She shifts slightly and pulls out her phone. “I don’t think hope is for fools,” she murmurs, her voice gentle. “And I think Ghost would agree with me.” She presses a headphone into my hand. “If he didn’t believe in hope, he would’ve given up on winning you back a long time ago. And he definitely wouldn’t have composed this beautiful track for you.”
She taps her screen and hits play.
I put the headphone in, and she does the same with the other one. The first notes of the violin hit my soul from all sides. I close my eyes and picture Dominic sitting beside me, playing it himself. Then I remember that I broke his violin, and the illusion scatters like ash.
“There’s hope in this music,” Ria says softly, taking my hand and threading her fingers through mine.
“How long has it been since they took him into surgery?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer.
Her chest rises with a deep breath. “Over six hours.”
Such a long fucking time. For the first time tonight, anger cuts through the dread and grief. My jaw tightens until it aches.
“Did you talk to Tank?” My voice is dangerously calm. “Did they catch him?”
She nods slowly. “Both him and the guy who was driving.”
My heart stutters, almost content. Bowie is fucked.
I don’t say anything else. I just listen to the music, holding onto the sound, begging for the shadows to go away and the sun to rise again.
Week One
The first week is the worst.
He survives the surgery, but he isn’t stable. His heart stops two times in the first two days, and every time it happens, mine stops right alongside his.
The doctors keep talking about his spine, about how he may never walk again — but they can’t be sure until he wakes up. I just want him to wake up. Anything else can be dealt with later. I just need him to open his eyes, and we’ll take it from there.
It’s day six now, and there’s no change. I’m trying to hold on to the hope Ria was talking about, but it thins a little more with every passing day, stretching so tight I’m afraid it’ll snap.
I lift my hand and brush his hair back from his forehead, my fingers trembling. Someone like him shouldn’t look this pale. This empty. He was always all presence — power, danger,something. Now, every part of him is too still.
“Mama wants to trim your beard,” I murmur softly. “She doesn’t trust the hospital staff with it, but she can’t stop crying and shaking long enough to do it herself. So you should probably wake up soon, Dominic.” My throat tightens. “Otherwise you’re going to end up with a lot of tiny cuts on your very handsome face.”
I don’t know when it started, these one-sided conversations. Somewhere along the way, they became necessary. They help, strangely, like saying the words out loud keeps him tethered here with me.
But, of course, he never answers.
I sigh and reach into my bag, pulling out my wireless headphones. I slip one into his ear, one into mine. On my new phone, I press play. Then I take his hand in mine, lean back in the chair, and close my eyes. I let the violin fill the space between us, let it hold the hope I’m struggling to keep alive.
Ghost
The Beginning
The neon sign of La Jaula buzzes across the street, the red letters flickering through the dark. I’m just about to swing a leg over my bike when I hear a velvety, unexpected voice.
“Wow, nice bike.”
I glance up. She’s standing on the curb, just a few steps away, one hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She looks too clean for a place like this, wearing that spotless white dress. She’s got no business being on this side of town. Is that what makes it impossible to look away from her? Or is it those warm, hypnotizing hazel eyes?
“Wow indeed,” I hear myself say before my brain catches up to my mouth. “Do you have a Band-Aid, beautiful? I think I just scraped my ass falling for you.”
Fuck! Did I really just say that? Really? Of all the things Tank shoved into my head against my will about flirting, I just had to choosethatline. Smooth. Real fucking smooth.
For a second, I brace myself forthe look— the one girls give when they decide you’re not worth the time. But instead, she laughs. Not a polite little giggle, but a real laugh. Bright and surprised, not an ounce of control. It hits me straight in the chest.
“That’s terrible,” she says between laughs, shaking her head.
