Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
But singing doesn’t help at all. I make it through the song a third time before I hear a bang on the wall which makes me sit bolt upright. Adrenaline bursts into my chest and my heart’s racing like crazy. That definitely wasn’t just the house settling—someone banged, and it didn’t sound happy.
“Murder ghost?” I whisper, staring at the wall, before I shuffle over on my hands and knees to return the knock. “Is that you, murder ghost?”
Another bang. This one softer.
“Oh, you asshole.” I push myself to my feet with a groan and pad to the hall. The master bedroom is right next door, and when I crack open the door, Gian’s sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s shirtless in the dim light streaming in through the curtains. I stand and don’t move, looking at him with a pattering heart. His head tilts as he studies me, lips pulled into a frown.
“I heard you singing,” he says quietly. “Will you come in here and sing for me?”
“You’re unbelievable.” I turn to leave, thoroughly pissed off now, and once again embarrassed by this guy. I didn’t realize the walls were thin enough for him to actually hear me. But he must’ve been awake already, and he hadn’t knocked until my third way through the entire song. Which means he was listening.
“Stay,” he says, his voice not mocking. A hint of need’s in his tone.
“Why?”
“Because you’re suffering for no reason. Just come in here and sleep with me.”
“I’d rather have a bad back.”
He sighs. “I can’t sleep. What song was that?”
“‘Black Waters’ by the Doobie Brothers. Just some stupid song I liked when I was a kid.”
“You have a decent voice.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“Okay, you don’t, but I still liked hearing you sing.”
I hesitate, not sure why I haven’t stormed out yet. “When I was little and couldn’t sleep, sometimes I listened to music. That was the first track.”
“Want me to put it on?” He reaches for his phone. “Come into bed.”
I glance at the hall. I can retreat to the safety of the guest room and suffer through the night. I might survive until morning, but at what cost? My back will kill and I might get strangled by a murder ghost.
And that big bed looks so damn comfortable. It’s an enormous king with fluffy, cloud-like pillows, and really, we wouldn’t even be touching.
“Fine,” I say, storming over. I climb into my side and pull the sheets to my chin. “Just stay over there, okay?”
He seems satisfied and lies down on his pillow. “Want me to play the song?”
“No, it’s okay.” I glance over and he’s staring at the ceiling. “How come you’re awake?”
“I have trouble sleeping in new places. Takes me a night or two before I’m comfortable enough.”
“Really?” I frown slightly. He doesn’t seem like the type. “Why do you think that is?”
He hesitates. His mouth presses into a tight line. I remember even ten years ago, he didn’t like talking about his past much, and never mentioned his family. I thought he was doing it because my father and his father were in a feud at the time. But now I wonder.
“When I was eight, my father dropped my brothers and me out in Fairmount Park, out in the middle of the woods, with nothing but flashlights and a tent, and said we had to survive the night in the wilderness if we wanted to prove ourselves to him. Obviously, we all agreed to do it. Saul practically was salivating at the idea. But as soon as Dad was gone, the rain started, and shit only got worse.
“We couldn’t pitch the tent. Just couldn’t figure it out in the dark with the rain driving down. Renzo took charge and we ended up huddling together under this evergreen tree where most of the rain couldn’t get us, but it smelled like old fungus and the needles kept scratching my face. Saul started snoring like an hour into it. Even Renzo and Carlo got a little sleep. But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t bring myself to close my eyes. So I was awake the entire time watching the pitch-black forest, damp and cold, far away from home. We were fucking city kids, for shit’s sake. I don’t know what Dad was thinking. Anyway, ever since then, I haven’t been a good sleeper. Sometimes, Mom would come into my room and sing to me, and that helped a lot. Now she’s sick and I doubt she’d even remember my name.”
I reach out and touch his arm. I shouldn’t, but that story is like a knife to my guts. I knew their father wasn’t a nice guy, but that’s straight-up abusive. My father wasn’t great either, but at least I was a girl and he didn’t feel the need to toughen me up. I can only imagine what their old man did to those poor boys. Then his mother’s Alzheimer’s on top of everything. I can’t even imagine.