The Medium's Possession Read online

  Trey shrugged but seemed unconcerned. “Looked like the two of you were talking—I didn’t want to interrupt. And I figure my being able to see him has to do with you caring about him. Sort of like how I can see your Mom and Alyssa.”

  Cecily felt her neck warm. She threw the ball out into the yard again instead of looking at Trevor.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t know she cared for Scott—a lot. It was just... she didn’t know how she felt about Trevor knowing that. It wasn’t a conversation they’d had—how things would go if she ever met someone. And, honestly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to have it. She liked what she and Trey had.

  But sometimes, in her loneliest moments, she missed the physical connection of a regular relationship. Not just the sex—though that was definitely part of it—but the closeness of it. Like snuggling on the sofa together while you fell asleep watching a documentary about performance art that didn’t really hold your attention but you weren’t about to turn it off because that would shorten the time you had with him.

  Cecily sighed to herself.

  She’d woken up last night to the sound of Zander and Callum unlocking the front door. Their hushed conversation had stopped the second she and Scott had sat up, both startled awake.

  She couldn’t be sure, but she thought he might have been sleeping with his cheek resting against the top of her head and his arm tucked around her.

  It made her smile every time she thought of it.

  “Earth to Cissy. Or, ‘spirit world to Cissy’ I guess.”

  Cecily gave Trevor a look. “Not funny.”

  He laughed. “Nah, you have to admit, that was pretty good.”

  She took the ball from Rhia again and tossed it back out into the grass.

  ⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

  Scott was standing at the sink in the kitchen, washing one of the few plates they’d kept out as they packed.

  Scratch that. He was standing at the sink, water running, but he was actually just holding the plate in one hand and the sponge in the other while he stared out the window at Cecily—like a total creeper.

  Still, he kept watching. Her brown hair shined with flecks of the most subtle red when the sun hit it just right. He’d never noticed that before and the observation made him want to go put brush to canvas—or maybe cardboard, something more raw than the refinement of stretched canvas—but most of his paints were packed away and there wasn’t time to dive into the time suck void of painting right now anyway. So instead, he painted her in his mind while he watched her throwing the ball for Rhia and talking to somebody he couldn’t see. Given her relaxed shoulders and easy smile, it was easy to know who she was talking to.

  Now she was showing Trevor her tattoo. He hoped it was feeling better today—he’d have to remember to ask her about that. The two of them—Cecily and Trevor—had such an easy friendship. It was nice to see her so comfortable.

  She stooped and picked the ball up for Rhia again and he couldn’t help but notice the way she smiled when she threw it, like she was as happy to throw the ball as Rhia was to catch it.

  She was mesmerizing. And the more he fought it, the more fascinating she became.

  So that’s why he wasn’t fighting it and was letting himself watch, instead.

  It was an experiment.

  “Hey, you gonna scrub that plate, or just hope it cleans itself?”

  Scott jumped as Callum sidled up beside him.

  “Whatcha looking at?” Callum drew closer to peer out the window, then he stepped back. “Figured.”

  Scott shook his head and went to scrubbing his plate. “Just tired. I wasn’t staring at anything.”

  Callum chuckled. “Uh huh. How’s that denial taste? Bitter?”

  Goddamn it. Scott sat the plate and sponge into the sink with more force than was absolutely necessary and dropped his voice. “It’s just a stupid crush.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” No. But that’s what he needed it to be.

  Scott looked at Callum, who cocked an eyebrow and looked right back.

  Then he sighed. “Dude, look. You have feelings for her—it’s not a big deal. Frankly, you’re cute together. Stop wallowing and do something about it before I have to say the word cute again.”

  Callum might be confident about this stuff—of course he was, he and Zander were made-for-each-other-happy—too bad he was off the mark.

  “She’s twenty-two,” Scott reminded him.

  “And you’re twenty-seven.”

  “I’m twenty-eight, dude.”

  “Whatever. I’m twenty-seven. I’m pretty sure Rhia is 15 or so.” He looked out the window again. “Nah, who am I kidding. I think she might be immortal, but that’s not the point. Who cares about Cecily’s age?”

  “Because it’s—” Scott caught himself and lowered his own voice again, aware that Zander was somewhere in the house. “It’s creepy. She’s barely old enough to drink.”

  “What’s it matter to you?” Callum challenged. “You don’t drink anyway. Stop fronting, that’s not what this is about and you know it.”

  Scott gave him a look and, once again, Callum just stared right back.

  “She’s twenty-two, not eighteen. This is about Trey. Or your own fucking pride. Or...” Now it was Callum who lowered his voice, which made his you-know-I-know-what’s-up tone even more pointed, “or another topic that’s gone undiscussed.”

  Scott shook his head. “It’s not that.” It was partially that.

  “You told her yet?”

  “About rehab?”

  “No, about your vacation in Cancun.”

  Scott threw him a look. “No, it hasn’t come up.”

  “Your past is not going to change her feelings for you. So get right with it—then get out of your own way.”

  “She’s Zander’s sister.” The words were out of his mouth and they were the truth—the sticky, flytrap heart of the matter. It all tied back to that.

