Page 16 of All Ghosts Aren’t Dead (The Forgotten #1)

SAMUEL

I believed in the mission.

Not in the mafia, not in the structure that held us up with bloodstained hands, but in the purpose that pulsed beneath it.

The boys.

The training.

The order.

It was necessary.

We carved power from their pain. We made them sharp where the world had made them soft. We turned victims into weapons—into survivors.

It was the closest I ever came to believing in anything bigger than blood.

Not anymore.

The purpose was quieter now.

It didn’t blaze through me like absolution.

It hummed.

It settled in the stillness.

The moment when his leg draped across mine, and he breathed like peace was something he’d finally earned. He’d touched me without flinching, and I didn’t pull away .

Blue slept beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world. One arm over my waist, fingers curled against my ribs, breath rising and falling in the quiet cadence of safety.

I held him like he was mine, because he fucking was, and every night he crawled back into my sheets, something shifted.

The armor creaked.

The edges dulled.

The boy I was training to fight began to feel less like a soldier and more like something sacred.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

I carried that thought with me into the garden.

The sun had barely climbed the horizon. Dew clung to the edges of stone and leaf, softening everything it touched. I couldn’t feel any of it—not the breeze or the warmth I used to associate with this place.

It was too quiet.

I hated that.

The boys were inside for morning rotation. There were no punches, boots, or barked commands to fill the silence.

Amir sat on the stone bench near the trellis, legs crossed, one hand cupped around a steaming mug. The faint scent of cardamom drifted from his tea.

He didn’t speak—not at first.

He sipped his tea and sat there, draped in the kind of silence that coaxed the truth out of other men.

Weaker men—men who were nowhere near as emotionally fucked up as I was.

“Is this an intervention or an ambush?”

“I don’t know.” Amir tilted his head. “Why don’t you tell me?”

For fuck’s sake.

He studied me as though he were peeling flesh from a wound. Except, he already knew what he’d find underneath.

Trauma.

“Did you or did you not call me out here?”

“I’m just drinking my tea.” Amir looked up, squinting slightly against the sun. “You’re the one pacing like a dog about to bolt.”

Fuck.

I wasn’t pacing… yet. I could feel it building in my calves—that need to move, to work the tension out of my spine before it split me in half.

“You’re not even going to pretend this isn’t about Blue?”

“He seems to be acclimating well.” He set the mug down on the bench beside him. “I’ve enjoyed our sessions. He’s the first boy in a long time who hasn’t spent the first week cussing me out or trying to tear apart my file cabinet.”

I huffed. “He probably apologizes for breathing too loudly.”

“Not always.” Amir’s mouth twitched. “Did you know Bay’s been giving him candy?”

“Of course he has.”

“He came in yesterday with a pocket full of Airheads and told me sugar helps the soul.”

That sounded like him— my boy.

The words came too fast, even in my head. I turned away before Amir could sense it.

“He mentioned he was sleeping better,” Amir murmured, scratching at his beard with the backs of his knuckles. “The nightmares aren’t as bad when he’s not alone.”

Neither are mine.

My pulse thudded.

I glanced at the far end of the garden. The grass caught in the wind and rippled in slow waves. I couldn’t look at Amir—not yet—so I focused on a leaf half-curled in the dirt. It looked like it had tried to open and then changed its mind.

“Do you know what he also said?” Amir cleared his throat, adjusting his tone to one that beckoned nonchalance.

I knew better.

He was projecting patience, but he meant to press.

The fucker.

“Daddy and I cuddle,” he quoted.

There was no mock or imitation to his voice. Only truth.

“His kisses make my brain quiet. We’ll probably fall in love and kill bad people together . ”

I rubbed a hand across my jaw.

Ah, baby.

My skin felt too hot, my pulse crawling up the back of my neck.

“What the fuck, Amir? That’s wildly unprofessional of you. Sharing something he told you in confidence?—”

“Oh, fuck you, Samuel.” Amir’s voice cracked clean through my posturing. “Don’t stand there and pretend you give a shit about ethics when you’ve had that boy tucked against your ribs for the last four nights.”

I opened my mouth—then closed it.

Fuck.

He was right.

“You, of all people, know how seriously I take their privacy. You’ve seen me tear people apart for less. Blue didn’t whisper those words, Samuel. He announced them like they were fact. Easy as breathing.”

I shifted my weight, jaw clenched so tight it ached. The bench creaked as Amir leaned forward slightly, hands wrapped around the mug again.

