I BACKED AWAY from Richard’s office, my face wet with tears. My breath was coming and going in short little gasps and I couldn’t catch it, just as I couldn’t stop my heart from beating faster and faster and faster. I tried to tell myself to inhale, hold, exhale—but my brain wouldn’t calm down long enough to process that. It only wanted to run.
I stumbled a little further down the hall, then broke into a sprint, catapulting myself down the massive staircase and nearly crashing into one of the plastic skeletons. I tripped over my high heels on a particularly treacherous stair and almost fell flat on my face, my hand shooting out and latching on to the harsh metal of the banister just in time. I righted myself and ran down one of the narrow hallways on the second floor, shoving aside ghost and bat decorations littering my path, flinging myself into one of the corner offices. I collapsed onto the floor and sobbed. Big, wracking, heaving sobs that felt like they’d been bottled up for years.
I couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around what I’d just seen, what it all meant. I couldn’t get past Richard’s—or Ghost Richard’s?—words to me, each one like a dagger in my heart.
He was right. I had failed Bea. I had failed the Morgan students I was trying so hard to help. I couldn’t even help myself. And I was about to be the worst mother ever.
And as for the rest of it . . .
I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to catch my breath.
You were always going to quit.
You were weak.
You left.
I flashed back to the day after the Bea Tanaka Peanut Butter Incident: me running up those creaky Morgan Hall stairs to turn my paper in, tossing it in the big plastic blue bin Professor Connolly always left out for us, then sleepwalking my way over to Richard’s.
I’d been so exhausted, practically delirious. I remembered luxuriating in the softness of his freshly laundered sheets against my skin, feeling cradled by his cloud-like mattress and the fluffiness of the velvet duvet. And as I’d drifted off for a few hours of much-needed shut-eye, a single thought floated through my head . . .
I have to quit.
Now, sitting on the floor of Morgan Hall, I hugged my knees more tightly to my chest, those words echoing through my brain on an endless loop.
The more I paused on that thought I’d had a decade ago, the faster the memories flooded back. I remembered waking up later, still exhausted. My eyes were so tired, they felt like they were being stabbed by a thousand tiny knives. I remembered telling Richard I’d decided to drop out.
I just couldn’t do it, couldn’t try to balance all the chaotic, conflicting pieces of my life anymore. I couldn’t cling to a future that was never going to happen, a dream that probably should have died as soon as my father left—as soon as I was given the task of raising Bea.
I’d always told myself I decided to leave because of the library disaster. Because I was upset and confused and betrayed and I couldn’t stand the idea that I might hurt someone with my power. I’d told myself that story so often, it had just become the truth. I’d made it the truth.
But the real truth was, I’d decided long before that.
And the reasons behind my decision had been smaller and sadder and more pathetic—I couldn’t handle it. I’d been failing hard at every single part of my life. I had to choose one that maybe I could fail at just a little less. I was weak, just like Richard had said.
I buried my face against my knees and sobbed again. For the girl I’d been, for the girl I’d tried to raise. For both of those girls, who’d never had a chance to simply follow their dreams and flourish.
A hand fell on my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of my skin, my heart rate spiking. My head snapped up and I saw a dark, hulking figure looming over me, blurry around the edges thanks to my tears. Too big to be Richard—real or ghost version.
I blinked a few times and the figure came into a hazy sort of focus, his dark eyes gazing down at me with concern.
“Nate?” I whispered, barely able to believe it. Was he another ghost, a mirage? A product of my delusional, grief-stricken brain?
He didn’t say anything, just sat down on the floor next to me and gathered me in his arms. He was so warm, so solid, and his fresh, comforting scent was all around me.
“You’re real,” I whispered, turning my face up to him.
“Of course I am,” he said, pulling me closer. One of his hands cupped my face and his thumb stroked down my cheek, brushing my tears away. His eyes were lit with so much tenderness, and I wanted nothing more than to collapse against him and sob and let him hold me. But his presence, his solidness, brought me back to reality, made me remember that beyond the Richard Ghost forcing me to admit the truth of my past and have a full-on meltdown . . . well, there was a Richard Ghost. And both human Richard and Ghost Richard were definitely engaged in something shady.
