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  Unlike winter formal, the resort has extended its facilities to the outdoor gardens where a large dance floor is established under the night sky. Dancing has commenced under what theoretically might be a sky full of diamond-like stars but instead of gazing at their beauty a puff of milky air obscures our vision of the infinite expanse.

  I watch in disappointment as Ellis slow dances with his favorite new tramp from East. I’d go over and join Mia and Melissa who are busy throwing pennies into a large brimmed fountain, really they should be throwing the Armistead kid in, but as much as I hate to admit it, he seems rather nice and has treated both of my sisters with an equal amount of platonic affection all evening.

  My mind keeps rotating back to Gage. I envision us out there on the dance floor next to Ellis and the girl from East he abandoned me for. I can picture him holding me, caressing my back the way only a thoughtful man is capable of. Everything about him exudes nobility, loyalty—something I was fiercely lacking. Then as quickly as I picture him dancing with me, I envision his arms wrapped around some faceless girl. It hurts to imagine him with anybody else. I’m sure he felt the same way about me. My heart is still tender from the blades of his rejection. I can only imagine the pain I’ve caused him.

  I’m completely unable to wrap my head around what’s happened to us.

  I take a brisk walk towards a long table filled with pastries. In the middle sits a seven-tiered cake fit for a wedding. I’m sure my mother is drooling over the logistics of such an architectural wonder of a confection.

  “May I?” Marshall takes my hand and leads me to the distal end of the dance floor. My mother winks from over Tad’s shoulder. She looks like she’s busy rocking Tad to sleep so I just go with it. Dancing with my math teacher isn’t the biggest sin. And it’s Marshall, not my history teacher, the one with the face of a frying pan. I lean my head against his chest and his heart sings. Marshall is divine in every way. I should be eager to fall to his feet—any girl would. But I’ve already got two hearts I’m desperate to hold onto. Adding a third would be the worse idea possible.

  “Nonsense,” Marshall darts a mischievous look. “Jock Strap has removed himself, and chance removed the Pretty One. I’m fully available for your choosing, or perhaps you prefer the term, ‘using’?”

  I don’t like the way he over annunciated the word chance.

  “You did kill Logan.” I’m astonished by this.

  “No,” he whispers. “By the time those bumbling wolves arrived at the scene, West Paragon’s finest athletes were virtually drawn and quartered. Someone hungered justice far more efficiently than I that night.”

  “Remove the binding spirit so I can go back and see who it was.” For the first time tonight my heart is racing.

  “You know the rules.”

  “I need a supervising spirit. Be my supervising spirit Marshall,” I take a breath and hold it.

  “My apologies, Love. That is one direction our relationship will not be headed.”

  “Why not? You agreed to supervise while I go in that mirror and yank out Chloe.” I give his arms a squeeze. The vibrations that stream from him strangle me with their goodness.

  “There’s no supervising involved in that matter. Besides, I intend to play another role in your life—as suitor. I cannot do both.”

  “Tell me then, you already know. Who rammed the Mustang into my boyfriend’s belly?”

  “Perhaps there are forces at work you know nothing about,” he suggests.

  “Bullshit.”

  He looks beyond my shoulder into the bushes. I follow his gaze and see a frazzle of hair the color of fire.

  “Ezrina,” I hiss.

  “Do excuse me, Love. I have business to tend to.” Marshall stalks off in that general direction.

  A bird screams overhead. His cry breaks through the noise of the speakers.

  It’s Nev.

  Something’s happening.

  The song ends, and another depressingly slow ballad howls into the atmosphere.

  Ellis pops up by my side and takes up my hand before I can leave the dance floor.

  A few feet away Drake and Brielle sway awkwardly. Brielle’s belly protrudes between them like a small planet. From this vantage point it seems quite possible Brielle is having a litter. She’ll have an entire row of miniature caskets lining the nursery, a real life Landon cemetery right there in the house. I can only image the howling—the barking at the moon that will take place nightly. I’m secretly hoping they’ll shack up at Brielle’s.