“Was it a secret?” he asked. “Are you angry that he told me? Or that he told the others? Or?—”

“No,” I snapped, too fast and too loud. “I could never be angry at him.”

The breeze stirred again, just enough to make me notice I hadn’t taken a full breath since he’d said the word cuddle .

“I told myself it was nothing,” I muttered. “He came to my office that night, and I thought—just once. Just for the night.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered, anyway.

“No.” My boots scuffed against the gravel. “No it fucking wasn’t.”

“He touches you, yes?”

I gave a short nod. “It’s not even that he does. It’s that I… want him to. My body… it doesn’t revolt when he’s near.”

Amir watched me with that unreadable quiet, the kind that always came right before he said something I’d want to punch him for.

“That’s not unusual for survivors.”

Christ.

He let it hang there—no elaboration or comfort. Just a clean scalpel through the middle of my chest.

“Survivors of what?” I said tightly.

“You tell me.”

I scoffed and turned away, jaw clenching hard enough to hurt. The wind had picked up, dragging the scent of turned soil and cedar through the garden. I hated how clean it all smelled, like the world didn’t remember how fucked up it truly was.

“It’s called haphephobia, Samuel. You know this. That nausea, that crawling under your skin when someone touches you without permission? That’s not a mystery. That’s your nervous system doing its job—learning to survive what it couldn’t fight.”

“ Don’t give it a fucking label.”

“I didn’t invent it,” Amir shot back. “It exists whether you say it or not. You don’t want it, Samuel, of course you fucking don’t, but you have it.”

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. My hands curled into fists at my sides. I hated this part. The exposure . The clarity . The way Amir could rip the floor out from under you with nothing more than words.

“You think I’m diagnosing weakness, but I’m not. I’m telling you that what you feel—what you can’t feel—is the aftermath of survival. You don’t need a grave to prove something died in you.”

I turned my face away, but not fast enough to hide the way my mouth twitched.

“I don’t want your pity,” I spat.

“Fuck pity. I’m offering you the truth.” He stood. “You flinch at the word because you think naming it will strip you of the power you built. Listen to me very carefully, Samuel—power without healing is just polished pain. You’re not better because you’ve buried it. You’re just angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“For fuck’s sake, Samuel.” He shook his head, laughing into a smile. “You’re always angry. That’s the point.”

I blinked. The words scraped something open in my chest.

“You wear calm like armor,” Amir continued.

“You weaponize stillness, but inside, you’re burning.

You always have been. It’s not control. It’s fear.

You don’t let yourself feel anything, because if you did—if you let even one crack open—you think you’d lose your grip entirely. That you might turn into them.”

“Don’t.”

The word landed harsh—clipped. My chest tightened like he’d laced wire through my ribs and yanked. There were some ghosts I could bury under routine.

Not this.

Not them.

Not the way they clawed their way up every time I caught myself wanting more.

Goddamnit. I wanted Blue. No, I needed him. He was essential now.

I needed the way his fingers curled in my shirt, and the way his breath slowed, one quiet exhale at a time, until I could match it.

I needed the way his touch didn’t make my stomach turn, and the way mine didn’t make him flinch.

“I shouldn’t want this,” I blurted. “I’m supposed to protect him. Not…”

Crave him.

Claim him.

Sink into him like he’s home.

I closed my eyes.

“Ah.” Amir’s voice came gently. “You think you’re the thing he needs protection from.”

No. Fucking. Shit.

“You believe that by allowing Blue to get close to you, you’ll ruin him.

” Amir’s voice gentled, and he waited until I forced my chin up to continue.

“Blue doesn’t need a weapon, Samuel. He needs a man who won’t flinch when he reaches out.

You think you’re protecting him, but the only thing you’re doing is punishing yourself. ”

Something crumpled inside me then.

“You going to tell me what that makes me? A masochist or some shit?”

“Nah.” He met my gaze. “Human.”

“Jesus Christ.” I scoffed. “That’s worse.”

“You’re not a monster, Samuel.”

Aren’t I, though?

“I was supposed to save him,” I said, jaw tight. “And instead I’ve… latched onto him like some feral fucking freak that doesn’t know how to let go. I have taken the only soft thing in my life and branded it with my trauma.”

Amir didn’t flinch, just let the words settle between us. “You’re not bad for wanting him, Sam. You just have to make sure you don’t use him to survive the parts of you that still want to die.”

My lungs locked.

They didn’t make a sound, but oh, I felt it—like a rib cracked inward.

Before I could speak, footsteps pounded across the gravel path. Bay skidded into the garden, out of breath.