He Saw My Ghost All Along, And Grew Tired Of My Clinging Chapter 10

He Saw My Ghost All Along, And Grew Tired Of My Clinging Chapter 10

The thought sat in my chest like a block of ice. I couldn’t move.

“Give us a minute,” Reid said in a low voice.

I snapped out of it, muttered, “Yes, sir,” and walked out on numb legs.

I pressed my back against the wall outside his office and couldn’t stop thinking.

If I was right, someone had been watching Reid for a long time.

Anyone who got close to him became a target. And if they didn’t back off, they died, Like I did.

The car accident wasn’t an accident. Someone made it happen.

My jaw tightened. Something cold and sharp settled behind my ribs.

If that was true, I’d find whoever did it. And I’d make them pay.

Because of them, I lost everything. Four years of agony, mine and Reid’s.

Reid wouldn’t have had to suffer alone for so long.

I watched him hollow out over those years. Every day he faded a little more, and it gutted me.

I checked the balance on this body’s bank account and found a private investigator online. Someone

decent. Someone discreet.

I needed the truth.

When work ended, the sky had opened up. Rain hammered the streets.

I stood under the building’s overhang for fifteen minutes. No cabs. Nothing.

Nadine walked past, glanced at me, and got into her car without a word.

I was calculating whether I could sprint to the subway when someone stopped next to me.

“Can’t get a cab?”

Reid. My eyes shot up before I could stop them.

Our eyes met. I looked away too fast.

“Yeah. It’s coming down too hard. No one’s stopping.”

Something flickered at the corner of his mouth, almost a smile. It disappeared before I could be

sure.

“Get in. I’ll drive you.”

I blinked. That morning, he’d been all ice. Now he was offering me a ride?

But I was soaked and out of options.

“Thank you, Mr. Vaughn.”

I climbed in. And there it was, hanging from the rearview mirror. My breath caught.

Back when I was learning to crochet, I’d made a little four–leaf clover for him.

“Good luck,” I’d told him. I hung it there myself.

After everything, after four years and all that pain, he’d left it there.

“The woman I loved made this. Crocheted it herself and put it right there. What do you think? Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I nodded. The ache in my throat was almost unbearable.

“She must have meant a lot to you.‘

“I thought we were.”

That caught me off guard.

I turned to look at him.

His eyes stayed on the road.

“She kept things from me. And because of that, there were a hundred things I wanted to say to her but never could.”

“I thought she trusted me enough to come to me when something was wrong. She didn’t.”

I couldn’t tell if he was talking about us, about me, or if I was reading into everything.

I said nothing.

He glanced at the rain streaking down the windshield..

“What’s your favorite food?”

I was too distracted to think. The answer came out on its own.

“Fish.”

I didn’t see his knuckles go white on the steering wheel. I didn’t see the flash in his eyes.

His voice was rougher when he asked the next one.

“Do you have a favorite color?”

ink.” I still wasn’t paying attention.

My mind was somewhere else entirely, circling the same question. Who killed me? And how was I going to prove it?

Finding the truth was one thing. Getting justice was another.

I didn’t notice where the car was heading. It wasn’t toward the address this body called home.

I’d never told him where I lived.

The streets outside the window started looking familiar.

“One more question.” His voice dropped. Something barely held back trembled underneath it.

“Is there someone you’re in love with?”

My head snapped toward him.

The car wasn’t moving. He was looking right at me.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. I didn’t know what to say.

“Someone you’ve loved so long you can’t let go? Someone who got so deep under your skin there’s

no getting free?”

Each question landed closer than the last.

I looked out the window. We were parked outside his estate.

My heart slammed against my ribs. This was spiraling out of my hands.

“Mr. Vaughn, I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

I kept my voice steady. Or tried to.

His hand closed around my wrist. Gentle. Sure.

“Your face is different. Your name is different. But I’d know you anywhere from the way you talk,

the things you reach for, and every little habit.”

“You thought you could hide from me, Elise?”