by Layla Frost
I peeked around the door to see the kids thrusting their bags toward Nate, who was once again being generous with the candy portions. The moms were holding large wine glasses, which probably went a long way toward making the evening bearable.
“What do you say?” one asked to her kid.
The boy grinned wide as he pulled out a peanut butter cup and started unwrapping it. “Thanks for getting the good stuff and not tootsie rolls or pennies.”
“Hey, you know the rules,” she said, snatching it from his hands. “I need to inspect that. It’s for safety.”
“No, it’s so you can take all the Reese’s and Twix.”
“Taxation, kid, get used to it.”
With more shouted thanks and cheers, the group moved on to the next house.
I pulled out my phone again.
Me: Just saw a group of moms drinking wine as they took their kids trick or treating. It was like looking into your future.
Lula: That’s the dream. I’m passing out little bottles of rum and vodka to the parents I know. My house has been the most popular, and the Anderson’s down the block are mad their full-size Snickers just aren’t cutting it this year.
Me: Good. They needed to be taken down a notch.
The doorbell rang again, and it was the start of a constant stream of kids.
After only fifteen minutes, the limited novelty had worn off for Nate. “This was not how I imagined this evening going,” he muttered as he grabbed the bowl.
“Is it anticlimactic without the toilet paper, eggs, and flaming bags of poo?”
“Flaming bags of what?”
“Don’t worry about it.” I handed out some candy and leaned in the open doorway, not bothering to close it since there were more headed our way.
“Does this thing never end?”
“Around nine or when I run out of candy, why?”
Nate put his hand on the door jamb above my head, standing close as he dipped his face down to mine. “I’d intended to finish what we started this morning.”
Yes, please.
I mean, focus, Denny. Fight the hormones. Rage against the peens!
“Look, we have to talk,” I started, placing my palm on his stomach with the intent on pushing him away. “Did your muscles get bigger since this morning. I feel like they definitely got firmer. Did you spend the day working out?”
Amusement filled his dark eyes. “This is what you wanted to talk about?”
“Yes. No.” Inhaling, I tried to remember the mental argument I’d formed in my head. “About earlier… We can’t… I mean, it was great, but it can’t happen again. And not just the kissing. The whole… Beyond that… You know what I mean?”
His lips tipped up. “Not at all.”
“We can’t have sex.”
Little creases appeared next to his eyes before he gave up the fight and just grinned down at me. “You’re cute.”
“I get the distinct impression you aren’t taking me seriously.”
“Because you’re not being serious.”
Crossing my arms as best as I could while holding the massive candy bowl, I glared at him. “I am.”
His voice lowered, the rough rumble of it making me positive he was trying to hypnotize me. Not with his talents. Just by being him. “You’re not. I know you want me, and I damn sure fucking want you. Need you. And not just for sex—but you know as well as I do, with what we have, that’s going to be fucking explosive, too.”
“I’m not denying that. But we can’t have sex—” The sounds of chaos and laughter descending quickly reminded me we were technically in public. I loudly amended, “Seconds. We can’t have seconds of the candy because too much sugar isn’t good for us.”
“Nice save,” Nate whispered, moving away as he grabbed the bowl. He added handfuls of candy to the outstretched bags, much to the joy of the children and the dismay of me.
They called their thanks, but I could barely respond as Nate pulled me inside and closed the door.
“Talk about a bad example,” I said.
“When we kissed earlier, I know you felt what I did. So, hours later, why have your feelings changed?”
“I’m a fickle female?” I tried with a shrug.
He snorted. “Generalizations and stereotypes?”
I cringed. “I felt dirty while I was saying it.” Reaching for the doorknob, I tried to open it but Nate stepped in the way. “There are still trick or treaters.”
“You said when the candy was gone, the interruptions were over.”
“I still have, like, ten pounds in the kitchen I don’t want to go to waste.”
“It won’t. Talk to me.”
“You need to leave.” At the flash of pain that crossed his expression, I rushed to explain my logic. “You’ve been stuck here for so long—longer than I can even comprehend.” On a roll, I continued my practiced spiel, but I couldn’t look at him as I spoke. “If you’ve lost your talents, I think Juno could help set you up with the things you need, like an identity and documentation. Maybe even a past, if you can’t do it yourself. And I didn’t know about the money in the bookcase, so I think you should take that, too. It’ll be enough to support you until you figure out what your next step is.”
“Very thorough,” he deadpanned, but the hurt was clear.
I looked up at him, my heart ripping in two. I’d known it was going to be hard, but I hadn’t realized how bad it’d be. “Now that you have your body and you’re no longer tied here, you can finally live. See the world. Be free.”
Nate’s eyes narrowed as he stepped away from me, his arms folded across his wide chest. It made him look bigger and more imposing than he usually did, which was saying something. “Is that how you see me? A wounded animal you’re nursing to health before releasing back into the wild?”
“No! It’s—”
“And if I don’t go, are you going to Harry and the Hendersons me? Will you tell me I’m not wanted and yell at me to leave?”
“What? No, I’d never do that.”
“Eve loved that movie and would watch it twice a year, by the way.”
