simply. “And I hope you’re satisfied with that answer, because that’s all I got.”
Another few moments passed while I told myself I had all the answers I needed, and I could go to sleep. That bullshit only lasted a few minutes before I blurted, “So where do we stand on shower sex?”
He chuckled in a way that made his shoulders shake a little, jarring me out of the cozy little nest I’d created. I cursed. It hadn’t been the spot yet, but dammit, it was close. Danny turned so that he was the bigger spoon, and wrapped an arm around my waist.
Oh. Well, that was better. Maybe I’d find the spot quicker every night if I stopped trying to cradle someone with shoulders as wide as a refrigerator. He buried his face in my hair, his breathing even and comforting so close to my ear. I knew he worried about not having my back, but I never was. I’d never felt so safe and cared for in my entire life.
“I, Daniel McKenna, promise to love, hold, honor, and cherish you. And always say yes to shower sex.” His voice was a deep rumble, laced with threads of amusement. “There will always be room in my bed for you and only you, as long as you shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”
Fucking finally, some vows I could get onboard with. “You should officiate weddings,” I said around a yawn.
I drifted off to the rumble of his quiet laugh.
Chapter 24
I made an appointment with Dakota Daydream for the upcoming Saturday. Against my better judgment and the fondest desire to welsh, I actually followed through. I dragged myself out of bed way too early, showered and dressed, and made a couple slices of toast. Then I decided to give cholesterol the middle finger and added cheesy scrambled eggs and sausages.
Danny came through the door as I was spearing my last sausage patty. He glowed with a sheen of sweat, the picture of health. Even without the clues of his jogging pants and sneakers, I knew where he’d been. He thought a dose of fresh air first thing in the morning was more invigorating than coffee.
I eyed him with a healthy dash of disgust. Jogging. On a Saturday morning. By choice. When we were old, I was going to relish putting him in a home. I was going to cite reasons of senility, and this kind of behavior would be my first example.
“Morning,” I said.
He sent me a smile as he plucked Air Pods out of his ears and put them in his pocket. “Morning. What’re you doing up so early?”
“I have an appointment.”
His brow furrowed as he thought briefly, and I saw the moment comprehension dawned. I forked some more eggs in my mouth and sent him a warning look. Yes, I was seeking out help on my own, and no, I did not want to fucking talk about it. The end.
He read and acknowledged my mental memo. “Any eggs left?”
“I made you a plate. It’s in the microwave.” I pointed needlessly, as if he wasn’t on a first name basis with our microwave. Frankly, it had finally edged out the refrigerator as our number one appliance. “There’s sausage in there too.”
“Up early and you cooked? That’s all the proof I need.”
“About what?”
“You’ve been body snatched. But I like the new you better, so fuck it.”
I glared at his back as he hit a few buttons on the microwave. He turned and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed as he waited on his food. His gaze kept flicking up to the timer, as if he could will it to go faster.
“So what are you getting into today?” I asked.
“Probably going to my mom’s. She hired a handyman to fix her sink even though I told her I’d look at it.” He scowled. “I checked him out on Angie’s List, but I don’t know if I trust him with my mother.”
“You wouldn’t trust your mother with Mary Poppins, Daniel.”
He blushed but couldn’t deny it. “Shut up. I figure I’ll take a look at the dishwasher while I’m over there.”
“Very nice of you.”
“Yes, it is. You know me, soft and giving—”
As an underripe avocado. “It is interesting that, given all the stuff in your mother’s house that could use fixing, you’d decide to work on something so close to the sink.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “You wound me. You really do.”
The microwave dinged, and he checked his food. Then he put on another minute and leaned back against the counter again. His body was a fucking work of art, and my mouth dried up as I looked my fill. All those well-defined muscles and his sweaty, smooth, tanned skin… I wanted to touch and taste and take my time. His slow smile told me he knew exactly what I was goggling at. I stuffed the last of my toast in my mouth and carted my plate to the sink because I didn’t need to start something I didn’t have time to finish.
“Rain?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m proud of you.”
He didn’t say anything else about it, just took his plate to the island and started to eat. I rinsed my dish, trying not to blush. His words really shouldn’t affect me so much. Or make me proud of myself. But I more than loved Danny, I also respected him as a person. He was an honest straight-shooter, and if he said he was proud, he was.
I had to let him know how much that meant to me.
I finished washing my plate, put it in the drying rack, and dried my hands on a kitchen towel. “If you were any sappier, I’d just squeeze you over some pancakes.”
He laughed. “Shut up.”
I tossed the kitchen towel on the counter and headed for the door. I kissed him on the forehead as I passed. He smelled like clean sweat and citrus and fresh air… and something medicinal. It took me a moment to place the scent as IcyHot. At the risk of never having shower sex again, I kept my smart comments to myself.
