Page 41 of Love at First Fright

His hands cupped my face. Gentle. Cradling my head like it was something precious, something that might shatter if he pressed too hard.

I tried to speak. My mouth wouldn’t cooperate. The words tangled up somewhere between my brain and my tongue.

“Okay, alright, don’t try to talk yet.”

Brad shifted. Slid his hands under my shoulders, my head. Pulled me upward with surprising tenderness until my skull rested in his lap.

His lap.

Brad’s lap.

The ceiling swam above me. Crumbling plasterwork. Ornate cornicing. A spiderweb stretching between two corners.

We were on a landing. Halfway down the staircase, maybe? I’d fallen. Hit my head. Something had tripped me.

Children giggling. A maid with half her face missing asking if I wanted tea.

“M-maid,” I mumbled. My tongue felt thick. Heavy. “Children. Cupboard. Bite. They bit me.”

My breathing came in ragged gasps. Too fast. Too shallow. I couldn’t get enough air. My chest heaved. My whole body shook.

Ghosts. Real. The ghosts are real.

Brad’s hand settled on my forehead. Stroked backwards, fingers threading through my hair.

Again.

And again.

The motion was hypnotic. Soothing.

“It’s scary, isn’t it?” His voice had dropped lower. Quieter. Almost a murmur. “When you first see them. When you realise they’re actually there. That they’ve been there all along.”

I stared up at him. His face hovered above mine, backlit by the grimy window behind him.

He looked… kind.

When had Brad ever looked kind?

“But the ghosts won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “I promise.”

My breath hitched.

That didn’t make sense. Brad had told me—multiple times, with excessive detail—exactly how ghosts would hurt me. He’d lectured about demons and cold spots and entities that could snap a person’s neck. He’d kicked a cat and laughed when I screamed at a spider and made it abundantly clear that I was an idiot for not taking the danger seriously.

“But you said…” My voice came out horribly hoarse. “You’ve kept saying that they will hurt me. That I should be afraid.”

Brad’s hand stilled in my hair. His blue eyes locked onto mine. “No. I won’t let them,” he said. His gaze burned into me—intense, unwavering. “I swear to you, Charlie. Nothing in this house is going to hurt you while I’m here.”

Something fluttered in my stomach. Not nausea. No. Something else entirely.

Warmth spread through my chest, radiating outward until it reached my fingertips, my toes.

Brad’s thumb brushed my cheekbone. A feather-light touch that sent sparks dancing through me.

I didn’t move.

Couldn’t move.