  Callum’s brows quirked in question. “And?”

  “And what if I fuck it up? What if we don’t work? Then what?”

  Callum shook his head. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.”

  “Yeah. It is. Because I know you. And I know Cecily.”

  They just stood there for a second while Scott didn’t know what to say. That was both the cockiest and possibly the nicest thing anybody had ever said to him.

  Finally, Callum sighed. “Look. You’ve got demons—the hypothetical kind, not literal demons, that’d be a whole other problem. But you’ve got issues—we both do... And so do they.”

  Scott’s brows furrowed. “I know about her parents’ divorce. It sounded messy...” But something made him think that’s not what Callum was talking about.

  “You should ask her about her dad. And then you should talk to her about your history.” Then he turned, heading for the archway to the living room. “I’m grabbing my shoes then heading out to say goodbye to Miriam before we leave. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “Yeah, good luck.”

  Maybe Callum was right, Scott thought as he turned his attention back out into the yard where Cecily was still playing fetch with Rhia and talking to Trevor.

  Maybe being with Cecily would be easy. Maybe they had scars that, if they didn’t match, coordinated. Or maybe all the ways she was better than him would offset his shortcomings—and all of the ways he’d fucked up and learned from it would help them along the way.

  But what if Callum was wrong?

  Scott was so grateful for Cecily’s friendship, he hated the idea of anything that could mess that up. And he hated the idea of anything that would risk his place in this new family he and Callum had found themselves part of—not to mention risking Callum’s place in it.

  But would it have to?

  He and Cecily had talked about so much. Hours of text messages and phone calls, even video chats and emails. She knew so much about him—but not everything. And, it would
seem, she had her own set of topics that hadn’t yet been broached. It was her business to talk to him about her hardest facts—and it was his choice to talk about his. So maybe Callum was right. Maybe he needed to get out of his own way and make that happen.

  Maybe when she knew, he’d be able to move forward—whatever that meant. Whether they moved forward as friends...or something more intimate...at least he’d know he was doing it with full disclosure.

  Maybe he should go talk to her, now—

  “You’re not seriously leaving, are you?”

  Zander’s tone from the next room pricked and diverted Scott’s attention.

  “Yeah, I’m going to see Miriam before we split town, remember?” Callum replied easily. “I won’t be gone long.”

  “Uh. No. Do you see how much is left to pack?”

  There was a pause wherein Scott could picture Callum’s what-the-hell expression in response to all the snide-sarcasm Zander was dishing up. She’d been more prickly lately, as she wound down her job-from-hell, but nothing like this..

  Still, this wasn’t his business. He went back to scrubbing his dish, cranking the water up to drown out their voices and prevent unintentional eavesdropping.

  Scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing.

  Something about “I told you about this,” and “I didn’t realize.”

  More scrubbing. Oh, looks like a glass needs scrubbing too. Who needs the dishwasher?

  “Sure. Yeah, go visit your mother—who doesn’t even remember who you are and won’t remember you were there—instead of helping us here. No, that sounds awesome. You do that.”

  The glass in Scott’s hand slipped loose and rattled into the bottom of the sink. He turned off the tap, spun around, and made it to the living room before realizing he’d done it—and just in time to see Callum slam the front door behind him.

  What the hell is Zander’s problem? Scott looked at her from across the room.

  Her back to him, he watched while she barked a groan, took a step toward the door, then redirected herself and stomped across the living room before disappearing down the hall, presumably toward the room she and Callum shared.

  Zander had been living with them for a while now; she and Callum had had some disagreements, sure, but he’d never seen her get so acidic. Especially about something like Callum’s mother. That was a low blow.

  “I hope she’s at least working on packing their room.”

  Scott turned to see Cecily slide up beside him where he was still stationed in the doorway between the kitchen and living room.

  “What was that about?” she asked when he looked at her.

  “No idea.”

  Her long hair was gathered low on the back of her head, and short pieces of wavy brunette had come loose, framing her face. Her cheeks were pink, and her skin was dewy from the humid heat outside.

  He forced his brain into motion before he got lost in imagining other ways her skin might be made to glow like that—ways that had nothing to do with the outdoors and everything to do with hands and mouths and mattresses.

  “Hey, how’s your tattoo doing?”

  “Oh, so much better,” she replied easily.

  “Glad to hear it.” He turned back into the kitchen and headed for the sink to re-rinse that glass and dry everything off. “Your ribs are mostly done, but I still have work to do near your hip—fresh skin. You up for another sitting tonight?” Are you up for another sitting, asshole? How was he going to handle this?

  “Hell yes.” Then she made her tone mock-serious. “Only after we do all our chores, though.”

  It took him a second to realize she was poking fun at Zander’s agitation.

  He chuckled quietly and shook his head as he ran the glass under the water. “Yes, only then.” Tattooing her tonight would be fine, he decided then. This was Cecily. He might have a whole lot of mixed up feelings for her, but in the end, she was still simply one of his favorite people—and he would do right by that tattoo if it killed him. Or gave him a deadly case of blue balls. He could take it.

  “I should go talk to her or something,” Cecily said, ticking a nod down the hall toward where Zander was presumably stewing.

