Page 84 of Warmer, Colder

“It was perfect. I love watching you take what you need.” Our mouths meet in a soft kiss. “But more than that, it’s everything to me that you understand what I want. Nobody’s ever cared about what I need.” A tear cascades down her cheek as she buries her face in my neck. This is not the undone I’d imagined her becoming when I tied her up, but this is something far more sacred, something I fear nobody else has ever seen. This openness, this realness, this is what I’ve been craving from her. I want to know her. I want her to lay out every guarded feeling she’s ever hid behind that wall of steel and I show her that it’s finally safe to open up those vulnerable parts of herself.

I unclasp the closure of my old necklace and loop it over her neck. These might have symbolized friendship when we were kids, but now this silver broken heart means so much more—a symbol of my undying devotion. “You’re mine, Anastasia Eden. Today. Tomorrow. Forever.”

“I’m yours.”

Unfortunately, one of the most romantic moments of my life is interrupted by my parents.

Chapter 38

Becca

62 Days Dead

Instinctually, we clutch the blankets around us, moving quickly as the door pushes open and a man I’ve never seen before follows my parents in.

If it were one of Aiden’s friends, I’d remember him. He’s young, probably around my age, and handsome with strong cheekbones, rich brown eyes, and a comforting yet commanding energy. But with the white streak in his hair and memorable arm tattoos, I know I’d definitely remember him if it was one of Aiden’s friends. I can’t imagine what other reason a random man would have to be here.

My parents hang back as he walks to the center of the room, his eyes scanning the space while he inhales deeply. Nerves coil tightly within me, straining my muscles. A good sixty seconds pass and he doesn’t say anything, running his hand along my wall until he reaches my dresser, where he takes interest in my half-empty perfume bottles and thumbs through my journal.

“Mr. Addams, what is it? Is she here? Do you see her?” My mother’s questions stack on top of each other in a heap of expectations.

“I’ll just need a few minutes to get settled, Mrs. Murphy. Is it possible to have the room to myself?”

“Sure, no problem. Take your time.” My dad palms my mom’s shoulders as he guides her out; his smile is tight as he closes the door behind him.

“Thank you.” He remains completely still, gazing out the window until the door shuts all the way. Several seconds pass, and then his eyes find mine. The rich brown lightens with interest just slightly. “Hello.”

I remain silent, my mind not quite processing what’s happening. Being seen by a living person is jarring after all this time. “Umm…hi?”

“Becca, I presume. And you are?” His attention turns to Stasi but doesn’t linger.

“Stasi.”

He cocks his head, his eyes assessing us. “Hawthorne Addams, but you can just call me Hawthorne.” Pulling out my desk chair, he settles in casually, like we’re old friends. “So, what’s the story here?” His tattooed fingers gesture between us.

“It’s a long one,” Stasi answers shortly as she shifts closer to me.

“Fair. I’ll get down to what’s important, then.” He returns his attention to me. “You seem like a fairly well-adjusted spirit. Are you happy?”

Finding Stasi’s hand, I give it a squeeze, attempting to soothe the protective energy exuding from her as she presses closer to me. “Yes. Very.”

“That’s good.” Hawthorne plays with his ring. “It’s rare, you know? For those who have passed on to find something good and true to hold onto in the afterlife.”

“Do you meet a lot of dead people?” I ask, surprised by his comment.

He laughs and shakes his head. “You have no idea. But yes, I’ve been communing with the dead since I was a kid, albeit it used to be against my will. Now, I’ve made a profession of it.”

I nod. “Are you like a ghost hunter or something?”

“Not quite,” he chuckles. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I have plenty of associates who are in the field, but I prefer the term medium. I typically help people—living and dead—move on.”

“And how do you do that exactly?” Stasi asks suspiciously.

“Sometimes I facilitate communication that can help people handle unfinished business. Other times I might need to use more forceful methods, depending on the circumstances and the spirit.”

“What’s your plan for us then?”

“I’ll admit this is…very different from the majority of cases I take. It’s a pleasant surprise, actually.” Hawthorne’s smile is warm and genuine, relieved. “What is it that you want? Do you want me to tell them you’re here? Would you prefer they believed you passed on? Usually, most spirits cling to the life they had. But you two seem to have moved on in your own way.”

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