by Elise Faber
CHAPTER SEVEN
Have I made a huge mistake?
Keely hung the rumpled dress on a hook attached to the bathroom door, wrapped herself in the fluffy white robe, then sat on the toilet lid. She blew her nose and tried to ignore the soft rapping of knuckles on the wood.
The box still thrummed with energy, and she carefully untangled it from the bag’s contents and placed it on the counter. Her fingers trembled as she traced the satin ribbon holding it closed. The old woman’s warning that too much time had passed, that being in the spirit world might have taken the humanity out of Brock. That all the things she’d fallen in love with about him might have been burned away by 364 days of loneliness each year. That maybe the price he’d agreed to pay might have been too high. Every word raced by on repeat and pounded against her eardrums. Maybe I’m truly too late.
The knot sliding loose made a soft hissing noise, and the lid moved silently on well-oiled hinges. Cold light glinted off the surface but not with an answer to all her questions. They seemed innocuous enough, lying side by side in the nest of velvet, but with the lid open, their reek of magic doubled. A tickle started in the back of her throat, and she coughed. She’d only looked at Brock’s Purple Heart once before, and once had been enough. She slammed the box closed and retied the ribbon as a shiver slid down her spine. Another tap of knuckles followed the sound of a hand sliding on the door.
“Keely, come on.” Brock’s voice came muffled through the wood. “Don’t shut me out.”
She moved on shaking legs to the door and leaned her forehead over the spot where the tapping had turned to a soft pat. “Why do you think I come back?”
“Because you missed me.” His answer came immediately, but then there was a pause. “And because you’ve never stopped loving me,” he said softer, and the desolation that mirrored her own came clear even through the door. “The same way I’ve never stopped loving you.”
“That’s exactly why, you dumbass!” she said and slapped the door hard enough to sting her palm. “And that’s why I can’t believe you would dare ask me such a question!”
Silence stretched on long enough she put her ear to the door.
A soft thump bumped the wood, and the rumble of his voice came through clearer against her ear. “But what if that’s the wrong thing for you?”
She snatched the door open and smacked her palms against his bare chest. “You could never be the wrong thing for me!”
“Cher,” he said coaxingly and gripped her elbows. “This thing we’ve become, where will it go?”
Keely broke his hold and shoved his hands off. “If you want me to leave, then say it! Tell me you never want to see me again, and you won’t!”
His grip on her arms turned painful as he jerked her closer, and one arm locked around her waist. “This isn’t about what I want!” His fingers twisting in her hair pulled tight enough to send a tingle of pain over her scalp. “It’s about what’s best for you!”
“You’re what’s best for me!” she shouted in his face then kissed him hard enough to bruise.
His breath came out in a huff as she pushed him so hard the door banged against the wall. Their lips moved in a fevered rush of desperation. The need to hold on became tattooed on their skin with each kiss. An incurable ache to linger in this perfect space of time and avoid the inevitable loss that always came with sunrise swallowed them whole.
His hands framed her face gently, slowing the frenzy to soft presses of lips on her mouth, cheeks, chin, and throat. Each caress left behind a coolness that started to snuff out the fire of her anger.
“I’m dead, cher,” he whispered.
“Stop,” she said and turned her face away from his next kiss.
“I need you to accept it.”
She glared at him. “No, not on our only night together. Tomorrow I’ll face it if I have to, the same way I’ve done for the last nine years, but not tonight.”
His hand moved slowly over her back; the embrace meant to soothe only fed her flame again.
“It’s not like I’m delusional, I know you’re dead.” She started to struggle against his hold. “But I won’t just give up on us and agree to stay away either. If you don’t want me here with you, then you’ll have to send me away.”
He tightened his hold. “Keely, stop.”
“No, Brock,” she said and pushed until she could almost lock her elbows. There was enough space between them that he either had to let go or hurt her to hold on. “Send me away, or shut up about this.”
“I can’t,” he said through gritted teeth as his fingers dug into her waist. “I can’t send you away, even though it’s the right thing to do. Don’t you understand by now? I’m not strong enough!” He let go, and she staggered. He sat heavily on the bed and put his head in his hands. “Missing you so much made me weak and selfish.” He lifted his face, all those gorgeous swirls of green and brown in his eyes now turned dull. “This is all my fault, Keely.”
She knelt between his thighs and stroked the hair off his forehead. “So you really don’t want me to leave?”
He shook his head and pressed her palm to his mouth. “But this can’t be about what I want anymore. I made a deal with the devil, and now my loan has come due.”
December, nine years ago
“One complaint a week,” Higgins paced as he fumed. “I used to get no more than one a week from my guests.” He whirled and pointed a finger at Brock’s nose. “Until you showed up.”
Brock leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and picked at his thumbnail. “It’s really not my fault these snooty folks can’t take a joke.”
“Spilled room service trays, missing room keys.” Higgins started ticking Brock’s infractions off on his fingers. “Fruit left in provocative poses for every poor pastor who has come through, and way too many scalded asses from phantom toilet flushes while guests are showering.”
“Hey, not all those were my fault,” Brock said and pointed his finger and squinted one eye at Higgins. “Suicide chick got in on a few of those.”
