Page 39 of Bleeding Outside the Lines

Radio silence. This is her right? Who the fuck else would it be? I stand and remove myself from the booth, casting my eyes around the club.

My phone pings.

Unknown number: No office booty call.

Unknown number: Unless it is me…

We can do that again. Maybe without so much blood next time

Unknown number: Is it the risk? Or the pain?

It’s you.

Unknown number: Go dance. You do that sometimes, right?

Do I have to?

Unknown number: Appearances.

Putting my phone in my pocket, I blow my breath out slowly, audibly. This is the fucking last thing I want to be doing right now. Poker face, Cassius. Poker face. I walk down the steps and nod to the security guard at the VIP entrance. He nods back in response and takes out his phone to text the rest of the security team, letting them know I’ll be on the floor.

The dance floor is busy, and it fucking smells—alcohol, perfume, cologne, and body odor. They all hover like a storm cloud waiting to hit you in the face. Sweaty bodies surround me. I wade through them, narrowly avoiding having my junk grabbed by some woman wearing a veil and a sash that says BRIDE. I hate bachelorette parties, and I’m not saying that bachelor parties are any better, but bachelorette parties are loudand messy, and the women are always leaking makeup down their faces because someone is always crying.

I find a small group of women dancing together and slowly work my way between them. Gliding my hand over the small of one back, I flash a one-sided smirk at another. I’m greeted with smiles and grinding hips as I try to pretend this is where I want to be. A blonde woman grinds on one of my legs, trailing a finger down my chest. Her friend lingers for a minute and then moves behind me, grinding on my ass. I move my body with theirs. Normally this is where I would whisk one away, but I won’t because all I can think about is getting home to Ember. Ember in my T-shirt. Ember in my bed. Ember on my dick.

Ember.

My watch vibrates with an incoming text.

Unknown number: ABORT.

Thank God.Extracting myself from the girls, I feign disappointment, gesturing that I have to go. Turning around, I come face to face with a ghost. She smiles and turns, pushing between groups of people and disappearing deeper into the dance floor. My feet are rooted where I stand. The bodies around me move in hyper-time while I’m in slow motion. Everything around me blurs.

Hannah.

But that’s impossible. Hannah has been dead for twelve years.

Garrett stumbles into my line of sight, his face is white, his eyes wide.

He saw her too. He’s no longer the twenty-eight-year-old tech genius, but the broken sixteen-year-old boy of his past. His face twists with anguish. His pupils dilate. I need to get him out of here. Fuck. I don’t know who the fuck that was, but there’s no way.No fucking way.

I grab Garrett by the arm and pull him from the dance floor, shoving bodies as I go. He moves like he’s wading through sand, slow and heavy. I motion to one of the bouncers for help. Together we help him up the stairs. I can’t wait for him to gain proper movement of his legs again. We need to figure out what the fuck just happened.

We deposit him on the couch and the bouncer leaves, the door locking behind him.

“G,” I plead. “Tell me what you saw.”

His eyes skate across the room until they finally land on me.

“Cass, she…” But he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead he covers his mouth with his hand and runs to the bathroom behind me. He chokes and spurts, but nothing comes out. When the dry heaving stops, I speak.

“She’s dead, Garrett. We saw her body.”

“But Cass, her dad. He could have—”

“No, he couldn’t. She’s dead.”

Realization dawns on both of us, but Garrett is the first one to say it out loud. “It was a closed casket.”

---