Page 163 of Haunt Me

I rub my eyes. I have been hibernating since last night’s show, and I’m still not fully awake.

“Your sets are guarded tighter than the Pentagon. I wouldn’t be allowed there if I sold my right arm for it,” I tell him.

“I’m inviting you, you doofus,” he explains. “I thought you could come in-between your shows, if you have the time.”

“You would do that for me?” I stand up real fast, and I need to sit back down real quick. “You-you…” I stutter.

“You ok there, Zay?”

“Just got dizzy.”

“I’m told I have that effect on people.” I imagine him smirking self-conceitedly. That’s not even a word, I invented it just for him. I should put it in a song, just to get back at him for him giving me aheart attack every time I pick up the phone. “Well, what do you say?”

“Are you playing matchmaker all of a sudden, Darcy?”

I hear him laugh. “Maybe.”

“Why.” It’s not a question.

“The work I started, I will finish,” he says.

I stand up again, even more surprised. I know these words by heart—I have been taught them as a kid.

“Weston Spencer, are you quoting Scripture to me right now?”

“You bet I am,” he replies without hesitation. He doesn’t sound surprised at all that I know Bible verses by heart. “Been studying it daily.”

I don’t know what to say. I would never have thought, not in a million years, that someone like bad boy Spencer would start believing in God. Then again, I would never in a million years have thought that I might be trying to do the same thing.

“Miracles do happen, I guess,” I murmur. “Wait, you might be the right person to ask this,” I continue before I change my mind. Something urges me to snatch this chance—I know it might never come again.

“Ask and we’ll find out,” Wes says.

“Is it too late for me?”

“No,” he replies instantly. Then, “For what?”

“Why did you answer ‘no’ if you don’t know what I’m asking?” Frustration bubbles up inside me.

Hope. Hope does that to me.Hope gets me, every single time. I hate myself already, just for asking. But I did it. The words came out of my mouth.

Their truth burned my lips.

I think of the coal, and I wait for his answer.

“Because it isn’t too late,” Wes replies, and somehow it sounds as if he’s smiling. I want to smash his face in right now. “But what for, Isaiah?”

“To believe again,” I get the words out with some effort.

There is a short pause, which is rare indeed with Spencer. He’s thinking. When he speaks again, his voice has changed. It’s deeper, gruff with emotion, but fierce and determined.

“Listen to me, Isaiah. It’s never too late, ok? It wasn’t for me, and if it was too late for anyone, it would have been for me. Your brother may have not told you this, but I was dead for nearly ten seconds. Ari was doing CPR on me, and I was—” his voice breaks.

I hear muffling sounds, as if he is fighting to control his voice.

“I should be the one rescuing her and instead, she had to keep me alive with her bare hands,” he says. “And after all that, it still wasn’t too late to hope, to be forgiven, to believe. To live, Isaiah. To live. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“I do.” My throat is all clogged up now too, damn him.

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