“That’s only since last Saturday!”
Brock lifted one shoulder. “She’s sneakier than you’d expect.”
“And who could forget the naked man who came flouncing into the lobby wearing nothing but a room service menu?” Higgins sat down with a sigh. “I guess you’re going to try and blame that on her too?”
Brock doubled over laughing. “That one’s still my favorite.”
“Mr. Stephens,” Higgins said, sounding even more exasperated. “I’m not unsympathetic to your situation, but this behavior really must stop.”
“Look, Higgs, you really shouldn’t be surprised,” Brock said. “There’s only so much peeping in on people I can do to keep the boredom away.”
Higgins suddenly sat forward and glared at him long enough Brock wanted to squirm. “What if I offered you some form of compensation for returning peace to my hotel?”
“Not sure what exactly you can offer a dead guy.”
Higgins smiled. “You might be surprised.” The grin turned into a sly twist of lips. Brock had noticed Higgins saved that smile for those special occasions when he miraculously pulled off a nearly impossible task for one of the guests: difficult-to-get tickets to concerts or special dinner reservations, all things full of shady deals and under-the-table favors amongst the hotel folk. Brock stood a little straighter and leaned forward with interest. “I’m listening.”
“Glenda,” Higgins said the name with an odd sort of reverence Brock had never heard before.
“The head housekeeper?”
Higgins nodded. “How about I get you an appointment to speak with her about your… situation?”
Brock raised an eyebrow. “And what situation would that be?”
“The one where I’d bet good money you’d give just about anything to spend a night with your wife again.”
Brock narrowed his eyes and took a step forward even as his silent heart wanted to give a sudden leap with hope. “What do you mean
?”
Higgins leaned back in his chair and templed his fingers in front of his lips, that damn smile steadily growing wider all the time. “I have it on good authority that Glenda possesses a particular set of skills when it comes to the deceased.” He waved a manicured hand toward Brock. “And, with the right incentive, she’s been known to help folks like you.”
“You mean she’s some kind of witch or voodoo priestess?”
“Good God, man!” Higgins jumped as if a firecracker had gone off under his chair. “Are you trying to get us both done in?” He hurried toward the door and peeked out, turning left and right, going up on tiptoes, and then seeming to breathe a sigh of relief. “Never let anyone hear you speak of her that way or being a haint will be the least of your worries,” he said in a whisper that sizzled as he went back to his chair.
Brock made a zipping motion over his mouth. “Continue.”
“Glenda communes with the spirits, she says,” Higgins said and resettled his jacket on his shoulders the way a bird settles his feathers. “She can see you the same way I can, but she can also control spirits.”
The maid from the lobby. Brock moved restlessly with the memory. She’d not only been able to see and hear him, but after a drop or two of her brew had landed on him, he’d found it hard to move. His stomach clenched thinking about what she might do to him if she set her mind to darker things.
“And this Glenda, you trust her?”
Higgins smiled broadly. “Yes, we’re family.”
“Family?” Keely sat up straighter and blinked rapidly. “I’d no idea.”
Brock frowned. “You’ve met her?”
Keely swallowed, and her gaze drifted toward the window. “On one of my earlier visits, I think.”
Brock helped her stand to pull her onto his lap. He couldn’t bear not holding her another second, especially considering how the rest of his story might go.
She snuggled against him, tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder and curling an arm around until her fingertips brushed the bristles of hair on his neck under his ear.
“Higgins took me to see Glenda as soon as her shift started,” he said into her hair.
She fidgeted a little. “Were you afraid?”
He shook his head and let his lips brush back and forth on the soft waves. “She’s a very direct person but not cruel,” he answered. “We talked a while. She seemed to know a lot about you and our situation already. I assumed Higgins had filled her in.”
Her nails scraped lightly on the back of his neck as her arm tightened around him.
“Shhh, it’s going to be okay, cher,” he soothed and lifted her chin for a kiss. Her lips were salty and trembled as he pressed a hand to her face. “I wouldn’t have chosen different, not for a moment.”
He held her tighter, searching with lips and tongue for more. He always needed more. She moaned into his mouth, and fresh flames of desire licked at his insides.
“Tell me the rest,” she whispered against his mouth as some of his frenzy to never stop touching her eased.
“Higgins had been right,” he said on her cheek, nuzzling her soft skin between words. “They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. For Higgins brokering the deal, I’d be in charge of keeping the other haints, especially myself, in line.”
She stared up at him with wide eyes. “And what was her offer?”
“You,” he said softly and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “One night a year, our anniversary, I become a solid. A real man again. Able to do and be all the things I once was, especially the things I was with you.”
“And her price?”
He hesitated, and her eyes grew wider. “A piece of my soul for every year.”
Keely’s face crumpled. “Oh God, Brock.”
He gripped her by the arms, hard. “Don’t you do that,” he said sounding harsher than he’d intended, and gave her a little shake. “Don’t you dare regret me or the decade of nights we’ve had together.” His control broke, and the pain spilled out. “I can bear the price as long as you don’t do that to me,” he whispered and hugged her so tight she squeaked in protest. “But I won’t be able to go on to face what’s coming if you regret us for a single minute.”
