Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
I swallow hard. “Of course.”
“Yet still, they were … persistent.” He grimaces again. “They said they sensed bad energy here.”
I face him. “When?”
“The last time they visited. July. Remember? After we all saw the matinée of my Midsummer show, we had them here for lunch. We had Thai—very spicy Thai.”
“Oh.” I remember it well. And now suddenly a few things make sense. “They were acting kind of skittish.”
“You probably just passed it off as another one of their quirks. I did warn you about them, but … maybe I should’ve been more specific.” He sighs suddenly and cradles his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you this, Griffin. I’ve been lying to you since I met you, talking about my dads like the worst of their troubles is getting stubborn rich kids to discern an adjective from an adverb. I feel like such a terrible person.”
I’m the bad person, Byron. I’m the one who should be in tears right now, begging for your forgiveness.
Yet I quickly put an arm around his back, hugging him against my side. “It’s okay, babe. I don’t hold any of this against you. I don’t think you’re a bad person.”
“Well, I do.”
I keep my cheery voice up. “Hey, just look at it this way: this makes your dads even more interesting than they already were!”
“I guess I should point out Halloween isn’t their favorite holiday.” He lifts his head. “They think having our wedding on Halloween is the worst idea ever, as if the gateway between the world of the living and the dead is gonna blast open while we exchange rings.”
“That’ll never happen,” I assure him, rubbing his back, then casually wonder if it could happen.
“I know you think this is weird. I know some part of you is probably second-guessing whether you want to marry me anymore. Maybe you don’t even believe in any of it, but … these are my parents. I’ve been around this stuff my whole life. I kinda have no choice.”
I try to imagine growing up having dads like that. How they might embarrass me when I’m a child, having the “spooky” parents who made me wear ghost-warding jewelry to school, or warned me of specters lurking in the corners of abandoned houses. I wonder if Byron was ever even allowed out trick-or-treating as a kid. Maybe this is part of the reason he’s obsessed with costumes.
How much about Byron’s personality was actually hidden behind this seemingly innocent secret?
I take hold of his hands suddenly and face him. His eyes find mine through his emotional turmoil. “Byron, I want you to hear these words: Nothing in the world can make me second-guess marrying you.”
That seems to make him want to cry even more. “Really? Nothing?”
“Nothing at all.” I put a quick kiss on his soft lips, then keep my face close. “You, Byron Neal, are the man I want to marry. I want to spend the rest of my days with you.” I lift a thumb up to the corner of his eye and wipe away a tear that hasn’t quite fallen yet. “No ghosts or hauntings or dads can come between us.”
He embraces me right then, as if unable to hear any more reassurances. “What did I do to deserve you?” he asks, nearly in tears. “You’re so amazing, Griffin James. I’m so lucky I’m going to be your husband.”
“I’m the lucky one,” I assure him, gazing over his shoulder as we embrace, my eyes lingering on the ajar bathroom door, wondering if West is listening.
Of course he is.
That night, Byron stays over. We’re cuddled on my queen bed—a modest upgrade from the twin I used to squeeze myself onto when I first moved in here—as rain softly taps on the window. I study the streaks of water it makes down the glass, letting the rain calm my mind.
I’ve been staring at that window for over an hour, utterly unable to sleep.
My dear Byron’s been softly snoring in my ear the whole time. I guess studying streaks of rain isn’t enough to ease my heart. I’d give anything to join him in a lofty realm of dreams—or wherever Byron is right now.
I slip out of his arms. It’s an impressive feat that requires an incredible amount of stealth, by the way, as Byron is the kind of guy who clings tighter to me if he feels me slipping away, like I’m a body pillow about to fall off of the bed. After stepping out of the room, I head to the kitchen for a glass of water. When I have it in hand, however, I find myself just standing there in the semidarkness listening to the rain on the windows in the other room, not even taking a first sip.
Maybe there’s nothing to worry about. Maybe I’m just overthinking everything. What if the solution to my issues is so much simpler than I realize? Maybe the fact that Byron’s been exposed to this his whole life can be my in: I’ll just tell him about West, explain that I wasn’t sure how he’d take it, and then we can laugh about it and move on.