Page 27 of Adored by the Grumpy Ghost (Mapletown Monster Mates #1)
“Well,” he says, after what feels like ten minutes, but is likely about ten seconds. He scrubs a hand down his face, and I catch a flash of sadness in his eyes, I think, quickly replaced by an inscrutable expression making my stomach twist. “It’s not really up to me, is it?”
That’s definitely not what I wanted to hear. “What do you mean?”
He chews on the inside of his cheek, as if trying to find the right words. “I mean,” he begins, then pauses. “I’m happy with the way things are, and admittedly, I know very little about how romantic couplings are labeled these days. I will defer to you, Natalie.”
Ugh, why does he have to talk in code? Can’t he just tell me how he feels?
Granted, societal expectations regarding dating have changed since 1901, so I get it, but I’d rather hear his old-timey evaluation of what we are than figure it out all by myself.
This is a two-way street, and he just pushed me into the middle of it, straddling the dividing line.
Maybe he’s nervous to open himself up again, after how horrible things were with Susanna.
Rest in peace, and all that, but thinking about how cruel she was to him makes me want to summon her spirit, grab her by the shoulders and scream, Are you kidding me?
Did you not see the wonderful man you had? in her face.
He’s not the only one afraid to get romantically involved again, though.
I’m freaked out too. These feelings that I have for Winston––I wasn’t expecting them.
I wasn’t expecting him . When he kisses my forehead, or pushes my hair behind my ear, or pulls me closer when our bodies are already flush from head to toe, I get these little painful pangs in my chest. They aren’t unpleasant by any means.
I’m not entirely sure what they are. All I know is that they make me want more of him.
Of us. But whenever I feel them, I’m reminded of my limited time here.
This isn’t my house, and Lindsay will want me out of here at some point.
For that reason, I need to keep my head above water and not lean into those painful pangs.
I can’t let whatever this is go beyond casual sex.
Maybe it already has, but even so, it can’t go any further. We need to be smart about this.
“Okay,” I finally say, “then let’s keep things how they are. Fun. Casual.”
His expression sours on the last word, but when I lean in for a kiss, his lips are just as hungry and intense as always. It doesn’t take long for us to become breathless and start pawing at each other.
“Come here.” Winston says with a chuckle as he removes my hands from his pants and maneuvers behind me, pulling me gently between his legs.
His back is against the headboard, and he starts running his fingers through my hair.
It feels so good, a sigh tumbles from my lips as I press my scalp deeper into his hands.
At some point, he goes from brushing my hair to twisting it in a way that has me suspicious.
“What are you doing?”
“Braiding your hair.”
A surprised laugh bursts out of me. “Why?”
He clears his throat, voice confident as he replies, “Because I’m spectacular at it.”
“Do I want to know how you developed this skill?”
“I used to braid my sister’s hair all the time.”
“You had a sister?” I ask, ashamed that this is the first time I’m hearing about a sibling of his.
“Yes.” In only one word, I can tell the mood has shifted. “She was the best person I’ve ever known. The only one in my family I liked being around.”
I reach around to squeeze his hand. “We don’t have–”
“It’s okay,” he interrupts. “She had cerebral palsy. Though, at the time, we didn’t have a name for it. My mother did her best, but she was trying to raise three of us alone. I don’t think she had the energy to be what Ginny needed.”
“Three of you?”
“Me, Ginny, and my youngest brother, Harold. My father was an angry drunk, so he doesn’t count. Was barely conscious when he was home. My brother and I helped as much as we could until we lost her.”
“Lost…Ginny, or your mother?”
I hear him suck in an uneven breath. “Ginny. She went first. Only eight years old.” His words are choppy, and his voice is a somber scrape as he continues.
“My sorry excuse for a father was supposed to be watching her while my mom was at the market. He passed out while she was eating. Her respiratory system was already strained, and she started to choke. It didn’t wake him up. Mom came home and found her dead.”