“Sorry,” I said to Nate, hastily scraping a hand over my eyes and disentangling myself from him. “I’m fine. I need to talk to Aveda—”
“Evie.” He grabbed my hand, his brows drawing together. “You’re clearly not fine—just as you haven’t been fine for the past two months. I . . . I know we’re not in the best place right now, I know I said we needed time apart, but . . . Bea and Aveda both told me you have been very . . . distressed. And I needed to see you.”
“How did you find me?” I said, my voice small.
“Your phone,” he said, his worried look melting into slight amusement. “I have everyone in the household on Find My Phone—Bea too, even though she’s moved away. No locator spell required.”
“I . . . I just need to get myself together,” I insisted, trying to quell the tremble in my voice. “I need to . . . to . . .”
I trailed off, my voice wobbling dangerously. I felt so completely lost.
“Evie.” Nate ran his hands over my shoulders, and I found myself leaning into their warmth. “Please let me worry about you. Just for a moment.”
I met his eyes, searched his face. All of that tenderness I’d been missing for so long radiated back at me. No matter what, he always made me feel safe.
Something unfurled in my chest, a long-held tension releasing. Every worry I’d held so tightly, every bit of sadness and grief and frustration at myself for not being able to protect the people I wanted to came tumbling out.
I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t even try.
I collapsed against him fully.
I sagged into his chest like a deflated balloon, buried my face against all his comforting solidness, and cried. I felt like I might never stop. His arms went around me, pulling me close.
My tears soaked the front of his black t-shirt, my sobs heaving through my entire body. Eventually, I’d cried so much, I didn’t have any tears left. My sobs devolved into sad little gasps, pathetic hiccups.
Throughout it all, Nate never let me go.
“Talk to me,” he finally whispered against my hair. “If you can.”
“I . . .” Another sob rose in my throat, and I tried to shove it down.
“When we spoke before, you said you were scared—that you didn’t know what would happen when the baby got here, and if you could handle everything.” Nate’s voice was so gentle, so coaxing, my eyes filled with tears again. “Is that’s what’s going on?”
“I am scared,” I said, my voice thin and wavery. “But I . . . I don’t think I realized why. Or how deep that reason was buried. It . . .” I swallowed hard, determined to soldier on. His hand smoothed my back, urging me to continue. I kept my cheek pressed against his chest, drawing comfort from his warmth. “It has to do with . . . before. When I was trying to go to school here and raise Bea and work . . .” I raised a hand to wipe tears from my eyes. “I failed. I failed so hard. And I didn’t leave this place because I burned down the library—I decided before that. I dropped out because I couldn’t take how overwhelmed I was, and I was doing so badly at everything. My solution was to run away. And even running away didn’t mean things magically got better. I sucked at raising Bea. It’s a miracle she finally found her way—but maybe she would have found it faster if I hadn’t totally fucked everything up. And I just . . . I know I’m going to fuck everything up now, too. I’m already doing it. I . . . I . . .” My tears spilled over, the sobs rising in my throat yet again.
“Evie.” Nate put his hands on my shoulders and gently pulled back from me, forcing me to meet his gaze. “How is it that this is how you see yourself?”
“What do you mean?” I whispered.
“How can you think you’ve failed—at anything?” His gaze bore into me, so direct and intense, consternation overtaking his harsh features. “You did what was right for you and for Bea at the time. You made that choice because deep in your heart, you knew it was right. You love her more than anything. How can that be wrong? And how can you look at her now and think . . .” He shook his head. “She’s thriving, can’t you see that? She had to find her way there on her own, but she wouldn’t have been able to do that if you hadn’t taken such good care of her. She knows that, too.”
