A lump rises in my throat. I’ve helped many people move on, crossover, but when Ike leaves . . . it’s going to hurt. I close my eyes as I realize how real that truth is. Ike has somehow weaved his way into my heart and when he goes, I will mourn him. As he stares at the water, I wish like hell I could take his hand and hold it. I’d give anything to do it.
“Sniper was right, Charlotte. You are a special girl,” Ike says, softly. Turning back to the water, he steps away from me, and I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Ike is so deep; everything seems to have meaning to him. He didn’t bring me out here to impress me or anything silly like that. He brought me here to share his peace, to give me peace. My eyes tear up as I think about the last time I truly felt peace. It’s been a while. Taking a seat on a large rock near the bank, I close my eyes and let the sounds of nature calm me; cleanse me. Ike is quiet until it’s time for us to go or I’ll be late for work.
“Are you ready?” he asks. I stand and nod, feeling a little better from my quiet time, and we climb in my truck and head back down the mountain.
“Thank you for that, Ike,” I whisper.
Giving me that stellar, all-American boy smile, he says, “You’re welcome.”
As we near town, I realize I have something to do before I head to work. The timing is terrible, but Ike can’t be with me while I do this. “Ike, I hate to ask, but could you maybe give me some privacy? I just need a little time to myself. I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”
His gaze meets mine, suspicion swimming in the depths of his brown eyes. It’s a look I’ve seen on George’s face a few times. “Okay,” he says, simply, before he disappears. With a deep sigh of relief, I focus on the road before me and head over to Berkley.
Ike is waiting in the parking lot for me when I show up, his muscular arms crossed as he leans against a random vehicle. He doesn’t ask where I’ve been; he simply follows me inside without a word. I head back into the kitchen to toss my backpack in the office, the skin on the back of my neck standing on end. Ike is watching me and my body is very aware of it. Sniper is in the kitchen standing over the fryer, wearing a white apron that looks way too small for him as I pass by. Sensing my presence, his head snaps up and his devilish smirk appears. His gaze begins at my eyes and moves to my chest where it seems to stay for a very obvious, long moment.
“He’s staring at your tits,” Ike notes gruffly. If I could talk to him right now, I’d reply, ‘No fucking duh, Ike.’
“Good morning, gorgeous.” Sniper winks at me, his stare still honed in on my breasts. In his defense, he did warn me he was a perv.
Shaking my head, I reply, “Good morning, Sniper. Thanks for dropping off George last night. That was fun,” I state, my tone rich with sarcasm.
Sniper cringes at my words and says, “He said you knew he was coming.”
“No, I didn’t.” I shake my head and then realize I shouldn’t be giving Sniper a hard time. “Actually, I’m glad you drove him because otherwise he might’ve driven himself, and if he’d made it alive without killing anyone or himself, then I would have fucking killed him.”
When I open the office door, George is sitting at his desk, head in his hands, when he jerks up at my entrance. “Don’t you ever knock?” he hisses.
“Feeling rough today, boss?” I ask snidely. What can I say? My patience for George is extremely close to being gone.
“Shut the door,” George orders as he pulls out a flask and takes a large swig.
“Hair of the dog?”
“Yeah,” he replies and nods. “Listen,” he huffs, as he puts the flask back in his desk drawer and slams it shut. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“Which part, boss? The part where I caught you snorting coke with Misty, or the part where you showed up shit-faced at my motel room and I had to drive you home?”
“Well . . . both,” he admits with a slight frown. It’s not hard to see he’s embarrassed.
“I know you’re doing things your way and all, but acting like a bitch to him isn’t going to win him over. And you are trying to help him, right?” Ike adds, arms tightly crossed, watching the interaction between George and I. Moments like this, I wish I could zip ghosts’ mouths shut. They talk nonstop, making it impossible to focus. Not to mention, this particular ghost just called me a bitch. He’s definitely getting a kick in the balls for that later, figuratively speaking.
Ignoring Ike, I return my focus to George. “No worries, boss.” I shrug, wishing I could give Ike the middle finger. “If you want to waste your life away on drugs, what’s it to me?”
George’s shameful expression twists into anger as his features “You don’t know me,” he snarls. “You have no idea what I’m going through.”
God, if he only knew. Clearly, I know exactly what he’s going through, but that’s a conversation for another time and place. “I know you better than you think, George, and let me just say, when you bottom out, just remember up is the only way to go.” I add, “May I have my apron, please?” I quickly change the subject. With a huff, he yanks open his desk drawer and tosses me a small, black apron.