Page 19 of Grave Misgivings
“You didn’t mean to call me,” he grunts.
I don’t miss the venom behind his voice, and I think whatever it was I said must have been pretty bad. Regret floods me.
“Yeah. I was just, uh?—”
“Drunk. Yeah, I know. It happens.” I can hear him moving around. A door opens and shuts, the whir of what sounds like a coffee pot is ambient noise.
He sighs, his tone shifting just the slightest. “I’m sorry, too.”
I pull on my watch, glancing at the phone, at his name.
A part of me feels like he’s here, but he’s not.
And he’llneverbe here. Here isn’t where he belongs; he made that more than clear ten years ago.
“For what?” I ask, my heart in my throat.
Am I such a glutton for punishment?
“For what it’s worth, itsoundedlike you had fun.” His tone is softer, but it’s still smooth and comforting.
Still masculine and strong.
It’s not all that different when he sings.
Or when he used to sing, when it was just the two of us.
I was always trying to get him to perform more. Technically, he was hired to be my guitarist for my band, but after a night cosmic bowling with some friends at the time, I knew more people needed to hear himsing.
His voice is amazing. It’s like Sleep Token, but sexier.
If that’s even possible.
“I really am sorry. I mean, it was like two-thirty in the morning.”
Zeb lets out a dark chuckle. “Look at you staying out past your bedtime,” he teases me.
My heart thuds like a drum in my chest.
I miss this.
I miss him.
Us.
I miss my best friend.
“Yeah, well, don’t get excited. I don’t plan on a repeat anytime soon.” I slide my boots on, run my hands through my hair with a quick spritz of product, and take a look at myself in the mirror.
One look and I immediately make for my makeup bag and dig for my concealer. My eyes look fucking wrecked.
“Drink some coffee, take some ibuprofen, and eat some bacon, you’ll be just fine.”
“Seriously, who in their right mind does this shit more than once?” I reach for my contacts, omitting my thick tortoise-shell glasses. I pat the concealer under my eyes. I learned early on that if I just viewed all of this as a costume, or a uniform, it was easier.
BeingGravediggeris a job like anything else. It’s not that different from the image I used to have to portray when I was just Geo Graves.
It just feels different because I’m famous now and I go byGravediggerinstead, and traded in my polos and khakis for abs, ripped jeans, and leather jackets.