  “Where’s your newest acquisition?” I ask.

  “Dancing with Daddy,” Ellis ticks his head back annoyed. “Daddy likes me.”

  “Try not to sound so thrilled. The last time I checked that was a good thing. It means he won’t chase you down the aisle with a shotgun when the time is right, or wrong.”

  “Mmm,” he doesn’t look convinced. “It makes me like her less,” he shrugs into his admission.

  “If it means something to you, I’m pretty sure Tad doesn’t care for you.”

  “Now we’re talking,” he gives a twisted grin.

  I laugh for the first time in a long while, shifting my gaze back to the bushes where Marshall went Ezrina hunting, only I don’t see Marshall or Ezrina—I see...Gage?

  I take a sharp breath and hold it.

  The image evaporates into shadows and smoke. It must have been a hallucination. Either that or he’s harnessed the power to cloak himself in the clouds. Then again Gage is a god—all things are possible. The fact we’re living in this real life realm of possibilities together at the same juncture in time is a nothing short of a miracle.

  “I think I’ll need you to help me get Chloe,” I whisper, while finding a comfortable resting spot for my head.

  “Knew it,” he pushes back with surprise. “Where’d you hide the body?”

  “Where I always hide the body.” I blink a smile. “Nowhere.”

  “Uh—Skyla?” Ellis looks beyond me towards the ode to flour and sugar, and I turn expecting to see Brielle doing a faceplant in the cheesecake, or Emily emptying a tray of brownies into her purse, but I don’t.

  I really do see Gage.

  “Oh my, God,” the words exhaust from my lungs.

  He came.

  Gage dips into a sultry smile that only he can deliver. He’s dressed immaculately in a sharp black suit, a tie the same color as his eyes. His dimples dart in and out as though they were calling me over.

  “Sorry, Ellis, I have to go.”

  He gives a slight nudge, and I glide across the floor. Bodies swirl around me. They turn into a melting pot of color, making it impossible to bustle through the crowd. The music warps to something horrifically slow as though the entire universe were on hold for just a moment. Time elongates, stretches out for days.

  So I run.

  I push, and pull, and twist through the crowd never taking my eyes off him. I push past the last few stragglers, so close I can almost feel him. His perfect form stands there waiting. He lets me come to him. He waits for me with a knowing look that says so many wonderful things.

  I leap up on his waist—wrap my legs around him secure and tight, victorious as an anaconda.

  “Please, forgive me,” I bleat.

  Gage doesn’t answer with words. He pulls me in by the neck and shows me exactly how much he forgives me with a scorching kiss that says so much more.

  I climb Gage like a pole, send him stumbling backwards until he can’t go any further and we fall flat onto the dessert table.

  I let out a laugh.

  Gage pulls me on top of him and moans into a sea of delicious kisses.

  Dishes clatter, the table groans beneath the weight of our affection, a leg collapses, and we slide to the ground. Loud sharp gasps echo through the night.

  Gage and I never open our eyes. Our lips never betray their unity.

  The cold soft avalanche of a seven-tiered cake falls over us, cushioning us with its whipped vanilla goodness.

&
nbsp; I give a gentle laugh at the sight of Gage with frosting dripping off his person, dig my finger into the icing on his cheek and put it in my mouth.

  “I missed you terribly,” he says it low, serious.

  “Oh Gage,” my heart picks up again in fear. What if this were all some fluke, and he still wants out of our love?

  “Let’s go somewhere so we can talk,” he presses in with another kiss.

  And this time—I try to make it last forever.

  Chapter 49

  Whiplash Love

  “Skyla!” Judging by Mom’s frantic expression, the venue in which Gage and I unwittingly decided to show our undying affection for one another should have probably been reconsidered.

  Tad’s face has lost all expression. Come to think of it every face staring back at us seems rather depleted of emotion.

