Page 9 of Mend My Soul (Shattered Hearts of Carolina Ghost Psychic Mystery Romance #2)

Chapter Nine

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RAE LEE

I wave my card over the payment terminal. It’s about the easiest thing I can manage in the entire transaction. Designing jewelry with a broken elbow on my dominant side?

That’s completely out of the question.

“Do you mind?” I point a dopey finger sticking out of the sling.

My favorite Baked Beans barista slides my sparkling lemon and blueberry iced tea over.

While the next customer orders, I stand to the side and put my credit card into my phone wallet.

It takes one, two, three, tries to slip that into my back pocket.

I have on drawstring shorts so I don’t have to futz zipping or buttoning them, but a top that buttons because getting shirts over my head is a beast. I’m also wearing a ball cap with Grant’s team logo on it to protect my stitches.

“By the time this heals, I’ll be pro,” I insist, speaking as much to them as giving myself a pep talk.

The customer behind me smiles. The barista waves, telling me to get well soon.

One week post-fall and I feel like soon can’t come soon enough. I’ve had autoimmune flares since Anson and I got together. He’s always taken great care of me. However, having to wait for Anson to cut my dinner into bite-size pieces again last night was humbling.

Cold beverage in hand—the fully functioning one—I exit and walk toward Paisley’s bouquet to make a silly face at Layla, who is working today.

In return, she stops folding shirts for a display and sticks out her tongue at me like the goofy emoji.

Pressing my nose against the glass bops the baseball hat.

I readjust it and proceed around the building and up a block to the fields.

Grant is playing a doubleheader this afternoon. Treating myself to Baked Beans was part of the first seventh-inning stretch of the day.

“How’d you make out?” His grandmother, Delores, sees me approaching the metal bleachers.

“Everything takes practice.” And twice as long to do.

“I’m surprised Anson let you leave home. Your fall shook him up.”

A look passes between us that tells me Delores hasn’t seen Anson hover this way since her daughter, Grant’s mother, died.

“Eh, he knew you’d be here to babysit me.” I try to keep it light. “Thanks for trusting me to look both ways when I crossed the street.”

Delores slaps her knee when she laughs. Immediately after, I hear the strike of a bat against a ball. She claps, yelling to Grant to stop the batter from stealing second.

I retake my seat on the hot bleachers, less surprised Angeline appears next to me now than she hadn’t yet. Warmth tickles up my spine, and I look over at her.

That is abnormal. I go out of my way to limit our interactions.

Before her untimely death, Angeline and Anson dated. The first time she made herself known to me, I got the feeling Angeline was jealous. And maybe she was, but…

“You’re happy for us,” I say, out loud and amazed.

Angeline pretends to ignore me the way I’ve done to her. However, a secret smile plays on her lips; one I’m not sure is satisfaction at the throw Grant made from the outfield that got the opposing player out at second base or just what.

“I can live with happy,” I murmur.

If she were a corporeal being, my shoulder would have nudged hers.

As the teams change sides, Delores spares me a glance. There’s a uniqueness to our relationship. Anson is active in Grant’s life. He’s on the field now, coaching and being the best male influence a teenage boy can get. I’m the new girlfriend, um, fiancée.

Delores is also aware of my abilities and has never once asked me if Angeline makes her presence known or if I can pass on a message to her daughter.

It’s strange how something so simple can make a person feel appreciated for who they are, and not what they can do for someone else.

The more weekends I’ve spent with Delores cheering on Grant, the more I feel like we’re a unit.

I spot Layla at the corner of the bleachers. She uses a paper to shield her eyes from the sun, peering around. She spies me and pounds up the metal stairs, her long brown curls bouncing behind her.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I’m on my break. Here.” She takes the spot Angeline vanishes from and hands me a flat notecard.

“What’s this?”

“An invite to your bachelorette party. We were going to kidnap you. But we figured you’d had enough surprises for a while.”

“Aw! I didn’t expect you to throw me a party when I asked you to be my maid of honor.”

I throw my good arm around Layla. She squeezes me back.

“Ya didn’t expect to pass out and break your elbow either. At least this is a fun not-surprise, since you decided to push the wedding date off until you don’t have to bedazzle that sling.”

My cheek pulls. I’m bummed Anson and I won’t be getting married until I’m out of the splint and have started physical therapy.

Though it’s made coordinating the guest list and reception after our small nuptials less frantic.

Plus, now I’m excited my bestie has done the unexpected and is throwing me a party.

“Thank you for this.” I shake the invite.

Having been taken advantage of for my unusual talents, I used to be a massive introvert, happy with the crumbs of my best friend’s attention.

In all honesty, I didn’t understand I was Layla’s ride-or-die until she told me so.

When Paisley invited me to an open house at the boutique—an event I thought I was supposed to be a vendor at—and Layla introduced me to the friend group she made when she and Julian moved to Brighton, that changed. I’m excited to see who shows up.

Layla pshes. “You said I didn’t have to buy a horrible dress I’d only wear once, and that you didn’t want a bridal shower. A night on the town is nothing. It makes me feel like I’m actually doing something for this wedding.”

“You are!”

“Standing in a judge’s chambers with a goofy smile plastered on my face while you get hitched is not my idea of coming through for you, Rae.”

“You’ll hold my bouquet when we exchange rings?” I offer.

Layla’s brow pops. “Get serious.”

“I am!” I insist.

“Please, I’m not doing anything you wouldn’t do for me.”

“Well, I love you and appreciate you for this.” I tuck the notecard to my heart.

Clutching the door frame, I step on the heels of my shoes and slip them off. Then I toe them onto the shoe rack by the apartment door, which Anson brought over from his place when he followed me back to live in mine.

