My palm finds the door handle, and I breach the threshold, accepting the truth. I become the death in the room. Emptying. Numbing. I become a vessel with no soul because mine is in the hallway in the hands of a man who turns and walks away just like I intended.
Part of me hopes he’ll turn around and argue with me. That he’ll walk in here and shake me until he makes sense of this mess in my head.
Part of me hopes he’ll fight for me.
But he doesn’t.
So I walk to the bed and fall into the chair beside it, reaching for my mother’s cold, stiff hand.
Only then do the tears fall.
I cry until my entire body hurts. Until my sobs run dry. Until I’m as much of a ghost as she is.
Somewhere outside the hospital, I swear I hear Dean start his bike. I close my eyes and say goodbye.
17
Willa
Dean flicks on alight as he closes the door behind us. Dust hangs heavy in the air, visible with the light streaming from overhead.
“Who lives here?” I wipe my finger over a table, swiping away the dust.
“No one. It was Soul’s father’s house. But it’s his house now.” Dean leads me down a hallway to the left. “He keeps the sheets changed and the rooms somewhat clean since people crash here from time to time, but it’s been a while since the last person stayed.”
“Soul doesn’t mind us being here?”
Dean shakes his head. “Nah. He never comes by this house. He couldn’t care less.”
“But you said it was his father’s?”
“They weren’t close.” Dean shrugs. “And since Soul put a bullet in the back of his head, he doesn’t like revisiting the past.”
My eyes widen, trying to imagine what could have happened that would make Soul kill his father. I wonder if that’s why I’ve sensed something darker hiding behind his smile.
Dean squeezes my hand. “Soul’s dad was a piece of shit who turned on his own club. Don’t worry, he deserved it.”
He deserved it.
He says it like it’s nothing. Like the club has its own means of delivering justice that exists outside of the law. It’s a little too much like home, even if I understand it.
“I can handle going back to the clubhouse if that’s where you need to be. I understand,” I say as we walk past a number of rooms with empty beds.
Even with so many room choices, Dean doesn’t offer to let me sleep in my own, and I don’t say anything because it feels good to be beside him.
“It looked like you could use a break from that place.”
“Sorry.” I frown.
He squeezes my hand. “Don’t be.”
“You probably have things you need to deal with. I can always stay at Reagan’s house.”
“The same shit will be there tomorrow. I’ll deal with it then.” He leads me into a room with a king-size bed. Pale-green walls and sun-bleached furniture date the decor. Soul might keep the house clean for people to sleep in as needed, but it’s clear he hasn’t bothered changing anything.
These walls might as well be haunted.
I glance around, noticing this room is dusted, and there’s a perfumy scent. “This room is cleaner than it was downstairs.”