  Brielle helps me out of the slippery mess, as Gage bounces up by my side.

  “Um,” I’m dizzy from all of the unwanted attention. Not one person seems even slightly amused. “Sorry,” I say, leading Gage by the hand around the congested mass of bodies and ditch into the parking lot by way of the side gate.

  “You look amazing,” he whispers, spinning me into him.

  I take him in. I can’t believe he’s here—real and in person. His eyes glow, his dimples dance happy to see me.

  “So,” I sigh, “what brought you here tonight?”

  “A very sweet handwritten invitation.” Gage draws me in by the hips.

  “Are you feeling OK? You’re not sick anymore, right?” I ask, dusting cake off his shoulders.

  Gage looks and sounds better than ever.

  “I’m better now that I’m with you. Let’s get out of here. I think we have a lot to talk about.

  ***

  We clean up at the resort and head over to Rockaway Point. My hair is full of frosting, and my dress blotched with dark stains, but I could care less about what I look like. I’m walking along the black sandy shore of Paragon’s most beautiful beach with the love of my life—Gage as the bedroom eye moon observes from above.

  “I’m so sorry about everything,” I whisper. “I don’t know what to say or do—but I’d do anything for your forgiveness.” I don’t mean to knock us off the perch of our newfound happiness. But I owe it to him to grovel and beg forgiveness, now and forever more.

  “Giselle stopped by.” He wraps an arm around my waist, stills me beneath a stream of moonlight that baptizes us in its glory.

  “She did? Did your Mom see her?”

  “Not yet. She came to show me a few things. It really helped me understand what was happening.” His spirit speaks to me in the quiet, fills in the void of silence as it rouses from its sorrow. “Why didn’t you tell me what Dudley was up to?” His eyes try to cover the hurt, but they can’t disguise the pain I’ve caused.

  “I don’t know. He was showing me things, and…” What do you say when you have no good excuses? “I swear I will never let Marshall touch me again. I don’t care if the vision means the world might blow up.” Not to mention mine sort of already did.

  “I was visited by someone else who helped clear things.” He nods into me as though I should confess to knowing who this might be.

  “Ellis?” I ask, hopeful. “I swear on all that is holy that I was not doing what it looked like I was doing. I just got out of the Transfer and—”

  Gage holds a finger to my lip.

  “Giselle took me to the moment—saw the whole thing. Sorry about that,” he rubs my open palm with the pad of his thumb.

  “So, who helped clear things up for you?” If he says Chloe I’ll run straight into the ocean. I’d rather succumb to hypothermia than to anymore of Chloe’s dangerous half-truths.

  “Logan.” His head tilts just a bit as to allude to my guilt in the matter. “He told me why you were keeping his death from me.”

  I pull Gage in tight and collapse a sea of tears over his already damp shirt. Just hearing him say those words, knowing that they are in every way true, drills my bones with the grief.

  “It’s OK,” he whispers. “Holden won’t know what hit him. Logan will be all right. He’ll come back to us, I promise.”

  “You don’t hate him?” I say it lower than a whisper. My biggest fear was that I ruined their relationship. After all, I was the knife they plunged in one another’s back, over and over.

  “I could never hate Logan. And, I could never hate you.” The words come out in a puff of smoke, encapsulating us like a cloud with their truths.

  “You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.” I tuck my hands under his shirt and warm them over his skin. You could start a fire with the heat off his body.

  “Come here, I want to show you something.” Gage leads me over to the monstrous coral tree we’ve logged some spectacular hours beneath. Its long tangled branches give homage to the night with its delicate crescent blooms radiating overhead like a sea of salmon colored stars.

  On the outset everything looks normal but the closer we get I note a hut erected out of branches and palm fronds.

  “Oh my, God,” I gasp. “Looks like someone’s homesteading our land.” I heard my father say that once back in L.A. when a film crew came to shoot a segment for a talk show at our neighbor’s house. Turns out they secretly lived walled in by clutter for years. They looked so normal on the outside you would never know they were unable to contain the urge to purchase every single thing they laid eyes on—locked themselves in a sea of debt for stuff they never even took out of the packages.

