Brody
The floor creaked.
I was in the dark, a bottle of bourbon half drank on the floor beside me, and I was staring out toward the field. I was on the second-floor patio, the door open behind me. A nice breeze came off the mountain, but it was just me. All me.
And Kyle’s ghost.
He was never far away.
But the floor creaked, and I knew it was her.
I felt her in my blood, in the way my skin washed in goose bumps and chills. The recognition slammed full force into me at the same time the need for her rose, threatening to overtake me. When she stepped out through the open door, I didn’t dare move.
I feared she’d run like the last time.
It’d been two weeks since I saw her at the river, and as she stood beside me, looking out over the field with me, she was every bit the ghost she’d been
