Page 80 of Halloween Town

She said she needed space and independence; she’d called him a safety net, or something like that. That meant that she could take or leave him, and he refused to be the one standing around waiting. He’d acted in this movie before, and remembered Benji’s smug face as Ingrid pulled her shirt back on, her smirk as she told him not to make a big deal of catching her in a half-naked clinch with his brother. To forgive—no. She never asked for forgiveness; she’d just suggested he treat it as a drunken mistake. After he’d punched Benji and ended it with her, he promised himself he’d never beg, wait, or be the fallback, safe option. He was keeping that promise.

You chose to end us…

Her clear and concise words—bounced around his skull.

His rising tide of doubt about her motives, what she said and what she meant, infuriated him, mixing with the whiskey to create a sour taste on the back of his tongue. Was he having second thoughts or was he looking for an excuse to be with her, to roll back everything that happened today?

Thom linked his hands behind his neck and tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. He was doubting himself, but more than that, he was doubting her…

And he was so fucking tired.

He threw back another shot, winced at the burn. This was why he avoided relationships, because this shit, this backwards and forwards and self-doubt and miscommunication, the things they said and the things they didn’t say, made his head spin, then pound, then spin again.

You’re just choosing to believe that.

That sentence, pushing through the ache in his head and heart, burrowed in and down. Did he make the right decision? He’d never felt this awkward or uncertain about anything ever, like he had ants in his damned pants. Had he done the right thing? He genuinely didn’t know, and he loathed second-guessing himself.

He was tired, pissed off and drunk. Thank God he’d dropped off Fel with Edie earlier, long before he got stuck into the whiskey. Tommorow, he’d go to Washington, concentrate on work, clear his head. When he had a little distance from Poppy, physically and emotionally, he’d analyze the situation again. Tonight, he’d drink, then sleep. Or drink until he passed out. Same thing really.

The house was too quiet, and he hadn’t heard the clattering Poppy claimed was spectral footsteps, a way for the ghosts to make their presence known. He hadn’t even heard the house’s normal creaks and groans, sounds that provided the backing track to his life in Solstice Deep. It felt like the ghosts and the house, the goddamn air and atmosphere were all pissed at him for letting Poppy go.

“You didn’t let her go, you pushed her away,” someone whispered. Was it Poppy’s voice in his head? Wren’s? The female ghost Poppy was certain was haunting his house? Did it matter?

A door slammed upstairs, then another, and another. Yeah, yeah. He got it, nobody was happy with him right now.

“Fucking bite me,” he muttered, reaching of the whiskey bottle again. Until he sobered up, they could do whatever the hell they wanted in his house.

“We do anyway, jackass,” he thought he heard—he must be drunker than he thought.

“Lila…”

Yep, he was definitely drunk.

Chapter Seventeen

Thom

His extended trip to Washington had been fine. His clients had been fine. Everything workwise was fucking fine. A week later, Thom slammed the door closed to his empty-except-for-beer fridge. Having a beer felt like a perfectly reasonable option—but he checked his watch. Nine in the morning. Way too early. Unfortunately.

Thom looked at his laptop and the carry-on that sat on the kitchen table; he didn’t have the energy to take the small suitcase upstairs. He pushed his thigh-length coat aside to put his hands on his hips. He was tired, pissed off and missing Poppy with every inch of his being. They’d gone from living together to… He cocked his head. Silence.

His house was still pissed at him. So, apparently was Hayes, judging by the tense and brief conversation they had had last night when he’d called to tell him he’d be home this morning.

Thom looked over to where Felony lay on his bed by the door, his eyes sad. His dog was also heartbroken, and Edie, who’d dog-sat, told him he was off his food. Most worrying of all, Fel wasn’t communicating in his typical Fel fashion… He’d stopped farting, peeing, humping, and turning his back on people who pissed him off.

Fel was depressed.

Thom got it. He was, too. This house was too big, too quiet, too empty without her. But he, and his damn dog, would have to get used to it. It was the way it was going to be…

He took off his coat and draped it over the back of a chair, then checked the level of beans in his coffee machine. He had beans and water, and he could have coffee. It would be his third or fourth cup this morning, but who was counting? While he waited for the machine to do its thing, he heard footsteps on the kitchen steps and his heart started thumping an erratic and excited beat. Poppy was back…

Then the door opened and Hayes stepped into the room. Fel whimpered his disappointment and Thom released a low “Fuck.”

“Great welcome, guys,” Hayes said, pushing a hand through his sweat-damp hair. Thom took in his long-sleeved gym shirt, his shorts and expensive trainers.

“You don’t normally run at this time,” Thom commented. Judging by the light of battle in Hayes’s eyes, talking about his training routine seemed a safe option.

Hayes grabbed a glass and shoved it under the tap. “I went to work early, opened up and caught up on paperwork because I knew you were coming back today, and I wanted to see you.”