  “It’s me,” he pauses just shy of the four foot structure. “I’ve been homesteading our land.” He gives a sheepish grin.

  “You built this?” I’m fascinated as I duck down inside. It’s warm in here, dark but safe from the harsh wind that sends biting sand flying against our skin.

  Gage crawls in beside me and pulls me over to his lap.

  “Skyla,” it expresses from him, soft as a sigh. “I love you with everything in me.” He looks down for a moment. “When I saw the DVD, I didn’t know what to think. I was devastated.”

  I curl into him, stifling back tears. I could flood the tiny home with one good cry over the disaster I built with a sea of careless kisses.

  “Gage,” I look down unable to face him with my shame, “I’m so sorry I hurt you.” Gage deserves so much more than words. “Do you think we can start all over?”

  “Yes,” he says it with a tender calm that assures me this is so. “Believe me, I know that you have a history with Logan. And I know things happen in the future that none of us can help,” he gives a lengthy pause. “You don’t ever need to feel guilty for having feelings for him. I promise you, there’s a reason for them.”

  I’m dying to know what kinds of reasons, but right now if it doesn’t involve me and Gage, I don’t want to dig in that direction.

  “But I think we need to be upfront with one another about a lot of things,” he starts, “I need you to trust me enough to tell me Dudley’s true intentions. I have things I want to share with you, too. And if we don’t share the little things I don’t know how we’re ever going to share the big things.”

  There it is—the caveat to our future success or failure.

  “I promise,” I hold up a hand. “Everything, and anything you want to know.”

  “OK.” He gives a quick nod. “Logan said you were desperate to see your mother but wouldn’t say why.”

  My stomach lurches.

  “I may have promised a certain someone a new trial with the Justice Alliance if she were to give Logan back his life.” I hold my breath a second. “He was floating in Liquid Drano, for Pete’s sake,” I don’t mean to come off as defensive, but at the moment that’s exactly what I am.

  “I would have done the same.” His lips twist.

  “And, besides, they were her terms not mine. I just wanted Logan back. I didn’t for one second think she’d regenerate his body with the wrong soul.”

  “So what do you think happened?”


  “Marshall,” I wince. “I spit in his eye—right after accusing him of mowing the two of you down.”

  Gage shoots a look, sharp as a dagger, out at the raging sea. “How are we going to get Logan back?”

  “We’re going to have to kill him.” My entire person quivers at the prospect of murdering Logan. You know you’re in deep when the only way out is a felony-based resolution.

  “OK,” Gage acquiesces quickly to the morbid reality. “We’ll get together this week with my dad and Logan, and figure it all out. Any clue if it was Chloe driving the Mustang?”

  I wonder what Gage would do if he knew emphatically that Chloe were responsible—how he would react if he learned she brutally pinned him against a tree while relentlessly whacking into his body—that she killed Logan as a byproduct of her jealous rage.

  “Nope.”

  “I tried moving out of the way,” he says in a daze as though he were reliving it. “I tried lifting the hood off me—teleporting my way out of there but I wasn’t able. If it was Chloe, she made sure we were left as helpless as possible,” his eyes darken with hatred. “What did you do with her?”

  “Nothing, I swear.” I tell him all about Demetri’s room of horrors, the magic mirror that swallowed Chloe and the fact this entire debacle navigated our least favorite detective in my direction. “Anyway, I just asked Ellis to come with me. We’re going to pull her out as soon as possible.”

  “Skyla, do you really believe Marshall is going to play lookout while you dissolve into another realm that sits behind glass?”

  “Yes, I totally do. He would never let me get hurt. I swear.”

  “When are you planning on doing this?”

  “I have a key to the estate, so whenever he’s off playing house with my mother I’m going to sneak in, or else I’ll have to wait all the way until next Saturday.”