  “You’re on your own there,” Scott replied. “I stay out of Callum and Zander’s relationship business.”

  Cecily’s laugh made his chest feel warm. “I’ll shower first, give her time to cool off. Then I’ll come at it from the sister-angle.” Then she walked away, placing her hand casually on his bicep as she passed him. The feeling of her fingers sliding along his skin made his cock twitch in ways he really wanted to ignore.

  He’d talk to her tonight when they were alone. After tattooing her. Or maybe before?

  Or maybe he’d come to his senses between now and then and realize he was out of his mind for even considering it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Callum threw the emergency break up and let his head rest against the back of the seat with the car rumbling beneath him. He’d thought the drive would even him out a little, and it had, he supposed. But not as much as he’d hoped.

  He and Zander had argued before. Like the time they’d disagreed on how to load the dishwasher. (Turned out, she’d been right—her way was more efficient.) Even about more important stuff, like when she had been spending so much time at work she hadn’t even been able to see how miserable she’d become. But it had never felt like it had this morning. She’d never had that cold, sarcastic glint in her eye when they’d sparred in the past.

  He drew a breath, let it out, sat forward, and turned the key in the ignition back so the car shuttered to sleep.

  He knew she was stressed. And, honestly, she was likely hungover as hell, too. They’d gotten home from the bar late and hadn’t even managed to talk about the cloak incident before falling asleep, half-dressed on their bed.

  So, yeah, he’d talk to her when he got home—about the cloak slipping last night and their confrontation this morning. Right now, however, stewing wasn’t going to change anything; he needed to focus on the task ahead of him.

  He pushed his door open and stepped out into the humid September heat. Then he crossed the gravel parking lot, rocks crunching under foot.

  The building in front of him was imposing. Made of gray stone, the only adornment was the simple pediment over the door and some fluting along the sides. Otherwise, the place was flat, with windows like three rows of evenly placed gray tiles across the front.

  He always thought it looked as though it belonged in a movie about a sinister orphanage, or a miserable Victorian school for girls.

  He jogged up the wide front steps with the heavy stone balustrades on either side with his hands shoved into the pockets on the front of his short-sleeved hoodie.

  He wouldn’t miss this place when he moved. At the same time, he was sad to be leaving it behind. Moving was the right thing to do, but some tiny fraction of him—the part that still held on to childlike fantasies about his mother’s miraculous recovery—saw this goodbye as the end of that chapter. Miriam wasn’t going to miraculously get better, and he’d known that for a long time. In fact, she’d been getting worse. Of all the shitty things Zander had said this morning, the part about Miriam not knowing his name and not remembering he’d been there when he left had been the most accurate.

  Maybe that’s what made it the most shitty.

  So yeah, moving was the right thing to do.

  Pulling open one of the heavy front doors, the nurse at the reception desk looked up and recognized him immediately.

  “Callum! Good to see you. Here for a visit?”

  He nodded because he found himself uncertain what to say. Yes, he was there to visit his mother, as usual, even if this didn’t feel like a usual visit.

  “One of the other nurses said you’re moving—is that right?” the nurse asked as she led the way down the narrow hall.

  “Yeah, to Seattle,” Callum replied. “I looked at having Miriam transferred to a facility up there, but it seemed cruel to do it. T
he doctors said it might do more harm than good.”

  It was then Callum realized they’d passed the usual turn toward Miriam’s room and were no longer in a part of the hospital he knew well.

  The look in the nurse’s eyes when she glanced over her shoulder at him was pure sympathy. “I’d tend to agree with that, unfortunately.”. She paused by a set of double doors and scanned her badge. A quiet beep could be heard, then the sound of the doors unlatching. She pushed one of the doors open and motioned Callum ahead of her.

  “Will you get to come back often?” she asked as he passed.

  “Oh yeah. At least a couple of times a year,” Callum replied.

  He and Zander had agreed to that months ago when they first started planning this move.

  He hoped they still did.

  You have to maintain whatever relationship you can, Zander had said. I mean, she’s your mom. I’d never stand in the way of that.

  It was hard not to compare those supportive statements to the acidic ones she’d flung this morning, but he stopped when he felt a breeze brush against his skin. It wasn’t until he brought his head up and truly looked around him that he realized he was outside.

  The nurse must have seen the look of surprise on his face because she put a hand on his shoulder. “Miriam is across the way, do you see her?” She motioned out into the sunlit courtyard.

  Sure enough, Callum’s mother was sitting in the corner of a stone bench, her feet pulled up into the seat and tucked alongside her. The substantial bench, made of thick slabs of gray stone, with its immense carved armrests dwarfed her. She looked like a child, sitting there alone.

  “She let you bring her out here?” he asked the nurse. Miriam was wide open out here, a beacon of spirit energy. But maybe not... Something was different about her.

  The nurse smiled. “That’s a new development in the last week or so,” she explained. “She says she likes the sunshine.”

  O...kay... that was either a really good sign, or a really bad sign in terms of Miriam’s mental wellbeing, Callum thought.

  Callum gave the nurse a nod and a thanks and headed down a stone path toward his mom.