Page 19 of All Ghosts Aren’t Dead (The Forgotten #1)

SAMUEL

T he world came back in pieces. The weight of his body and the shallow rise and fall of breath that wasn’t mine but might as well have been. Our legs were tangled together, skin slipping against soft sheets.

His forehead rested against mine, our mouths close but not quite touching. Neither of us were ready to move. His pulse echoed against my chest like it was trying to sync us up from the inside out.

It was my favorite fucking sound.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t shrinking from the aftershock of touch. I wasn’t calculating how fast I could pull away before the nausea set in.

All I wanted was to be closer to him.

His weight, his breath, his skin—every part of him settled something in me I didn’t know was still fighting.

I could’ve stayed in that spot forever if the gauze hadn’t caught my eye—blood blooming through the edge of the wrap again.

“Shit.” I sat up just enough to see it clearly. His wrist had split a little. Nothing bad, but enough to tug on all my instincts.

Protect.

Protect.

Protect.

He reached for me, fingers brushing my ribs. “No, it’s fine. I’m okay.”

“You’re bleeding.” I slid off the bed, not bothering with clothes. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“I want to be with you.”

His voice was small and clingy. It stopped me in my tracks.

“I know, baby, but just give me a second.” I pointed to the doorway. “I’m going to grab something from the bathroom. I’ll leave the door wide open so you can see me, okay?”

He nodded, but only barely. He curled onto his side, eyes following me like he was afraid I might vanish.

The tile was cool beneath my feet as I crossed to the cabinet under the sink. I crouched and reached for the worn kit tucked behind the stack of folded towels. Grabbing a clean washcloth, I soaked it in warm water, then wrung it out.

When I came back, he was sitting upright in the bed, trying not to fidget.

“Lie back.”

He obeyed, blinking up at me with unbridled trust.

I sank onto the bed beside him, pulling the sheets aside to reveal the sticky mess across his belly. The sight made my stomach warm with something tender.

“Tickles, Daddy,” he whispered when the cloth met his skin.

I moved slowly, cleaning him with gentle, rhythmic motions. His chest rose and fell in time with my hand.

When he was clean, I tossed the cloth aside and picked up the kit.

The wound stared up at me.

There was no rupture, just a faint tension at the edges where the skin had pulled.

He was fine, but something ugly and protective stirred inside me anyway.

My hands had stitched that wound, and the thought of it failing—of him bleeding because I hadn’t done enough—made my ribs ache.

“Still closed,” I said, more to myself than to him. “You held together, baby.”

His fingers brushed my thigh. “That’s ’cause you fixed me, Daddy.”

Christ.

I stilled, hand hovering over the fresh gauze, and just… looked at him. At his face, flushed but soft. His eyes, dark and bright and full of trust he shouldn’t have learned to give so quickly, but thank fuck he did.

I reached for his wrist again, not the one I was wrapping, but the other, unmarked and warm. I pressed my lips to the inside of it and held there, breathing him in.

“I didn’t fix you,” I said quietly. “You were never broken.”

Blue blinked up at me.

“You were hurt, but not broken.”

His mouth moved, but no words came. He nodded once and curled his fingers in the sheets like he didn’t know what else to do with the feeling.

“You… you said my name,” he murmured. “Bailey.”

“I did.” I reached for the gauze again, finished wrapping his wrist, then laid it gently against my nightstand. “Is that okay?”

He nodded. “No one’s ever said it like that before, like it means something.”

“Baby.” I reached for his face. “It means everything .”

He stared at me, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, tears gathering on his lashes.

“I think I love you,” he whispered. “I—I don’t even know if I’m saying it right, —but I feel it, Daddy. I promise I do. I feel it so much it hurts.”

He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, sniffling.

“It’s not just because you’re kind to me, or because you touch me like I matter.

It’s more than that. It’s—” His jaw trembled, lips wet with fallen tears.

“It’s how I feel safe in your bed, and how I miss you even when you’re still in the room. ”

He paused, breathing like the words hurt his lungs. “If I could never touch you again… if all I had was sitting close enough to hear your heartbeat, I’d still want you. I’d still love you.”

… love you.

… love you.

Those words didn’t just hit me—they cracked me open and undid everything I was.

This boy who had been starved of kindness, who had never been taught the shape of safety, handed his heart to me with both hands.

Willingly.

Entirely.

It was too fucking much.

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move, except to reach for him, thumb brushing under his eye, palm cradling the side of his face, holding him steady while the world tipped sideways inside my chest.

I think I always knew.

From the second I saw him huddled under that bridge, I knew. It felt different now because I believed it. Believed I could love something without destroying it.

“I love you, too.”

His eyes softened, those big, water-bright eyes that always looked at me like I was the gravity his whole world bent toward.

“I love you so much,” I whispered. “I love you, and it terrifies me, because I can’t lose you.” I leaned in until our foreheads touched again. My thumb traced the curve of his cheek. “You’re mine, and I won’t let you go. I can’t .”

He laid his hand over mine, curling our fingers together. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

“It should. I saved you from a prison, only to force you into another. If you decide to leave… fuck , I don’t think I’ll be able to allow it.”

“This isn’t a prison, Daddy. This is Heaven.”

“Baby.”

“I—I don’t actually know what Heaven is supposed to look like, and Ezekiel always told me I wasn’t worthy enough to know, but I don’t hear his voice so loud anymore. I only hear yours, and if this isn’t Heaven, then I don’t care. I don’t care about being worthy of it or not.”

He pressed his lips to the corner of my mouth and whispered, “The only thing I want to be worthy of is you.”

Just like that, the last of my walls caved in.

I didn’t deserve him, fuck no, but I was going to try.