“But what if . . .” I trailed off, shaking my head. I didn’t even know where I was going with that. That fear, that idea that I was about to mess everything up, was still wrapping its ice-cold fingers around my heart.
“Life is rarely perfect,” Nate said, leaning in to touch his forehead against mine. “But from the moment we met, from the very first time I kissed you, from all the other firsts we’ve had together . . .” A slight smile tugged at his lips. “You’ve taught me that sometimes the best things in life are unexpected.”
“I don’t think either of us have handled the unexpected particularly well recently,” I murmured, sniffling.
His smile widened. “You are very correct about that. But we aren’t perfect, either. And baby . . .” He pulled back, his expression turning thoughtful. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way I left you last time. And I’m sorry if anything I said or did contributed to you feeling like you couldn’t handle things. You are so strong. So extraordinary. And I wish you could see yourself as I do. I . . .” He shook his head, frustration passing over his face. “I had an irrational reaction to you mentioning Richard. I was jealous. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, Evie. It provokes reactions in me that are not entirely logical.”
“Lucy and Aveda said something like that,” I murmured. “That neither of us really had, you know, a serious relationship before this. We don’t always know how to . . . to do stuff. Or handle all the feelings that come up. And I’m sorry, too. I was hiding stuff from you and trying to magically fix our problems with sex, but I also wanted to feel close to you again. It broke my heart to not feel that way.”
“I should not have dismissed your feelings the way I did,” he said, stroking my cheek again. “I couldn’t see beyond my worry for you, it overwhelmed everything else. And I think underneath it all . . .” He trailed off, his eyes searching my face. Like it was a puzzle he was trying to make sense of. “I think,” he continued hesitantly, “there is always an underlying fear for me that it would be easy for you to leave me. That you will find me unworthy, somehow. The only other person I had any sort of human connection with before was my mother—and it was all too easy for her to throw me away.” His voice broke and a muscle in his jaw twitched, his eyes going shiny with unshed tears.
“Oh, Nate.” My own tears were streaming freely down my cheeks. I cupped his face in my hands and met his gaze, hoping he could see every single thing I was feeling. “That kind of scar doesn’t heal overnight—I know that better than anyone. But you have me, completely. I’m all in, forever. And . . . and you know it’s not just me you have now. You . . . we have a family. And it sounds like they’ve all been trying to get us to come to our senses and talk things out.”
“Indeed,” he said, smiling slightly. “I have gotten a few choice words from Scott about this situation as well.”
“We were both so worried about each other,” I said. “Trying to protect each other from our own feelings. But I want you to know, you can always cry on me. Like I just cried on you. You don’t have to hold it all in. You . . . we don’t have to be strong all the time.” I leaned in close, hoping he’d hear everything I was saying. I wanted him to feel as safe as I did, as protected. “I love you with everything I have. I love you so much, it’s overwhelming sometimes. And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you know that, every single day. You’re the most worthy person I’ve ever known.”
Tenderness lit his dark eyes again and my heart clenched.
“I love you too,” he said, his deep voice rough and shaky.
And then, because there was nothing else we could express in mere words, I leaned in and kissed him.
He made a surprised sound in the back of his throat, then pulled me against his body. His tongue parted my lips, deepening our kiss. I sank into the irresistible wet heat of it, my greedy fingertips skimming up the muscles of his chest to stroke his neck, his gorgeous broad shoulders. Everything.
It had been so long since he’d kissed me with so much passion, with such intent. We’d gotten close to that when we’d made out in my dorm room the other day, but this was a whole other level.
His big hands drifted down my back and framed my hips, and he pulled me up so I was straddling him. I groaned low in my throat, my hands slipping under his shirt so I could finally feel his bare skin, the hard planes of his chest. Desire blazed through me, making me writhe against him. I was so starved for touch, for his touch. For his hands tangling in my hair and his tongue hot against mine. For all of it.
“Evie,” he growled against my mouth. He pulled back, locking his eyes with mine. He was breathing hard and he looked so . . . hungry. I felt another stab of desire so intense, it made me dizzy. “I just realized,” he continued, doing his best to get the words out, “it’s late at night. And we’re in an office. With a desk.”
