Page 123 of The Haunting of Lockton
When he tossed me a smirk, it caused little flip-flops in my belly. “See, snow isn’t all bad. Because now you get your most favorite breakfast ever.”
I returned his smirk and bit back my response that my favorite breakfast lived in his pants with its sausage goodness. But poor Alan had been tortured enough by our—probably loud—fuck fests upstairs, so I spared him the visual.
Despite the evil white stuff falling from the sky, it was a nice morning. Paxton cooked the blueberry pancakes I loved for breakfast, and the two of us sat at the table to eat. Alan joined us. Before coming downstairs, I had checked on Julian, and he’d still been asleep. The days were catching up to him. With the investigation over, he could focus on nothing but getting some much-needed rest.
We both could.
If only it were that simple.
“Pax?”
He was at the sink, rinsing off his plate, and turned to me. “Yeah?”
“Do you think I’m in the wrong here? About the whole Lockton thing and telling Jules to let it go? Because I feel like an asshole.”
“You want to protect your brother,” he responded. “It’s a valid reason. Until he learns more about his gift, it’s dangerous for him to use it.”
The memory of Owen flashed through my head. The blood gushing from the gunshot wound. His mangled jaw. His growling rasps and anger. Mostly the torment in his voice when he spoke of Roy. We were abandoning him in that cellblock. We were abandoning Roy too, who would stand at that damn window for the next hundred years, still waiting for Owen.
And we were abandoning George. Alison. The rest of the ghosts who’d whispered their names to us on the EVP.
“What would you do in my shoes?” I asked.
Paxton dried off his hands and faced me, his face scrunching up as he thought. “I’d want to do everything I could to help them. But wanting something isn’t always enough. The light Julian displayed that repelled Owen probably has the potential to do much more than that, but until he learns more about that type of magic, the risk is too great.”
“I agree,” Alan said from the archway. He crossed his arms and leaned against the frame, looking and sounding so human. “The doctor’s ghost, as well as the man in the cellblock, sound like wrathful spirits. Their anger has tainted them, making them more likely to harm you.”
Their words alleviated some of my guilt. Our job had been to find answers, and we’d done that. Anything more was out of our wheelhouse. At least for now.
“So.” Paxton wiped off the counter. Was he intentionally keeping himself busy so he wouldn’t have to look at me? “I know Thanksgiving is in a few days. I always put up our Christmas tree the day after.”
Alan’s face lit up, much like the lights on the mentioned tree.
Paxton folded the rag and stared down at it, the tops of his cheeks darkening. “I was wondering if you and Julian would like to help me this year. You know. With the decorating and stuff.”
“Yeah,” I answered, kind of excited about it. Julian would be too. “We haven’t decorated a tree in… fuck, I can’t even remember when.”
When Paxton finally faced me, his smile nearly took my breath away. Fuck. He was beautiful. “Okay. Great.”
Alan’s head jerked to the hall behind me before he vanished.
“Morning,” a croaky voice said. Julian shuffled into the kitchen, his shaggy hair tousled and a pink mark on his right cheek from where he’d slept hard.
“It’s almost noon now,” I told him, motioning to the digital clock on the stove that displayed 11:26. “You’re turning into me.”
“God help me.”
“Rude. Remind me again why I saved you a plate of Paxton’s amazing pancakes? You clearly don’t deserve them.”
Julian perked up at that. “The blueberry ones?”
“Say you’re sorry, and I may have mercy on your soul. You can bow down while you’re at it. Oh, and say I’m the best, most handsome brother in the entire world and that—”
Julian slugged me in the arm.
“Ow!”
A deep laugh came from the living room.
