Page 24 of Adored by the Grumpy Ghost (Mapletown Monster Mates #1)

With a sleepy look on her face, she follows my command.

I toss her shirt aside, along with the washcloth, making a mental note to rinse them in the sink before I bring them downstairs to the laundry room.

I remove her bra while averting my eyes.

Despite having seen them, it seems wrong to peek at her perfect tits in this situation.

I pull the t-shirt over her head and kneel in front of her. “How do you feel? Do you think you’ll get sick again, or would you like to lay down?”

Natalie scowls and unbuttons her pants. “Why is it so fucking hot in here?” With her eyes half-open, she pouts as she shoves her pants down her legs, kicking them to the side and toeing off her socks. It reminds me of a child’s tantrum, and I would find it annoying it weren’t so fucking cute.

“Because you have a fever,” I remind her, amused.

She plops back down on the bed, yanking the sheet over her with a huff. I don’t feel right about leaving her alone like this, but would she be upset to find me in her bed without being invited?

Since she’s not entirely aware of her surroundings, I think it’s okay for me to get comfortable. I don’t intend on leaving her side until the sickness has passed. As quietly as I can, I remove my boots and get in next to her, covering myself with the sheet.

She turns onto her side, and her eyes flutter open. Her face is twisted in pain, and I wish more than anything that I could take it from her. “I feel like I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying, sweetheart. Not on my watch.”

A pregnant pause fills the air between us, then she asks, “What does it feel like?”

The question catches me off guard. “What?”

“Dying. What does it feel like?” Blood rushes to her cheeks, as if she’s embarrassed. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, it’s okay,” I promise her. “Do you want to know about before, or after?”

“Tell me everything.”

Knowing how heavy this is about to get, I move closer and pull her into my arms. She nuzzles against me, resting her head on my chest. “I died from tuberculosis––it was quite common back then––and because of the nature of the disease, my memories from the end are hazy at best, but I do recall struggling to breathe, coughing up blood, and having trouble sleeping because the crackling sound in my lungs was so loud. It was complete and utter misery.

“But toward the very end, the last hours or minutes of my life, it was a blur. I’m not sure how long it took me to die; I just know that one moment I was in agony, and then…the pain was gone.”

“Was there a light at the end of a long tunnel?” she asks.

I laugh at the common misconception. “No, nothing like that. There was nothing at first. I was just…here. Standing at the foot of my bed, looking at the vessel that once housed my soul. Eventually, the milkman found me; he came inside on one of his deliveries. He and a neighbor down the street buried my body in the forest behind the house. There wasn’t a funeral or anything, because by that point, everyone I cared about had already died.

“One day, I think it may have been a week after my death, there was a door. It just showed up in front of me. I was in the study, trying to move a book without shifting to my corporeal form, and poof! A door. Clearly out of place. It seemed like an invitation of some kind. I had no idea what was on the other side, heaven, maybe, or hell. Or whatever comes next for spirits like me. Maybe just eternal nothingness.”

“A door? Was there anything special about it? Was it white, with a glowing light behind it and a harp playing from the other side?”

I shake my head. “No. It was a nondescript brown door. Red oak, I believe, but there wasn’t anything particularly special about it.”

Her eyes widen. “So you didn’t open it?”

“Nope.”

“You mean to tell me, you had the opportunity to get The Answer to life’s ultimate question, and you chose not to?”

I can understand her reaction. Who wouldn’t want to know what happens when we die?

It’s a mystery that not even those with the most money can solve.

The great equalizer. But she’s missing the point.

“I was still in the house that I built, my belongings were here, and I had peace and quiet. There’s nothing else I wanted. ”

She chuckles, the sound making my skin prickle with need. “Okay, fair. But what about–”

“My wife?”

She nods, biting her lip as if she regrets asking.

“I haven’t told you how she died, have I?”

“No, and I didn’t want to ask.”

I take her hand, lacing my fingers through hers.

