We hug Sniper and Anna good-bye and climb in the Ford Focus my mother made my father buy me when they were in town. She was appalled he’d sold my 4Runner, knowing what it meant to me because it had been Axel’s.
The ride to George’s house is silent. I can sense he’s as nervous as me, but when we pull in to his driveway and I park, he turns toward me. I stiffen when I notice the pain in his eyes. He rubs the back of his neck as he stares at me. “Charlotte, I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through,” he whispers, making a strangled noise before looking down. His hands tremble as I reach out to touch him. He takes my hand in his and traces a circle on it with his finger, finally looking back up at me. “I want to take things slow, but I’m fucking dying over here,” he adds as he leans in closer. “I’ve spent the last month terrified you’d be gone when I came back or might have changed your mind about me,” he says, sadly. He tilts his head to the side as he reaches out his hand and runs his thumb down my right cheek. “I need to know . . . do we still have a shot?”
Swallowing hard, I nod, but quickly turn away from him and open my car door. Slipping out, I walk up the steps to his door and wait. After a moment, I hear the car door open and slam shut, then he’s right behind me. I take a few quick breaths; anxiousness and excitement coursing through my body. Licking my lips, I step closer to his door. Not meeting his gaze, I stare ahead at the door and say, “I’d like to spend the night with you. Is that okay?”
He doesn’t say a word as he steps closer behind me. His body is so close, for a second I forget to breathe. My chest pounds at warp speed when his arm grazes my waist. Then he unlocks the door and pushes it open, motioning for me to enter first. Once inside, he flicks on some lights and takes a look around. “Your mom and I came over yesterday and cleaned. We wanted it to be nice for you when you returned.”
“You didn’t have to do that, but I really appreciate it,” he manages. Deciding to put him out of his misery, I finally meet his gaze. Stepping toward him, I reach one hand out and thread my fingers through his hair.
“I’ve really missed you, too,” I whisper as his hands rest on my hips. “I do want to be with you . . . but I need to know something.”
My heart thunders as I remind myself to breathe again. “What do you need to know?” he asks after swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does.
“I need to know you believe me,” I squeak. My mouth is suddenly dry, but I dart my tongue out and lick my lips. “You didn’t believe me before. And that’s okay, not everyone does at first. Hell, my father still doesn’t believe it. But George, I’m not crazy,” I add as I look him square in the eye. “I never asked for this . . . gift, but it’s mine now. There was a time when I hated it with every fiber of my being, but I don’t anymore, because without it, I wouldn’t be here right now. I was in such a dark place I would’ve killed myself that night . . . I know it.” I give him a once-over, but I can’t read his reaction, so I decide to continue. “And because I can see the dead, I’m alive. Ike saved me and brought me here. Without my ability I would’ve never met you.” I remember to get to the point as I nervously push some of my hair behind my ear. “It’s not going away. I will most likely always see the dead, and if we’re going to be together, that may make our relationship difficult at times, especially if you don’t believe me.”
George pulls away and my heart drops to the pit of my stomach.
He doesn’t believe me.
“If I could go back and redo the night you told me that, I swear I would do it differently. My head was so fucked up and . . .” I’m doing a horrible job explaining this. “It was a lot to take in.”
“I know it was,” she tells me, her gaze on the floor.
“Charlotte. Look at me, please.” Her gaze is riddled with sadness when she lifts her head. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I did believe you that night.”
“You did?” she asks, surprised.
“I was mad. Unreasonably so, but I was,” I admit with shame as I run a hand through my hair.
“But, why?”
This is the hard part. This is the part where I have to try to explain why I was such a dick. “I was jealous.”
“What?”