Page 85 of Ghosted
“It’s possible that he couldn’t control it. Once he’s completed his unfinished business, it’s very hard to resist moving on. It goes against nature,” I state, running my hands over the finished puzzle in front of me.
Wren grunts, knowing it’s pointless to argue with me about this. She sits next to me, wrapping her surprisingly strong arm around my shoulders and engulfing me in her coffee and cinnamon scent. “Let’s watch one of your dumb shows. It’ll distract you,” she states, reaching for her remote. She turns on the TV and easily navigates to one of my “dumb shows.”
“Huh, that’s odd. I didn’t watch the third season over here with you,” I say slyly when I notice the “already watched” banner across the previous season ofLove on the Slopes, areality TV show about ski resort workers who are always in and out of relationships or friendships with each other and their high-profile guests. Last season had a huge scandal because one of the leads started seeing a production assistant on the side. It was very messy andveryentertaining. I don’t blame Wren for watching it without me, although I will start giving her shit the next time she complains about it.
“So weird. I think my TV is possessed,” she says quickly, clicking on the first episode of season four.
“I wonder if that blonde guy is going to be back on the show,” I say, leaning forward as the upbeat, royalty-free music starts along with a recap montage of the last season.
“I don’t think so. I haven’t seen anything about him in any of the pre-season interviews,” Wren says absently, smoothing her black throw blanket over her lap.
I bite my lip instead of shouting “Gotcha!” Wren would probably break her TV out of spite if I brought it up.
The episode is nearly over when Dean appears suddenly, grinning like a manic quokka. “They got him,” he says simply before falling to the floor and splaying out like a starfish in front of Wren’s TV.
I look down at Dean and ask hopefully, “They figured it out?” The relief at seeing him in front of me is nearly more than I can bare. My whole goal has been to help him move on, but I am so selfishly relieved that he hasn’t yet. How much longer can I make this last?
Dean draws my attention back to him when he says, “Get this.” He sits up faster than my eyes can process and continues, “He made it all the way to New Hampshire before he got pulled over. Okay, well, first there was a police chase?—”
“What!?” I exclaim, jumping to my feet. Wren looks atme curiously, and I promise to translate for her once I know the details.
Dean stands in front of me, warm-brown eyes crinkled with mirth. “I know! So he was originally going to get pulled over for littering. He threw a Gatorade bottle full of, well,notGatorade out his window,” he says with a grimace.
He grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers together absently and continues, “I think he knew that if he got pulled over, they would have seen that he wasn’t supposed to leave the state, so he panicked.” He goes on to explain all about the police chase, and he (oddly) has a lot to say about cows. I’ve always thought they were kind of cute, but he’s insistent on how creepy they are.
“Why didn’t you come once they arrested him?” I ask, not able to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice.
His smile ticks mischievously, and he says, “I wanted to watch him get booked. I also went back while they were searching the car and saw them find a burner phone under the passenger seat. They were getting a search warrant for the phone and laptop he brought with him. When they informed him, he immediately started sweating, so I feel pretty good about them finding something on there.” I relay the gist of what he said to Wren while we all get comfortable on her sectional again.
“So now it’s just more waiting,” I say with a tired sigh.
“Hurry up and wait,” Dean agrees.
“I say we should get some sleep,” Wren says with a yawn. “Nothing interesting will happen until the morning anyway.”
“I’m not sleeping on this couch,” I say, standing up again. “I’ll drive home. See you tomorrow.” I have made the mistake of not going home only a few times. Wren has had this couchsince she first moved out, and it was our parents’ before that. I’m fairly sure I still have a spring-shaped indent on my back from the last time I slept over.
Wren states, “Suit yourself. Let me know what happens?”
“Of course,” I reply, shrugging into my jacket.
Deanand I are lying on our backs, moonlight playing across bared skin, fingers entwined atop messy sheets. I scan him, noting the slight glow his skin gives off, and heave a contented sigh. I never thought I’d find someone like him. Someone who feels like they’re made just for me. Whose angles line up perfectly with mine, like we were designed with the other in mind. In a lot of ways, we’re nothing alike, but I think that’s what makes it feel so right. He’s soft where I’ve been hardened, light where I feel heavy.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, voice rumbling into the quiet of the night.
“You. Us, I guess,” I say, tracing his hand with a gentle fingertip, committing the grooves and ridges to memory.
“Yeah?” he asks. I smile, thinking that this is the true magic of Dean. He never makes me feel like he’s pushing me off some emotional cliff, but he somehow walks me right up to the edge without my noticing. Suddenly, I’m staring down at the vast canyon, and he’s right there, ready to leap with me.
I swallow around the silly anxiety bubbling in my chest. “Yeah.”
“Do you want to know what I was thinking?” He asks, capturing my hand and bringing it to his lips for a tingling kiss. I make a noise of assent, and he tugs me closer, so we’re chest tochest and can look each other in the eye. “I was thinking that I need to expand my vocabulary.”
I laugh a little. “Mm I don’t know about that. You’re already pretty verbose.”
He feathers his fingertips along my side, and I laugh harder. “Hush,” he admonishes. “I can’t help that law school taught me big words.”
“So why do you need a bigger vocabulary?” I ask, running a thumb across his ever-present five o’clock shadow.