“Oh.” I stored that away, but kept my focus on Nate. “You’ve been stuck here for so long, and now you don’t have anything holding you here.”
His expression went cold, his eyes darkening in a sinister way. He nodded once, echoing my words. “I don’t have anything holding me here. Got it.”
“Nate, I just…” My words trailed off because I was suddenly alone.
He was gone. And unlike other times when he left, there was a finality to his absence.
“Well, that could’ve gone better,” I whispered to myself.
Why do I feel like I’ve made a colossal mistake?
Nate
I’ve made a colossal mistake.
And I’m a dumb fucking asshole.
Even knowing that, I knocked back a shot of foul-tasting liquor.
The bar was filled with people embracing Halloween to the fullest. Costumes ranged from barely there to stupid, with only a few clever ones interspersed between. I didn’t need to read people to know what they were after. Enhanced by alcohol and the playful group mentality, it hit me like a sign to the face.
Fun.
They wanted to revert to the carefree time when college or work didn’t intrude on every part of their lives. Some were hoping for sex. Others, mostly the men, were hoping for something more meaningful. But minus a couple miserable or high-strung people, everyone just wanted to enjoy the night.
And then there was me.
I wasn’t inviting conversation. The bartenders stuck close and refilled my drink often because I gave them a break from unwelcome come-ons and being treated like glorified therapists or babysitters.
Minutes ticked by, each one feeling like a year. And as they passed, the hole in my chest grew, and no amount of alcohol could fill it.
That didn’t stop me from trying.
The crowd began to thin, people leaving with their groups or a
new friend. The fun vibe left with them, leaving sadness and desperation in its wake.
Now I’m fitting in.
Slightly lifting my glass, I gave a silent toast to the losers and the rejects before killing the fresh shot.
Hit by the sudden assault of anger, I glanced out of the corner of my eye to the bartender fighting with a man over his keys. Based on the information the bartender had, the drunk was obviously a regular—and not a well-liked one.
I got a flash of malevolence and harm just seconds before seeing the glint of a knife. But the seconds were enough, and I was off my stool and down the bar by the time he raised it.
The bartender took a step back, his eyes widening as he saw the weapon. His shout for security was drowned out by the thud of the drunk’s head hitting the bar.
One of my hands gripped the moron’s wrist, my other pressed between his shoulder blades. I tightened my hold, digging my thumb in until his hand spasmed and he drop the knife, crying out in pain.
“Holy fuck,” the bartender wheezed, reaching for the phone. He yelled again for security before looking at me. “I didn’t even see you move. Holy fucking shit, man, he could’ve gotten me.”
He would’ve stabbed you in the neck. You’d have died before you hit the ground.
I had no clue where the thought had come from, but I kept it to myself.
Sitting back on my stool, I reached for the bottle the other bartender had left and filled my glass, tossing it back before filling it again.
Chaos erupted around me when the police arrived, dragging the drunk away and getting a few statements. I paused my drinking long enough to answers questions, but I kept them short.
The pale and shaken bartender started for the door with an officer before backtracking. He grabbed an unopened bottle of scotch and handed it to me. “Thank you. I got a girl at home, pregnant and ready to pop.”
My mind automatically conjured up an image of Denny, one of her ridiculous shirts stretched across her belly that was swollen with my baby.
I felt the sting of jealousy toward a man who’d almost died.
I’m fucked-up.
“Congratulations,” I said, giving the man a chin lift.
I knew there was more he wanted to say, but an officer interrupted. “Sir, we need to get you to the station to press charges.”
“Okay, everyone!” one of the other bartenders called out. “Finish your drinks and pay your tabs. And tip your bartenders extra for the risk we take to get you drunk.”
I drained my drink and stood, pulling out the cash Denny had given me earlier.
“Except you,” he said to me, refilling my glass. “You drink free for life.”
“That’s not—”
“It is.”
When Denny had kicked me out earlier in the evening, drowning my misery had seemed like the expected next step according to TV and movies.
The flaw in that was alcohol didn’t have any effect on me. Despite copious amounts of liquor, I was as sober as when I’d walked in. It hadn’t even dulled the pain.
I didn’t say anything, but I lifted my shot in a silent thank you.
He hesitated, eyeing me with apprehension. “With what happened to Dave, I hate to ask, but—”
“I live around the corner and walked,” I said, lying on both counts. I hadn’t walk, I’d transported.
And I lived nowhere.
“Good. ‘Cause I might not be able to tell you’ve been drinking, but there’s no way you’d pass a breathalyzer.” Leaving me to finish my drink, he began working at the register with a stack of credit cards and receipts.
I only had a minute to enjoy the aloneness before I felt someone next to me.
“That was really amazing,” a woman said. When I didn’t respond, she moved closer. “I’ve never seen anyone move so fast.”
Desperation, arousal, and fear wafted from her.
I glanced over to see one of the many women who’d dressed as a cat, though she wore very little. The idea that a feline was supposed to be sexy was confusing, but the same could be said for most of the holiday’s rules.
She stroked the fluffy tail she’d attached to her short black skirt. I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be seductive or if she was just nervous, nor did I care.