Even though I was on a schedule, I paused for a few moments, just taking in his familiar smell like a weirdo. Minus the muscle relaxer. He’d said he was proud of me, and that meant more than he could ever know. “Thank you,” I said quietly at his temple.
He hummed and went on eating his eggs. “Take the trash out with you, yeah?”
I chuckled. He was so fucking romantic, I could hardly stand it.
Dakota Daydream lived in a dorm. A fucking dorm.
I glared up at the eight-story building. It was a large residential, coed dorm for graduate students, and seemed pretty nice as far as dorms went. That didn’t change the fact that I was asking for advice from someone who still had to write his name on the orange juice.
I really never thought I’d see him again, more less seek him out, but I needed help, and he was certainly the least kooky of the kooks—that had to count for something, right?
I trudged into the building. The main entrance was key card entry, but some trusting soul held it open for me. I en
countered another key card entry farther in the building, and I’d barely pulled out my phone to call Dakota when a kid came rushing through.
Ah. Secure as Fort Knox. I shook my head as I got on an elevator that smelled like pizza and sweat socks. I don’t know if it was the cop in me or the paranoia I indulged every now and again, but the lax security made me itch.
When I finally got off on Dakota’s floor, I headed down the hall, dodging a few bustling students, feeling absolutely ancient. I knocked on his door and it came open under my knuckle. Jesus. People holding open doors at security checkpoints, unlocked and partially open doors… this dorm was a serial killer’s wet dream.
A guy in plaid shorts and a wrinkled shirt was sitting on the couch, a slice of pizza halfway to his mouth. He glanced away from the blaring television for two microseconds, just long enough to say, “Whattup?” Clearly not disturbed a complete stranger was in his doorway, he continued to stuff his face.
I was about a decade past being able to pull off a whattup with any level of seriousness. I cleared my throat to get his attention again. “Is Dakota here?”
“Yup.”
I waited a few beats while he continued to eat. I sighed. “Can you get him for me, please?”
“No problem, dude. Yo, Dream!” he shouted. “Someone’s here for you.”
“Well, I could’ve done that,” I said with a huff.
“You look a little too uptight for something like that. No offense.” He sent me a grin. “Pizza?”
Uptight? I looked down at my sandy-colored chinos and crisp white shirt. Corporate casual at best, fucker. Let’s see how uptight he’d look if he’d spent the last ten years of his life working at the FBI. Seventy percent of my wardrobe consisted of slacks and button-down shirts.
As I opened my mouth to respond, Dakota came through the hanging beads. They clattered merrily as they danced back into place. He looked comfy in white cargo shorts, a blue tank top with a leaping shark splashed across the front, and white flip-flops.
“Yo, Dream,” I said sarcastically.
He broke out into a smile, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one finger. “Glad you could make it. I told you I’d see you again.”
“Don’t be so happy about it.” I eyed him sourly. “When you’re faced with doing yoga in head to toe white spandex with a man named Tree, you tend to get a little less picky.”
He grinned. “Tree is so awesome, right? I’ve never met a more patient instructor. I don’t think there’s a student alive he can’t get through to.”
“He slapped me,” I said tartly.
His eyes widened as his mouth made a little moue of surprise. “Well… er, everyone has their challenging cases, I suppose. Shall we get started?”
“Sounds great.”
“My room is a little small, so I thought we could sit at the table….” His voice trailed off as he glanced at his roommate, who was watching us like we were particularly interesting specimen he found on a microscope slide.
Dakota cleared his throat. “Maybe Wallace wouldn’t mind watching television somewhere else.”
Wallace raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? And why would Wallace do that?”
“Because we need the room,” Dakota said, sending him a glare.
“Oh. Oh.” Wallace chuckled. “So it’s like that?”
“It’s not like that,” Dakota said, his cheeks pink. “It’s not, right?”
I threw up my hands in exasperation. My boyfriend is gonna bean you with a can of peas. “Of course not. Wallace and his pizza look comfortable. Let’s just take a walk.”
Dakota brightened. “That sounds great. It’s such a nice day out, and I’ve been cooped up in here studying.”
Wallace saluted us as we left. “Don’t mind him,” Dakota said as we headed down the hall. “He’s a slob, but he’s generally a good guy. Not to mention a bit of a genius in robotics.”
I didn’t give a damn about Wallace. I was ready to get down to brass tacks. “I need your help.”
He smiled as we got on the elevator. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“You know I see ghosts, correct?” I blew out a breath as he nodded. It never got any easier telling people that. So far, I kept it on a need-to-know basis. Luckily for me, not many people needed to know.
“I’m finally at a place in my life where I’ve stopped resenting that. I’m glad I can help them. Every time I help someone achieve closure, it feels like… like I’ve done something special. Something that no one else could do.” I swallowed. “We’re not meant to walk the Earth forever, unable to be at peace or rest. I can give them that, and I finally understand how special that is.”