“It’s okay. She, um,”––I swallow the lump in my throat––“she died during childbirth. It was a long, difficult pregnancy. Susanna hated every minute of it. She needed a child to keep her inheritance, but she never actually wanted to be a mother. Most of the time while she was pregnant, she would scream at me for being the cause of her discomfort. For getting her pregnant, even though that’s the only reason she married me…

why she chose me at all. I would cook for her, offer to rub her feet, massage her shoulders, and no matter what I did, she pushed me away.

“I felt helpless. I couldn’t take her pain from her, and she wouldn’t allow me to be the husband I wanted to be.

Then, when my son emerged from her body, I saw her smile for the first time in months.

The joy she radiated stole my breath. It was brief.

So brief that I thought I was dreaming. But it was there, and it was real.

She was delighted to meet her son. Proud of what we made. ”

My palms begin to sweat as I relive that day.

The worst day of my existence. “She wanted to hold Daniel, but the doctor wouldn’t let her.

There was so much blood. Too much. He couldn’t stop it.

” I don’t notice the tear running down my cheek until Natalie gently wipes it away.

“She never,” I pause, needing to catch my breath, “got to hold him. I think she would’ve been a good mother, if she had gotten the chance.

It’s not what she wanted at first, but she would’ve found her footing if she had lived.

Susanna hated me, but she loved our baby boy.

I know she did. I could see it in the way she looked at him.

” Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I do believe that.

Natalie sniffles, and squeezes my hand, letting me know she’s got me.

“Daniel died two hours later. He had trouble breathing right when he entered the world, and it never ceased. The doctor did what he could. There were times during that excruciating two-hour period, when I was a newly widowed single father, praying to god and the rest of the deities to keep my son alive, that it sounded like Daniel had taken a normal breath. A shallow, quiet little breath. It was a sliver of hope. My heart felt like it was going to thump its way out of my body with how much hope I had, but then the doctor would hear a wheeze with his stethoscope or Daniel’s skin would get this blue tint to it, and I would shatter all over again.

Eventually, the breathing stopped altogether, and he was gone. ”

“Winston, I’m so sorry,” Natalie says, swiping at her wet cheeks. “I don’t know what to say.”

I press a kiss to her hair. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ve been living with this for a long time.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” She grabs my chin, forcing me to look into her rich brown eyes. I feel lost in them, but at the same time, safe. Like I’m falling into their depths, knowing my landing will be soft and warm. “That’s why you didn’t open the door, isn’t it?”

I almost forgot why I started telling her this story. “Yeah,” I reply, my voice hoarse and shaky. “Even if they are on the other side of it, they don’t want me there.”

“How can you say that?” Natalie’s tone is harsh, as if she’s offended I would even consider such a thing.

“She hated me, Natalie.”

She flinches at the boom of my voice, and I feel sick for yelling at her.

Here she is trying to comfort me, and I’m fucking it all up.

My chest heaving, I say quietly, “I was nothing to her, okay? And Daniel,” I pause, my voice cracking with emotion, “I couldn’t keep him alive for a single day.

If they’re out there, wherever there is, they should be together… without me.”

We sit there for a while, staring at each other, tears streaming down our cheeks, saying nothing.

I’m too afraid of what might come out of her mouth next, so I revel in the silence.

Does she agree with me? Is she starting to look at me the way Susanna did?

Am I nothing more than a pile of inadequacies in the shape of a man?

I don’t know how much time passes, but eventually, I press my hand to her forehead and tell her I want to recheck her temperature.

“It’s 102.1,” I tell her when it beeps. “Going down. That’s good.”

I busy myself with refilling her glass of water, getting her a fresh, cold washcloth for her head, and giving her a dose of the extra-strength flu medication I found in Penelope’s medicine cabinet. When I return to her side, her eyes are puffy from crying, and her lids are heavy with exhaustion.

“You need to sleep, Natalie.”

As I rise to my feet, her hand latches onto my wrist. “Lay with me.” I’ve never seen such a serious look on her face.

“I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

“Good.” She lifts the sheet on my side of the bed, patting the open spot. “Take off those clothes first.”

“Uh.” Is she serious? She can’t possibly want to do that right now, can she? “As much as I’d like to ravish you right now, you need rest.”

“What? No. You’re like a giant ice pack. I need you against me. I’m still burning up over here.”