Page 63 of Death Match

Not only did I always keep my small bedroom in the afterlife dark all the time, I didn’t own an alarm clock. Neither did Eli.

Where the hell was I? What was going on?

Heartbeat jumping into a gallop, I jutted upright in bed. Floral wallpaper surrounded me, along with simple white furniture and a closet for two loaded with clothes. Even the bed I was in had a baby blue duvet and fresh cotton linens.

Nope. Definitely not the afterlife or Heaven’s Holdings.

So then, where was I? This didn’t look like a Trial. And yet, it had to be. Right?

The bedroom door creaked open.

Eli?

But when the sandy blond hair and boyishly handsome face peered inside, I choked on my own breath.

“C-Cole?” I rubbed my eyes and blinked, convinced what I was seeing was a mirage, hallucination, or something. Then, I glanced down and realized I was wearing a thin nightgown that barely covered anything. Panicked, I gripped the covers and tugged it over my top half to hide myself.

Seeing that I was actually awake, he opened the door fully and stepped inside, holding two mugs in his hands. One had a picture of Garfield and a talk-bubble saying how much he hated Mondays on it, while the other just said, “No coffee. No workee.”

“Morning,” he said with his normal half-smile. Walking over to the foot of the bed, he held out the Garfield mug for me to take. “Be careful. It’s hot.”

Confused—oh, so confused—I didn’t move. Stunned stiff.

He extended the offering a little more. “It’s how you like it. Cream… Two sugars.” His smirk said he was proud of himself for remembering such a thing, and really, I was supposed to be impressed. But I was still too wrapped up in what was happening to move.

When I didn’t acknowledge him still, he rolled his eyes and came over, pushing the Garfield cup into my hands.

I stared down at the brown liquid and inhaled deeply. The bittersweet smell of freshly brewed coffee beans filled my nose, and I smiled reflexively.

“There she is.” He grinned. “It’s like an on switch.”

I glanced up at him. “Maybe you should have given me that mug then.” I pointed to his “No coffee. No workee” one.

“You know, I was going to, but then I put the cream and sugar into the wrong one.” He shrugged. “And you know I like mine black—”

“Like your soul?”

He chuckled and toasted the cup my way. “Exactly.”

“Saw that joke coming a mile away,” I said and tilted the cup to my lips.

“Still applies.”

“Sure does.”

We both laughed, and in that purely innocent moment, I realized I had almost forgotten why I was here in the first place. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to fall back into our usual witty banter. Especially when I had tried so hard to push him and everything to do with him out of my thoughts all together.

When I took a sip of the coffee, I nearly choked on the sweet, delicious liquid.

“What?” Cole asked. “Don’t tell me I did it wrong again?”

Again? What was he talking about? He’d made coffee for me before? He made it sound like this was a normal exchange between us.

What was going on?

“Shit, what did I mess up this time? Are there grounds? Not enough sugar?” He inspected his own mug with a grimace.

“No, no. It’s not that.” I set the coffee down on the nightstand, confused by what was happening. Wasn’t I supposed to be doing something important right now? There was a strange nagging sensation at the nape of my neck telling me I did, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember what that was. Why couldn’t I remember?

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