Page 35 of All Ghosts Aren’t Dead (The Forgotten #1)

BLUE

D addy was healing slowly. I didn’t like it.

He said it was normal, that bones take time to heal or whatever. Bishop’s stitches were neat, and I wasn’t supposed to worry.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

I worried anyway. Of course I did.

He was my Daddy.

He’d been resting all week, working hard to hide his pain from me, but I heard his breath catch whenever he bent too far forward. I saw it, too, the way he flinched when the shirt brushed wrong, or how his jaw clenched when he thought I wasn’t looking.

The bruise on his ribs was the size of my whole hand, deep and grumpy, blooming out from under the bandage like someone had tried to paint him with pain and just didn’t know when to stop.

The gauze was clean now, but I’d seen it bleed through. Dark red and oozing out from the center like it was trying to escape.

I hated it, the way it left his body like it belonged to someone else the moment it hit the air.

I thought about getting a jar—a teeny tiny one—just to catch whatever dripped. Bay thought it was a little creepy, but I didn’t think so. I just wanted to save it so he wouldn’t have to lose any more of himself. I’d keep it really safe, label it with his name, and tuck it under our bed.

Bishop changed the gauze before I could try. Just tossed it aside like it wasn’t special.

Rude.

I almost cried.

Daddy had twelve stitches—dark, neat, and perfectly spaced. I counted them every night. The skin was swollen and pink around the edges, and there was a tiny tear at one corner that hadn’t scabbed yet, like it was still deciding whether to stay open.

I dared it not to heal…

… and I kissed it lots and lots.

I checked on him every hour—sometimes more. Usually, I just opened the door and peeked my head in to make sure he was still breathing. He always was. Except for one time when he was asleep and his mouth was open a little. I panicked and sat on his chest until he grunted.

He didn’t get mad, though. Daddy never got mad at me.

I climbed the stairs to the tower, skipping every other step and humming a little. The third stair creaked the way it always did, but I didn’t mind. It just meant I was closer to Daddy.

I had another note for him. A really super good one.

I wrote it myself—didn’t even ask Simon to check it. I practiced the loops in my b ’s and the dot on the i until it was perfectly tiny. I folded it neat, like a treasure, and held it flat between my palms so it wouldn’t wrinkle.

My heart was already bouncing when I reached the top of the stairs.

“Daddy,” I called softly as I pushed open the door. “I brought you something.”

He was resting exactly where I’d left him before tutoring, curled up in our big bed with the softest sheets, smelling like warm laundry.

His laptop was open on the nightstand, even though he wasn’t supposed to be working . A document glowed on the screen, full of notes and lines and half-written things, but he wasn’t typing. He was lying back against the pillows, shirt off, one arm stretched lazily over his stomach.

The bandage was still clean—no blood or new leaks, but I was still going to double-check.

Daddy’s curls were messy—dark and soft and rolled up at the ends from the way he’d pressed his head into the pillow. I liked it best like that, a little flattened on one side, like he’d been dreaming with his whole body.

One corner of his mouth twitched up in a lazy smile when he saw me, and his eyes did that sparkly thing.

Daddy’s eyes always sparkled when he looked at me.

“I brought you something,” I told him, tiptoeing closer to the bed.

His smile got a little wider, slow and sleepy. “Yeah? Another note?”

I nodded. “It’s a really good one, Daddy. You’re probably gonna cry.”

That made him huff softly, like maybe he believed me. “Come here, Blue baby.”

I climbed up real careful—no bouncing or rushing.

Knees first, then hands flat, easing onto the mattress and wiggling toward him like a little worm.

He watched me with his head tilted, one eyebrow raised, the edge of his mouth still curled. “Baby,” he said, voice thick with affection. “You are fucking adorable, but you don’t need to roll around like I’m made of glass. You make more movement when you’re sleeping.”

“I do not, Daddy,” I said, inching closer. “I’m a very calm sleeper.”

“Sweetheart,” he cajoled. “You wrapped yourself around my leg last night and drooled all over my thigh.”

“That’s not ’cause I’m a crazy sleeper,” I said, scooting right up beside him and laying the note across his chest. “It’s ’cause I love you.”

He laughed for real that time, chest rumbling under the bandage, and I watched him carefully just to make sure it didn’t hurt.

The note was still resting on his chest when he reached for it, unfolding it with one hand while the other found my thigh. His eyes flicked downward as he read, mouth softening and eyebrows dipping.

I held my breath without meaning to. I always did when he read something I wrote, like if I made a sound, the words might change on the page.