Keely pushed him back onto the bed in a rush of tears and a mournful wail to smother him in kisses, wet-and-sorrow-filled, yet hungry kisses that tore at the ragged edges of his broken soul. She hugged him, so surprisingly tight for her size, as if she were trying to stick all his broken pieces back together again. She’d roused him plenty with her mouth. The feel of her naked body under the plush robe pressed so hard against his and the sound of her need washed over him in waves of hunger.
With his arms spread wide on the bed, he lay still, savoring every single touch of her mouth and hands. She took what she wanted, and he let her. Anything he had left belonged to her already.
“Do you remember our first date?” she said, and her breath cooled the sweat on his neck afterward.
He smiled, but some of his tension leaked back through the bliss as he slowly stroked his fingers through the curls spread in an ebony wave over her back. “Not something a man with any good sense would forget.”
She poked him in the ribs. “I’m serious.”
He laughed and grabbed her wrists.
“Do you really remember?” Her chin rested lightly over his heart, eyes growing shiny in the low light. “Or does the… price…” Her throat moved convulsively. “Does it take good things away from you?”
“No,” he said but couldn’t meet her eyes.
She frowned and started to turn away.
“Don’t, cher,” he whispered and caught her chin. His gaze drifted over her face, and he let his fingers follow the same path over its strong lines of jaw and brow framed by lush eyebrows.
She sighed as he traced the soft curve of her cheekbone with a fingertip.
“I won’t lie to you. There are a few things that have slipped away.”
Her breath hitched, and she covered her mouth with a hand.
“I don’t know when exactly,” he said softly and pulled her closer, needing to soothe her. “Time goes on differently for us here. I don’t notice the loss until I see your face again, and I have to struggle to bring your name to my mind. That’s when I realize some piece of you, of us, has been torn out of me.”
Her palm pressed over his heart. “Oh, Brock,” she whispered, her lower lip trembling.
“So tell me again about the night we met,” he said and rolled until she lay sprawled under his body, warm, real, with those gorgeous legs that went on forever tangled with his. “Help me remember.”
Eleven years ago
“I already told you, Karen,” Keely said too loudly, and it echoed in the hospital hallway where she’d paused to check her messages. “I don’t date military guys anymore.” Keely huffed into the phone as she waved to the nurse behind the desk then walked toward the ER’s big bay doors. “Especially damn pilots,” she grumbled and adjusted her bag higher on her shoulder.
There’d been a highly unusual two-hour lull between their daily caseload of dehydrated little puke monsters, knife wounds, and car accidents that afternoon, so she’d actually punched out on time. Since any ER nurse worth her salt would be suspicious of that, especially on a night she’d agreed to meet someone for dinner after her shift, she hurried to her car and didn’t dare look back.
“I swear, he’s panty-scorching hot,” Karen said. “With a smile that I promise will vaporize them on sight.”
“Bullshit, if he’s so gorgeous, why didn’t you go home with him?” Keely asked.
“I was already hitting on his buddy,” she said. “Even I’m not that slutty.”
“Yes, you are, you hussy,” Keely said with a smile. “And he’s still a pi-lot.”
“Girl, come on,” Karen said, and Keely could almost hear her eye roll through the phone. “At least get laid in a nice clean bed before you leave, since it might be a while. Ain’t nobody got time for s
and in their hoo-ha.”
“Damn you,” Keely said around the snorting laugh as she shoved the key into the ignition. “Now I’m gonna have to go check him out just because you said that.”
“That’s my girl!” Karen yelled. “And you better wake me up to spill all the details as you’re doing the walk of shame in the morning.”
“Only if you agree to make those extra-special bacon waffles for me.”
“Deal,” Karen said. “Now hurry up, or you’ll be late. Don’t keep the hotness waitin’.”
“Oh, God,” Keely groaned as she backed out and turned the car toward the exit. “I’m regretting this already.”
Karen snorted. “Uh-huh, try to tell me that lie again after he’s rocked your world.”
“Okay, okay,” Keely said, resigned to waste one of her last nights-off-stateside on some strange pilot.
“Now bye,” Karen barked in her ear. “And for God’s sake, wear something that shows off those long legs for a change.”
They were both laughing as Keely ended the call, a wave of sadness almost cresting over her heart at how much she would miss her friend soon. But she drove it back with the purpose of her tasks ahead. Plenty of time to be a sad-sack later.
Keely parked on the street outside the building where she and Karen shared a third-floor flat. She checked her watch as she grabbed her bag from the back seat. Two hours all to myself for a change, maybe even enough time to soak in a bath and shave my legs. Keely shook her head as she unlocked the door to the stairs. Get your brain out of your pants. It’s only dinner. She scraped her front teeth over her lip as she climbed the stairs, and the nerves tried to take over a little. Maybe Karen’s right. I am leaving for Iraq in a month. She kicked the door closed and tossed her bag harder than necessary onto the sofa then headed for the laundry room. No, pilots are trouble with a capital T. Dead sexy or not.
Her phone buzzed, rattling loudly against the top of the dryer, as she stripped off her scrubs. She tossed them into the washer then scrolled through her messages.