When she uncovers his plan to lead an entirely uneventful life, Mia Evian is determined to teach Preston Maddox how to stop living like a ghost, but Mia and Preston have history, tension, and a lot of complicated feelings.
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Two weeks have passed since Preston first let me into his room, and it's one of his better days. I'm sitting on his mattress, typing away at a uni assignment that's due in a week while Preston reads a fantasy novel beside me. I'm so immersed in my work that I don't notice him close the book, then place it on his lap.
'I had the most peculiar dream last night,' he murmurs, and I turn to him.
'A nightmare?' I ask as I try to remember if he woke me up with one.
He shakes his head. 'Not really. I was in a house—an empty house, entirely void of furniture, of people, of things. Just walls and floors, and there was nothing outside, either. The windows showed nothing more than black. Not darkness, just... black.'
He glances down at his book, then turns back to me with a furrowed brow.
'I started ripping up the floorboards with my hands. I've got no idea what I was trying to achieve, or what I was trying to reach, but I kept ripping the wood. My fingers were bleeding, my hands bruised and searing in pain, but I just kept ripping.'
'What was underneath?'
A pause, then, 'nothing.'
'That sounds pretty nightmare-ish,' I point out.
He flashes me something between a grimace and a smile, a look I didn't even think was possible for someone to muster.
'Nightmares are far worse than that,' he says matter-of-factly, then out of nowhere, adds, 'I'm sorry for the way I treated you after Robbie visited.'
I frown. 'It's okay. You were just trying to cope.'
He's shaking his head as he clenches his jaw. 'It's not okay. It's not fair for me to treat you like that just because I'm having a difficult time.'
I swallow, my mouth turning dry. No. No, he doesn't understand. It's my fault. This whole thing is my fault. None of this would've happened if I'd been able to keep my mouth shut. I scan his face, and knowing this is one of his better days, I realise it's time. Some honesty is long overdue.
'Preston, I...' I close my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. 'It's my fault. What happened.'
I open my eyes and I know he's about to argue, so I interject before he can.
'On Robbie's last night here, when you headed back into the club to get my jacket, Robbie and I were–We were semi-arguing, I guess, and it's–I mentioned things. Out loud. I didn't think–I thought I was quiet enough, but it–Someone overheard.'
There's a choking sound, and I don't realise it's me until my vision begins to blur. I wipe at the tear that's racing down my check as I try to steady my breathing.
'Someone overheard me, and they told people,' I croak. 'If I hadn't said anything, none of this would've happened.'
My eyes are so full of tears that I don't see Preston lean into me. He nudges my laptop aside, wrapping his arms around my torso as he pulls me into him. He's warm, the cotton of his hoodie soft against my damp cheek.