Greeting us at the doorway, Fred winds himself around my ankle, rubbing his kitty head against my calf.

“Watch yourself,” Anson cautions, picking up the cat and depositing him on the bed. “The doctor said that recovering from your concussion could last up to fourteen days. I don’t want a return visit to the hospital for a second set of stitches.”

My fiancé’s been overprotective since Xavier jumped me.

I can’t say I blame him. Except, seven days with my phone and the TV remote in Anson’s custody because “screen time is bad for head injuries” makes for a dull recovery.

Before Grant’s doubleheader, the walls of our studio apartment were closing in on me.

The splint and sling gave me a wonky sunburn, but I’m glad I got out for an entire day.

I growl, frustrated at the rules he makes, supposedly for my own good. I’m not used to anyone taking care of me the way he does when he is home. My parents love me, but they were a bit less hover-y?

Not that I broke any bones or had a ghost take over my body when I was a kid.

“Now what do we do?” I ask, knowing full-well Anson’s bushed after coaching two baseball games, and tomorrow he’s back on duty.

“I am taking a shower,” he replies, tugging his sweaty, dusty t-shirt off to reveal his broad chest. He unbuttons his jeans. I catch a hint of the color of his boxers. Seeing my interest, he doesn’t unzip his pants the rest of the way.

My lower lip juts out, and I receive a head shake and a huff under his breath in response.

Butt covered, Anson disappears into the bathroom. He shuts the door, stopping me from peeking, and I hear the water in the clawfoot tub turn on and the metal rings scrape against the rod as Anson draws the wraparound shower curtain around the tub.

Every time I’ve tried to get Anson in the mood, he’s shut me down.

I suggested putting a pillow at the headboard so that if any amorous activities got rough, I didn’t bonk my head.

Even that was a no-go. The last time he and I had sex was on vacation.

If this drought keeps up, by next weekend I’ll need to grease the drawer pulls on my nightstand for the number of times I will have opened it to find a toy to play with while he’s at work.

No jewelry making. No phone or TV. No orgasms. Too much time to ponder my regrets.

Getting well soon blows.

Not even my cat, who bolted underneath the bed frame where he prefers to hide, wants to keep me company.

Perhaps leaving home today wasn’t such a good idea.

I normally like my independence and the time to myself to create, but the thought of being alone after a slice of the outside world depresses me.

At this point, given how Angeline acted at the ball field, I’d even accept her company.

And it was Angeline hovering over me at Anson’s place, until I couldn’t take it anymore, that made me move back in at Layla and Julian’s.

Since he’s not around to command me not to, I tidy up our cozy space, finding my stupid blackout mask underneath the hospital discharge papers on the table.

I harrumph, walk the few paces to the bed, and flop my ass down, running the binding trimming the black silk through my fingers.

Working the occasional case with Anson makes me feel closer to him and like my abilities are useful and the universe had a purpose for creating me with oddities others find it hard to understand. Wearing the mask wasn’t entirely useless, but it wasn’t as useful as I’d wished.

The shower turns off. Steam escapes the bathroom as Anson opens the door.

My fiancé clutches a towel to his waist, aiming for the dresser with his clothes in it.

Water drips onto the floor from his hair.

His hurried actions are nothing like the lazy saunter he did, walking around the luxurious hotel room with the bath sheet wrapped around his waist and droplets covering his lickable chest.

It’s like Anson’s ashamed of me seeing him naked.

“Whatcha got?” He veers over, approaching me.

I snap the elastic. Then lift the mask, twirling it around my index finger to show him.

“I know what I experienced helped Moira solve her case, except I wonder what my impressions would have been if I hadn’t worn this silly thing,” I admit.

I feel like I should have known Xavier was the cold man waiting outside the convenience store door, and connected Amara’s mother to her sooner. Sensed something that linked Amara to the case sooner.

Anson sits on the bed and takes the mask from me. “Don’t discount the effectiveness of a technique before you’ve had opportunities to hone your skills. Maybe you need more practice?”

He removes my ball cap and covers my eyes with the silky mask. Tugging me to stand, his towel brushes the front of my legs and drops, covering my feet. Unable to see, my pulse beats wildly. I want to ask Anson what he’s doing, but I don’t want him to stop.

The fasteners on my sling make a ripping sound.

As the neck loosens, he gently removes it.

I cradle my elbow to my side. He un-tucks my blouse, unbuttoning it and cautiously pulling the short sleeves over my arms. His dexterous fingers make quick work of my bra clasp.

My breasts tumble out. I can tell how far away he is by the heat radiating off his body.

His fingers slip under my waistband, and he draws the shorts over my hips.

“Did you have a sinister plan in mind when you forgot to put on panties, Raleigh?” His playful voice portrays the beaming expression on his face.

I press my tongue to the cupid’s bow of my lip. “Guilty as charged.”

His knuckle runs over my belly, dipping at my navel, and tracing the cleft of my pussy. Heat pools between my legs, and sparks light up my skin.

Two fingers separate my folds, skirting my slick clit and making me hyperaware.

He thrusts them inside me and I gasp, lifting to my tip-toes.

Reaching for his shoulder to anchor myself, Anson is lowering to kneel.

With his hand keeping a steady rhythm, he presses his nose to my mound.

I hear a satisfied inhale before he lifts my leg over his shoulder.

Then his fingertips dig into my ass cheek, holding me balanced to his face.

His warm tongue darts out, licking my center, swirling around my sensitive clit, and then sucking it into his mouth.

This time when I fall, I fall into bliss.