“Jesus.” Once again, I’m stunned into silence at Winston’s pain. It’s so much for one person to carry. Dying doesn’t seem to have helped ease it, either. Time, maybe a little, but it’s been over a century, and he can barely get the words out.
I don’t know what to do to make him feel better, but maybe he’d take comfort in knowing he was a little less alone?
“I had two miscarriages,” I blurt, immediately regretting it. Does he really want to hear this right now? Does he care? Do I have any right to shift the attention to my pain right after he’s done exposing his? Unfortunately, the words are out there. I can’t walk them back now. “With, um, Kyle.”
His hands go still. I feel him shifting behind me. Then, his fingers crook under my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his over my shoulder. “Natalie, I’m so sorry.”
I nod, my throat going dry. “It’s okay. Really.
” It sounds like a lie, and it is. Most of the time, I work exceptionally hard to forget that period of my life was real.
“Kyle got injured playing hockey in college. His dreams of becoming a professional athlete were shattered. It took him a long time to get past it, but once it seemed like he had, he became fixated on parenthood. Wouldn’t stop talking about it.
Now, I realize, he never actually got past it. He swapped one obsession for another.”
“He pressured you?” Winston asks, his jaw taut with frustration. No, it’s closer to rage.
“No, well, not really.” Looking back, he did pressure me, but I didn’t see it as pressure at the time. Like a sweet, young idiot in love, I thought it was a green flag. Proof that he was the perfect man for me.
He wants kids that bad? Obviously, he’s a keeper!
“The first pregnancy was a surprise,” I tell Winston.
“I wasn’t ready, and we did everything right, but the morning-after pill didn’t work on me because of my weight.
” It’s been a while since I checked, but if the weight restrictions haven’t been bolded and changed to size twenty-four font on the box of the morning-after pill, I’m ready to ride at dawn.
“When I told Kyle, he was so excited, and it was contagious. I got excited, too.”
A sigh slips past my lips. I’m feeling very tired. “We lost her at twelve weeks, and it broke me.”
“How did Kyle take it?” My ex’s name sounds bitter on Winston’s lips.
“Not well.” Reliving this is twisting my stomach, making it hard to breathe. “It was a week, maybe two, after it happened, and he was ready to start trying again.”
“What?” Winston is aghast. “You’re not serious.”
I nod, trying to stop my lip from trembling. “My body wasn’t ready, my heart was still in pieces. Kyle tried to convince me that trying would take my mind off the pain.”
“Did you? Start trying again?”
Shame fills my chest as I nod. “At some point, I think I was too exhausted to argue. It was just easier to give him what he wanted and hope it all worked out.” I feel Winston’s fingers return to my hair, twisting the strands into a braid once again.
I expect him to be rough, for the tension in his body to trickle out of his hands, but he’s gentler than before.
The repetitive motion settles my stomach.
It gives me somewhere else to put my mind as I relive this.
“I got pregnant again two months after my miscarriage and miscarried again after nine weeks. Me and Kyle never recovered.”
I hear Winston wrap the elastic around my hair, the light snap of it breaking through the heavy silence. He grunts, the sound pained as he presses his cheek against the crown of my head. “My Natalie,” he whispers.
I like the sound of that. Maybe a little too much.
His large hands engulf mine, the chill of his skin providing the relief my body always seems to need.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer any of the platitudes I got used to hearing back then, and I’m so grateful for it.
Winston understands loss better than most. He knows that, ultimately, this is a deep enough cut that words would never be able to reach it.
Never even come close. Time is the only method of healing, and the scars won’t fade.
He kisses my temple with so much tenderness I can’t keep myself from crying.
Winston moves down until our bodies are more aligned, my back pressed against his hard stomach.
He caresses my cheeks every so often, catching the tears that continue to stain my cheeks, and I fall asleep in the arms of my ghost, my emotional closet now free of skeletons, feeling lighter than I’ve felt in years.