I roll my head until I’m facing her. “Why didn’t you try to haunt me when I showed up?”

Willow loses her smile, gently facing me. “Because. You aren’t an asshole. And I felt sorry for you.”

“You felt sorry for me? Why?”

She shrugs. “You just seemed sad.”

I seemed sad?

Am I sad?

I tear my gaze from hers and look up at the ceiling.

“Have you always been sad?” she asks.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean when you say sad. Give me an example.”

“It’s mostly when Layla leaves a room,” Willow says. “You stare at the door for a long time with this distant look in your eyes. Sometimes you seem sad even when you’re with her. I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I get. I’m probably wrong.”

I shouldn’t be shaking my head, but I am. “You aren’t wrong.”

She sits up again, holding the sheet up over her breasts. I tilt my head on the pillow and look at her.

“Do you not enjoy being with her?” she asks.

“I used to. But now it’s . . . complicated,” I keep my voice low because for whatever reason, it feels like less of an admission if I say it quietly. “A lot has changed between us since that night. Since the shooting. We aren’t the same couple we were in the beginning. She’s been through a lot, physically, emotionally, mentally. And of course I would never give up on her, but . . .” I don’t know how to finish my sentence. I’ve never admitted any of this out loud.

“But what?” Willow asks.

I exhale. “Sometimes I wonder, if I would have met her today . . . how she is now . . . would I have fallen in love with her as easily as I fell in love with her in the beginning? I don’t know. Part of me thinks maybe I wouldn’t be able to fall in love with this version of her at all. And when I have those thoughts . . . it makes me feel like shit. Because I’m the reason she is the way she is. I’m the reason she’s so unhappy now. Because I failed to protect her.”

Willow’s expression is sympathetic. Almost regretful—like she didn’t mean to open up this can of worms. She inhales a soft breath and releases it into the silent room. “Maybe things will eventually go back to exactly how they were in the beginning between you two. If it’s any consolation, you don’t seem as sad now. Not like when you first showed up here.”

I look at her pointedly. “That has nothing to do with Layla and everything to do with you,” I admit.

Willow doesn’t react to that with anything other than her eyes. They flicker a little, as if she wasn’t expecting me to say it.

I shouldn’t have said it. As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt the guilt. But I said it, and I said it because it’s the truth. I look forward to these moments with Willow more than I look forward to time with Layla.

What does that say about me?

I sit up and slide my hands up my face, then into my hair. I’m gripping the back of my neck when I completely change the subject. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you something to eat?”

Willow stares at me, unmoving, as if my words are still sinking in. But then she nods and slips gracefully out of bed, leaving the sheet behind. She walks confidently to the closet and takes down one of Layla’s shirts. She catches me watching her as she pulls it over her head. I can’t even tear my eyes away this time.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she says evenly. She walks out of the room, and I listen as her footsteps fade down the stairs.

I wait a couple of minutes before heading down myself. I’m shamefully aware that the sight of Willow naked had more of an effect on me than when Layla had my dick in her mouth. And that makes no fucking sense. It’s Layla’s body either way.

 

I made grilled cheese. Layla only had a salad for dinner, and Willow said the hunger pains were intense tonight, so I made her two sandwiches.

I’m relieved Willow has been taking over Layla’s body, even if just for the nutritional benefit. Not that grilled cheese is all that nutritional, but it’s better on Layla’s body than too few calories, and Layla certainly wouldn’t willingly eat a grilled cheese.

Her obsession with dieting has been a concern of mine for a while now, but I haven’t really made it a priority because so many other things with Layla have been my focus for the last six months. I thought the eating would work itself out.

It hasn’t, but Willow at least makes it less of a concern for me.

She’s on her second sandwich, and neither of us has spoken since I handed her the plate of food. I’m on my laptop, staring at the listing for the house. I’m still torn about what to do.

I don’t want to leave Willow alone, but I know Layla doesn’t want to stay here. I would ask Willow to come with us, but that’s not really an option. I can’t allow her to continue using Layla’s body. It was only supposed to be a temporary fix—a way for Willow and me to communicate. But it’s taking its toll on Layla.

It’s taking a toll on me.

The only solution I can think of is to buy this place. If I do that, Layla and I can visit. Willow could still take over Layla’s body the few times a year we come here. And in the meantime, we could work on finding answers for Willow. When she’s ready for that, of course.

I email the Realtor and make an offer that’s $10,000 over the asking price, but I let her know I’d like the option to continue to occupy the property during closing.

I don’t know how Layla will feel about staying even longer, but Layla’s concern doesn’t seem to weigh on my decision. I’ve made it, and I’m prepared to deal with the fallout.

After I send the message to the Realtor, I check a few unopened messages in my in-box. One is from an address I don’t recognize.

Leeds,

It’s been a while since you’ve been in the forum. I apologize if reaching out to you beyond the forum makes you uncomfortable, but I do have a talent for separating the wheat from the chaff. I believe you, and I hope you can believe me in return.

I can help your ghost.

There’s no name attached to the email, but I recognize the title in the email address. UncoverInc.

How did he find me? I didn’t even use my real name in the forum.

I immediately go to the forum to check my profile, wondering if it pulled my information from Facebook somehow. All the settings are private, though, but before I log back out, a chat message pops up.

Did you get my email?

I look across the table at Willow, but she’s still eating, not paying attention to me. I shift in my chair and then hit respond.

Yes. How did you get my email address?

Never communicate with someone through a cell phone if you’re hoping to stay anonymous. I, however, have no interest in you or who you are, so there’s no need to be concerned. I’m interested in your ghost. Did you find anything out about her?

No.

Are you still at the bed & breakfast?

I lean back in my chair and stare at that message, unnerved. He knows where we’re staying? My heart begins pumping wildly in my chest. The last time someone found out where we were staying—it didn’t end well. I immediately push back from the table and walk to the front door to make sure it’s locked.