“Uh, yes,” I said, my mind running a million miles a minute. It was really hard to focus on anything except how hard he was, that insistent pulse between my legs. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”
“No.” He leaned in and grazed his lips against my earlobe. I shivered. “It just made me think about your fantasy. The one you were telling me about the other day.”
“Oh!” I yelped, memories from that moment flooding my mind, short-circuiting my brain. “I . . . um . . .”
His lips moved to my neck and the words died in my throat. He pulled back and gazed at me, then he reached over and traced his fingertips over my collarbone. Just like the hot stranger in my fantasy. I shivered.
“So I’m supposed to be a stranger,” he said. “And you’re . . .” His eyes skimmed over my Sexy Professor ensemble. “What is this you’re wearing?”
“This is that Sexy Professor costume,” I managed. Want was coursing through my bloodstream now, making it difficult to form complete sentences. “Kind of perfect for that particular fantasy.”
“Mmm,” he said, his fingertips drifting lower to trace the creamy silk of the neckline. My nipples tightened, two hard points against the delicate lace of my bra. I saw his gaze drift lower, taking them in. The material of this costume was so thin, he could pretty much see everything. He made a sound low in his throat, a groan that made me flush all over.
“Here, let me . . .” I raised a hand to the buttons of my blouse, preparing to undo them. He caught my wrist and locked his gaze with mine once again.
“No,” he rasped, his voice low and husky. “Let me.” His fingertips brushed over my collarbone again and drifted between my breasts. “Let me take care of you,” he growled in my ear. “Let me be in charge.” He toyed with the top button of my blouse, then flicked it open. I inhaled sharply. “You only have to feel, Evie—I know what you want. And I want to give you more pleasure than you can handle. I want to take care of you the way you need me to.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Please.”
His hand slid under my blouse and cupped my breast, his big thumb stroking my nipple through my bra. Chills coursed through me and I closed my eyes, unable to think of anything but how good that felt. He buried his face in my neck, his tongue tracing patterns over one of my most sensitive spots.
“Stand up,” he managed between kisses.
“Why?” I gasped, my head swimming as he rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
He pulled back and gave me the most wicked grin.
“I’m in charge, remember?” he said, cocking an eyebrow. He leaned in again, his lips brushing my ear. “And I’m going to fuck you against your desk.”
“Holy . . .” I squeaked out, but I couldn’t get any farther than that.
He got to his feet and pulled me up with him, then kissed me deeply and backed me up against the desk, his hands caressing my hips. I scooted my ass backward, so I was sitting on the edge of the desk, and wrapped my legs around him, pulling him against me so I could feel that beautiful hardness again.
“How do you want to be . . . positioned?” he said, somehow making that sound like the dirtiest word in the history of the English language. All the air left my lungs. “Was your fantasy like this?” He gestured to our current set-up. “Or were you bent over the desk?”
“I . . .” I gripped the front of his t-shirt, holding on for dear life. “I want you to decide.”
He gave me another wicked grin. “Then stay like this—I want to see all of you.” He kissed me, stroking his palms up my thighs, his fingertips grazing my sides, and landing on the neckline of my blouse again, toying with the flimsy material.
“How attached are you to this shirt?” he murmured against my mouth.
“Actually, I hate it,” I said, my words coming out all breathy and frantic.
He didn’t waste any more words, just ripped my blouse open. Buttons flew everywhere, pinging against the hardwood floor. I tried to shrug the tattered scraps of silk off, but Nate grabbed my wrist again. “Leave that,” he said. “And brace yourself against the desk.”
I bit my lip and grinned at him, lowering my hands to the desk. He framed my hips with his hands and peppered kisses along my collarbone, his thumb brushing the lace of my bra aside. When his mouth finally found my exposed nipple, I moaned.
“Wait . . . shit . . .” I gasped, laughing a little. “God, this is the dorm room all over again, I’m so loud . . .”