“You’re a hero,” she continued, fluttering her lashes as she hesitantly touched my arm. “A hero should be somewhere better than alone at a bar…”
I stood, watching as she scurried back a few steps, her fear more pronounced. Draining my drink in one gulp, I put the empty glass down and picked up the bottle of scotch before heading for the door. “You’re right.”
I’m a dumb fucking asshole.
Denny
“I know you’re in there. Open the damn door!”
Wiping my face, I rummaged in my desk drawer until I found what I was looking for. I tossed it on the couch on my way to the door.
As soon as I turned the lock, the door opened, and Lula shoved her way in. “What the hell did that motherfucker do?”
“What? Who?”
“Nate! You’re crying. You never cry.”
I pointed to the allergy meds I’d put on my couch. “Oh, no, I’m fine. You know my allergies kick my ass this time of year.”
Raising her brows, she shook her head. “You called me at three in the morning, drunk and crying. I, too, was drunk, which is the only reason I didn’t come right over. Now I’m here, and you’re still crying.”
“I called you?”
“And now you’re lying to me about why.” Her expression softened. “We never lie to each other. We made that vow in sixth grade when we both lied about liking Matty Stevers, and we’ve never broken it.”
“You’re right.” I sat on the couch, bringing my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs. “I think I made a big mistake.”
“Why? Did you sleep with Nate? Oh God, was it bad?” She sat on the other end of the couch, muting the TV and giving me her full attention.
“No! We kissed and it was so good. Like, unbelievably good. And I was all gung-ho for more.” I tugged my leggings up a little. “I even shaved.”
“Whoa.”
“Exactly. But then I started thinking about how unfair it was that he’d been stuck here. How he finally had some freedom. And I wondered if getting involved with him while he didn’t know who he was would be taking advantage of him.”
“Is his intelligence compromised?” When I scowled at her, she held her hands up. “Hey, it’s a legit question.”
“He’s a little behind the times. Like, occasionally he’ll quote something from a commercial, but it’s always correct. Given everything he’s been through, it’s impressive he’s acclimated as well as he has. He’s smart. And sharp-witted.”
“So it’s fair to say he knows what he’s doing.”
I nodded. “Yes, but—”
“Then you’re not taking advantage of him. Not saying you have to jump him— there are more factors to consider—but don’t take on guilt for no reason.”
I hadn’t thought about it like that. Even without his memories, Nate had still been around for hundreds of years. That was more than enough time for him to form his own opinions and make his own decisions.
“You’re right,” I admitted.
“I know.”
“I wish I’d have called you earlier than three in the morning to talk this all out.”
“Yeah, about that.” Grabbing a throw pillow, she hit me over the head. “Making major life decisions without scrutinizing it together?” She hit me again. “How many nights did we spend drinking wine coolers and Boone’s Farm while we analyzed the pros and cons of me marrying Chase? We both knew I was going to, yet we did the smart thing and talked it over. At length. Starting after my first date with him.”
“Before that. The night before, actually. And then you puked purple all over our entryway two minutes before he picked you up because you were hungover and nervous.”
She smiled. “And
you took the fall for it because that’s what good friends do.”
“And now you’re getting married in a month and a half. All thanks to me.”
“It’s true. If he knew that was my barf, he might not have wanted to continue the date. Of course, multiple years together now, he’s totally seen worse. But he’s stuck with me.” Throwing her head back, she gave an evil laugh before skewering me with the kind of look only a best friend could give. “Now spill.”
Starting with the kiss, I did my best to sum up the day, leaving out Hale’s goon since that’d be hard to explain. I told her about shopping and handing out candy, and then I gave her an almost word for word recap of what I’d told him.
When I finished, Lula continued to keep her vow by not lying to me. “Yeah, you messed up.”
“I know. It’s crazy…” I paused, trying to think of how to explain it without sounding like a melodramatic, lovesick sixteen-year-old.
Lula and I had already gone through that phase together, and it wasn’t one we’d want to relive.
“What?” she pushed.
“It’s like he took half of me with him. Like, I literally feel like part of me is missing.”
“If you were anyone else, I’d think you were exaggerating. Since you’re you, and feelings are hard enough for you to talk about, this is more than just a broken heart.”
“Lula, I feel like I did when I was living with my dad. Not all the angsty self-esteem issues.” I played with the hem of the pillow. “Remember when we were sixteen and we went on the hunt for my real mom?”
“Yeah, it was after your dad flipped his shit about the witch hunts. You were so sure she was out there, so we Nancy Drew’d it.”
“And since we had no clue what the hell we were doing, we got nowhere on our own.”
“Yeah, but remember that amazing journal you bought to document everything? I think that was the beginning of your love affair with office supplies.”
I nodded. “It was also when I realized your parents were the only real ones I’d ever have. They stepped in and did so much even though they already knew the outcome because I needed closure.”
“I forgot about that.”
“I didn’t.”
In my overactive imagination, I’d dreamed up a world where my mom was on the run from my asshole father. Rather than forcing me to accept what I’d been told, Lula’s parents had joined our investigation, ultimately being the ones to give me the evidence I’d needed to move on.