“But?” he prodded as we got off in the lobby.
“But it’s like a never-ending cycle. It feels like I’m not making any measurable progress. Every time I help one of them, there’s another to take their place. I’m knee-deep in ghosts and I can’t keep up.”
“So what are you going to do about that?”
“Do?” I blinked. “Bitch to you, mostly.”
He chuckled. “There’s that, I suppose.”
We fought our way through a throng of students heading up the walkway, and I wondered if some classes had just let out. I saw a sign in the lobby about some sort of poetry slam, and suddenly felt a little nostalgic for my own graduate school days. Dakota and I walked along companionably, his sandals slapping the sidewalk.
The campus really was beautiful. Everything looked like it’d gotten the Disneyland treatment—sidewalks free of debris, building paint fresh and unblemished, and grass neatly manicured. I didn’t ask where he was leading me, and I didn’t much care. He was right. It was a nice day out, and I couldn’t complain about a nice walk with pleasant company.
We didn’t speak again until we were relatively alone, traversing a long breezeway. “So how long have you been able to see ghosts?” Dakota asked. “I know it’s not an incredibly original question, but I’m awfully curious.”
“Since I was a kid, I guess. Maybe six? Seven?” I furrowed my brow as I thought. “I can’t really pinpoint an exact day that I saw ghosts for the first time.”
“Why not? I’d think an event like that would be memorable.”
“Well, I’m sure it would’ve been if I’d known what they were. I just thought they were people. Friends that I could talk to that came and went as they pleased. When I realized that no one else could see them, it got confusing and scary.”
“What did your parents think about it? Robyn and Leo, right? And what about your twin, Skylar?”
I sent him a sidelong glance. “I see you’ve done your homework.”
He flushed. “It’s what any good researcher does, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t tell anyone about it.” I shrugged. “I just started ignoring them and eventually, they stopped talking to me. But they were always there.”
“No one ever guessed?”
“I think my mother knew something was going on. She just didn’t know what. I started to resent everything that wasn’t perfectly normal—our lifestyle, her holistic way of looking at the world, the hippie commune….” I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Growing up, I said some pretty harsh things. I’m not proud of it.”
“You thought if you were as normal as possible, the ghosts would go away for good,” he guessed. “That they would forget about you.”
“I hoped.” I let out a little self-deprecating laugh. “Stupid, isn’t it?”
“Not stupid.” He shook his head. “Maybe naïve. Human emotion is an intricate minefield to navigate, even without the complications of paranormal stimuli. Some of us want to blend into the crowd, some want nothing more than to be seen. Heard. Acknowledged. Throughout our lifetimes, it seems as though we slide up and down that scale, vacillating between the two extremes.”
“I’m pretty sure I know where I’d fall on that scale,” I said dryly.
“For now. Because you don’t like what the attention is for.” He cut o
ff my protest with a wave of his hand. “Think about it. When you were in the FBI, you didn’t mind accolades for being a crack profiler. It’s only when ghosts are involved that you want to slide into obscurity.”
“I don’t apologize for that,” I said bluntly. “You can’t deny that a certain amount of stigma is attached to the topic.”
“It’s not a topic,” he chided gently. “It’s your birthright. Part of who you are. And there’s no hiding from that.”
“Trust me, I know there’s no place to hide.” My tone was grim. “Especially now that I’ve talked to a few of them, and they told me what I look like.”
Dakota’s eyes went wide, and it was clear he wanted to badger me about that. I chuckled quietly to myself. He was such a little scholar. As soon as we finished, he was probably going to race back to his dorm and type down everything I said.
Realizing he was staring, he flushed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to treat you like a case study. But I want to know… well, anything you’re comfortable with sharing.”
“A ghost once told me that I look like light. That I emanate light like a beacon. Hiding was never a possibility. I just didn’t know it.”
We stopped by an overgrown garden that had a small sign dedicated to Mortimer Gray, a professor from the Agriculture department. It was almost covered by long purple flowers, swaying in the breeze, and I brushed them back so I could read the rest of the sign, which detailed his accomplishments. When I finished, I looked over to find Dakota watching me, a small smile playing on his face.
I huffed in exasperation. “You’d lock me in a lab and hook me up to electrodes if you could.”
He didn’t deny it. “Sorry. You must admit that it’s pretty rare to be a bridge to the afterlife. Hell, it’s strange to finally have confirmation that there is an afterlife at all.”
“My sister seems to think everyone has some sort of connection with ghosts. That we’re just able to access more of the earth’s energy than others.”
“We are their anchor to physical world and the only reason they would linger. I must say I agree with your sister.”
I sent him a glare. “I don’t understand those words in their current configuration.”