He made a little humming sound, and the edge of his mouth pulled up.

“Read it to me,” he whispered.

I nodded and sat up a little straighter.

I’d already memorized every word, so I didn’t really need the paper, but I sat up straighter and read it anyway.

Because I could.

Dear Daddy,

Thank you for saving me.

Thank you for letting me sleep in your bed.

Thank you for being nice when I’m scared.

I like your voice. I like your arms. I like when you say mine .

You are my favorite person ever.

My favorite part of the day is when you look at me first thing.

I counted your heart last night.

It beat seventy-two times in one minute.

That’s how I know you’re real.

Love,

Your Bailey Blue

P.S. Your back looks hot with the B on it.

He held the note like it was breathing, eyes tracing each and every letter. Thumb on my thigh, he rubbed little shapes across my skin, mouth curling as he tilted the paper and squinted.

“What’s this drawing down here?”

I tapped the bottom of the page. “That’s you, me, and our dog.”

A breathy laugh pushed past his lips—real and hoarse and sticky with affection. “We don’t have a dog.”

“We could get one,” I said, scooting in a little closer like maybe that would help convince him. “Probably.”

He hummed and folded the note with careful fingers, pressing the crease flat with his palm before sliding it under the pillow like it belonged there. His hand came to rest on my cheek, thumb tracing the curve of my jaw.

“You’re my favorite,” he murmured.

I scooted closer until our noses almost touched. “Does that mean we can get a dog?”

He huffed a low laugh and leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “You’re not subtle, Blue baby.”

I tilted toward him without meaning to, lips brushing his softly, then firmer as his fingers threaded into my hair and tugged me closer. My body arched before I could stop it, mouth parting just enough to taste him.

I moaned into his mouth, breath shaky as I climbed into his lap real careful, straddling his thighs without jostling him too much. My whole body was buzzing and buzzing and buzzing.

I just wanted to rub all over him, but when I shifted my lips a little, I felt him flinch. It wasn’t very big, just a little suck of breath he tried to swallow, but it was enough to make me freeze.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I whispered, kissing the tip of his nose. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

He chuckled, low and fond, voice still warm from the kiss. “Baby, that is not how you felt last night when you sat on my cock and rode me like your life depended on it.”

I blinked. “Well, I did all the work. Plus, I watched you in case you started to bleed.”

“Sweetheart.” He grinned wider. “You did not do any of the work. You get cock dumb the minute I enter you.”

My jaw dropped. “I do not!”

“You do,” he drawled, pulling me down into another kiss before I could argue. “You go all wide-eyed and stupid. Cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

I pouted against his mouth, even though my whole body was melting. “I just need you so much, Daddy.”

His hands slid up my back, warm and careful, pulling me down to lie against him, chest to chest. “You have me,” he murmured. “Even broken. Even bleeding. Even when I’m too sore to move—I’m yours.”

“But you’re supposed to be resting,” I whispered, trying to sound scolding even though my heart was moving super fast.

“You weren’t exactly complaining last night.”

I flushed hot and sat up. “You said you were fine!”

“I am fine.”

“You are bandaged, ” I said, pointing, then letting my fingers brush against the edge of the gauze. “And bruised and stitched and it’s all my fault.”

His hand shot out and caught my wrist. “Bailey Blue Bensen.”

Uh-oh.

He never used all my names—not in a row like that.

I tugged at my ear, throat tight. “Are you… mad at me?”

His grip on my wrist eased, thumb tracing soft circles against my skin. “No. Baby, no. I’m not mad.” His voice dropped, rough at the edges. “I’m just… feeling everything really hard right now.”

“Like what things?”

“Love,” he said. “Possession. Rage. All things that say I’d tear the world apart if it kept you safe.”

I swallowed. My hand stayed pressed to the bandage, like maybe I could heal it if I stayed still enough.

“It’s not your fault, Blue baby,” he whispered. “Not any of it.”

“But you got hurt because of me.”

“I got hurt because I stood between you and a monster.” His eyes didn’t waver, even when I couldn’t keep mine steady. “I would do it again. A thousand times. Ten thousand. Until every part of me was broken—if it meant you were whole.”

My throat pinched. I couldn’t breathe for a second.

“I hate him,” I said. The words tumbled out raw and sharp. “I hate Ezekiel. I hate the way he looked at you. I hate what he did to us. I hate that I couldn’t stop it.”

“You did stop it. You ended it, Blue. You and Jonah both.”

“I went to see him.” The confession came out before I could tuck it away. “This morning.”

He stiffened. “Without me?”

My silence was loud.