“I love it when you’re loud,” he countered, his teeth grazing the slope of my breast. “And you’re supposed to just let go, remember? Let me take care of everything.”
“Yes, but . . . oh god, please keep doing that . . . we’re sort of in public, and I . . . I feel like I can’t . . .”
He raised his head, his eyes searching mine. His hands moved to my thighs again and he pushed my skirt up until it was bunched around my waist. His fingertips skimmed the garters and the lace of my panties, sending little shockwaves through my entire system.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, taking in my fancy underwear set-up. He lingered on the panties. “Can I take these off?”
“Yes,” I gasped.
I heard a rip, felt the lace tearing away, and then he held the delicate material out to me, bunched in his hand. “What if,” he said slowly, getting that wicked glint in his eyes again, “you had something to scream against? Would that make you feel safe—like you could truly let go and just feel?”
“Oh god,” I whimpered.
His wicked grin widened as I allowed him to gag me with the panties. “If you want me to stop at any point, squeeze my shoulder,” he said, stroking my nipple again. “Otherwise, keep your hands on the desk.”
I nodded, barely able to contain the waves of desire coursing through me. He lowered his mouth to my nipple again, taking his time, swirling his tongue around the tip. I gripped the desk and threw my head back, moaning through the gag, giving in to the feel of his teeth grazing my delicate flesh.
He moved lower, going to his knees, his tongue brushing my navel. I did as I’d been instructed, my hands clutching the desk in a death grip. My knees were wobbling like mad, and I knew if I let go or tried to stand all the way up, I’d just slide to the floor. He grinned up at me, sliding a hand up my ribcage to palm my breast. Then he leaned in and stroked his tongue between my legs.
I screamed against the lace of my panties, wanting nothing more than to wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull him even closer—but I also knew that if I let go of the desk, I’d collapse. His tongue found a rhythm, bringing me close to my peak over and over again, until I was practically sobbing with need.
I almost cried when he got to his feet again, his fingers wrapping around my hips. I lifted one of my hands from the desk and stroked him through his pants, thrilling at how hard he was.
With shaking fingers, I undid his belt, his pants, and pulled his cock free.
“Put your hands back on the desk,” he growled. “Or . . .”
I stroked him again and he groaned, his hands clutching the end of the desk, his knuckles turning white.
“Or I’m not going to last long,” he finally managed.
I did as I was told, but not before throwing him a wicked look of my own.
He gripped my hips again and guided himself inside me with one long thrust. I moaned against the gag again, wrapping my legs around his waist, my high heels digging into his back. Then he started to fuck me, slowly at first, building to a rhythm of long, rough strokes. Each one sent a whole new wave of pleasure through me, escalating in intensity until I was completely overwhelmed.
The desk shook beneath us, rattling with every thrust. I gripped it harder, closing my eyes, losing myself in the sensation. I felt his tongue against my nipple again, then his whole mouth, taking me in . . . god.
And then he slid a hand between us and started to touch me, right where I needed it most. Every part of me felt so stimulated, so pleasured. I felt taken care of. It was what I’d always wanted from this fantasy, to be able to let myself go and not worry about anything and . . . just . . . feel . . .
I threw my head back and screamed against the gag, holding nothing back.
“Evie.” Nate’s voice was rough with desire. “Open your eyes—look at me, baby.”
I opened my eyes—and realized there were tears streaming down my cheeks. I met his gaze, and was transported back to that moment right after we’d found out we were pregnant—our eyes locking as he slid inside of me. Feeling so connected. So free.
God, I loved this man. This man who went out of his way to give me everything I needed. Who wanted me to feel taken care of and protected and safe. Who loved me beyond all measure, who gave himself to me as fully as I’d given myself to him.
Who made me feel like I could let go. Because he’d always catch me.
He thrust into me hard, one long stroke. Just pleasure, nothing else. And then he pressed his fingers right where I needed them and everything exploded into bright light.