Page 31 of Haunt Me, Maybe

The words tasted like broken glass, but saying them gave me the courage to pull back from Wes’s hold and catalog the damage. The ward circle was obliterated; the chalk scorched into the hardwood, and crystals shattered into useless shards.

Great. That was going to be a nightmare to clean.

At least the wards around the attic held. That was probably the only reason I was still alive. Wes sat rigid in front of me, his arms loose around my waist like he hadn’t quite decided whether or not to let go.

“His name—” I tried, but the words swelled in my throat.

His name, Fenn said, is Gideon. And if he gets his hands on her, he will kill her and drain her magic in a very brutal, very painful death ritual.

My body betrayed me again. Tremors rolled through me, sharp and uncontrollable.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

Wes didn’t hesitate. He scooped me up as if I weighed nothing—one arm under my knees, the other firm at my back—and stood. I gasped softly at the sudden motion, at the way my body intuitively curled into his as he carried me across the room and laid me gently on the bed.

The contact was overwhelming. Too much and not enough. His heat, his solidity, the memory of our kiss still coiled low in my chest. But he sat beside me like he belonged there. He didn’t vanish. Didn’t run. Didn’t flinch at the wreckage or the magic or the name. Instead, he leaned in.

“He can’t have you,” Wes declared. His voice was fierce now, shaken and intimate all at once. “Not once I’ve decided you’re mine.”

The words sparked an ember low in my stomach. Mine. I liked the sound of that far too much. But fear came fast on the heels of that warmth, because if Gideon found me, he wouldn’t settle for just my magic. Absorbing a ghost—this ghost—would make him unstoppable.

Exhaustion crashed over me, bone-deep and merciless. My muscles went slack, and my head tipped until it rested against Wes’s shoulder. His arm came around me immediately, drawing me closer, hand firm on my lower back like he was daring the universe to try something.

“You’re safe,” Wes whispered, his breath drifting over the top of my head. “I’ve got you.”

Something inside me cracked. A slow break; the way ice does when it’s been holding pressure for too long. My eyes burned with tears that wouldn’t fall. I’d done enough crying in my life, but something about his gentle promise touched a part of me I thought didn’t exist anymore. Outside, Amber Grove moved on in its usual routine; perfectly normal. Perfectly unaware.

Here, in the attic, my breaths finally steadied—braced by a ghost who shouldn’t have been able to hold me at all. I allowed my eyes to drift shut. For a few precious seconds, I let myself believe the quiet. I let myself sink into the solid warmth at my side. Wes’s arm was still around me, like he held the line between me and everything that wanted to tear me apart.

But fear was patient.

It crept in softly, winding its way through the calm until the comfort began to feel dangerous. Temporary. I’d felt this before—this fragile moment right before something broke. My breathing stayed even, but something inside me folded. I eased my grip on his shirt without fully letting go. My shoulders drew in a fraction, and my spine stiffened despite his hold.

Wes noticed.

I felt it in the way his body stilled, in the slight tightening of his arm like he was bracing for impact. I didn’t pull away from him completely. I couldn’t find the strength to; not yet. But I stopped leaning into him. I tucked my chin and focused on a distant spot on the floor where the broken circle smoked faintly.

His hand shifted on my back. A thumb pressed in a grounding line along my spine. It was a silent check-in, a quiet don’t go. But I couldn’t meet his eyes. If I did, I knew I’d shatter.

That fear wasn’t loud anymore. It was calculating.

This was how people close to me got hurt. This was how towns burned. I was stupid for trusting whatever was building between us; for giving Gideon exactly what he was looking for. A way in. I remained how I was—close enough to feel Wes’s warmth, but far enough that it couldn’t reach whatever wall I was scrambling to build around my heart.

Wes didn’t push. Didn’t demand an answer for my abrupt change. He didn’t even say my name. The silence between us stretched, heavy with things neither of us were ready to say. Was this the end of our truce? Would he go back to hating me now? I wouldn’t blame him.

Everywhere I went, destruction followed…and I couldn’t always blame it on Gideon. Sometimes it was just me.

Wes

Aven froze in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion. Her breathing evened out, and her muscles no longer shook, but something essential leached out and left behind a near hollow shell of the girl I’d come to know. She never left my arms—not physically, anyway—but she stopped resting in them.

Stopped trusting me to carry her weight.

It was subtle; anyone else would have missed it. I didn’t. I tightened my hold to let her know I was still here. Maybe she was lost in nightmares, the scare with that Gideon guy triggering past trauma. I didn’t want her to feel trapped or like I was demanding anything from her.

I just wanted her to know I was here.

She didn’t respond. Her gaze was fixed on some imaginary spot on the floor. Ah. That look. I’d seen it before—not on witches, but on my own reflection. That was the look of spiraling self-pity. It was taking blame for a tragedy that wasn’t her fault—something I was intimately familiar with.