Last Girl Ghosted(110)
I am the storm?
Damn straight.
“I hope you don’t mind that I came by,” Bailey says now. We’re both as tense and awkward as tweens at our first dance.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I manage to say. “I realize that I haven’t thanked you for everything you’ve done. Or said that I am so sorry about Mia. And about Sabrina. She tried to help me, and Adam nearly killed her.”
He bows his head. “The conversation with Henry Thorpe was a heartbreaker. But Nora was right, he deserved closure, deserved to grieve his loss. I could give him that at least.”
He lifts his head.
“And Sabrina—she’s doing okay. But that was my fault,” he says. Regret pulls his features tight. “My judgment was off. I’d lost you—and I was in a dark place. I didn’t stop her from inserting herself into a plan that was flawed from the beginning.”
“You did your best,” I say. “I ditched you. If I’d stayed with you—you wouldn’t have been shot, I wouldn’t have played into his plan, Sabrina never would have been hurt.”
Bailey shakes his head.
“Maybe we never would have known what happened to Mia, Bonnie, and Melissa if you hadn’t followed the ghost. Their families would have spent a lifetime wondering, unable to let go.”
I let his words settle. Yes, we all have to let go. It’s the hardest thing, isn’t it?
“We blame ourselves, always,” he goes on into the silence. “But really there’s only one person to blame for what happened.”
“And he’s gone,” I say.
You’re gone.
Bailey is dangerously close; I feel his heat. He offers me both his hands, and I pivot to face him. His gaze is clear and true, a slight smile at his lips. There’s mischief there, and light. I put my hands into his waiting palms, and the electricity races up my arms. He steps in closer, pulls me in, and I rest my head on his chest. He wraps his arms around me, closer.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” I whisper.
He laughs a little, soft and throaty without much mirth. “Nothing worth it ever is.”
I close my eyes and see the expression on your face as I last saw it—anger, confusion, fear, relief.
A day will come when I don’t see the light draining from you, feel the weight of you in my arms as the life leaves your body.
A day will come when my injuries heal, and my grief abates, and I don’t jump at every shadow and loud noise. There will be a time when I don’t see you in every crowd, find you in the shadowy alleys of every street. And I know this, because I have survived horrors before. And life grows over damage, covering it with new growth, and there will be all new storms, and fires, and broken pieces, and healing again. That’s the way of it.
When I open my eyes, I see Bailey’s smile—full of life and promise and laughter. He does look like Jay, a lot. And that’s a comfort.
A day will come when I give birth to your child. She’ll come into the world in a wash of blood and pain, a flood of tears, just as you left it. And I will weep with joy.
I will love her without fear or worry of who she will become, or how much of you is in her. Because I will give her all of myself and the people I have gathered in my life. It will be enough.
I, too, come from darkness, and have found a path to the light.
I’ll show her the way. We’ll show her the way.
Love is the way.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Confessions on the 7:45 by Lisa Unger.
acknowledgments
Interestingly enough, writing your nineteenth novel isn’t any easier than writing your first. In fact, in some ways it’s harder. And that’s okay. Nothing worth doing is ever easy. And I guess if I ever sit down and think, No problem. I’ve got this, that might be the day that I decide to hang it up. But even though the writing of each novel is a journey I must make alone—at least the first draft—luckily, publishing is a team effort. And I am blessed to be supported by some of the best people I know.
Every book I write is for my husband, Jeffrey, and our daughter, Ocean Rae. They are the home team, bolstering, supporting, making me laugh, keeping me sane, and filling my life with love. It’s not easy living with a writer—lots of ups and downs! I’m sorry! I love you guys more than anything. Thank you for being on this crazy Tilt-A-Whirl with me and making it a blast. And of course, my beloved labradoodle, Jak Jak, is always at my feet or by my side, reminding me to get on with it so we can play ball.
My deep and heartfelt thanks to my compassionate, thoughtful, and wise—and oh wow let’s not forget patient!—editor, Erika Imranyi. I think the books I have written for her are the best of my career. Thanks, Erika, for your steady and guiding hand. Meanwhile, HarperCollins/Harlequin/Park Row Books is a dream publisher. My most profound gratitude goes to the amazing team members in the US, Canada, and the UK, from the stellar copy editor to the brilliant art departments to the intrepid sales teams. Special thanks to Loriana Sacilotto, executive vice president and publisher, and Margaret Marbury, vice president of editorial, for their tremendous leadership and passion. And I’m so grateful for publicist extraordinaire Roxanne Jones.
My agent, Amy Berkower, and her assistant, Meridith Viguet, of the stellar Writers House agency are my tireless champions and fearless navigators of the big waters of the writing life. I am so grateful for their support, wisdom, and good humor.