A Most Excellent Midlife Crisis - Robyn Peterman Page 0,10
pulling on the ends of my wild dark hair, I stared at him and wondered briefly what my life would have been like if he’d been in it. I’d never know. The past was just that—the past. The future was mine and there was no room for him.
“I’m going to lie next to Steve on the bed and hug him. Grab a chair and put it next to the bed. You can touch my back,” I instructed with very little emotion in my voice.
“As you wish,” he replied formally.
Shaking my head, I bit back every snarly word that ached to leave my lips. He wasn’t good enough for my anger. My focus was Steve.
“I want to be near you,” Gideon said to me while smiling down at Steve. “Steve, is it okay with you if I lie on the bed as well?”
“Yausssss,” Steve said, glancing up at Gideon with fondness.
Steve’s reason for coming back was to make sure that I found real love with a man who could love me in a way he never could. Gideon was that man, and Steve was delighted.
“How about you?” Gideon inquired, looking at me in a way that made me feel truly seen. “Will that hinder you in any way?”
“Will it be weird for you?” I asked.
No one alive had ever been present when I went into the minds of the dead. I had no clue if I made horrible faces or noises. God forbid, the mortifying possibilities for embarrassing myself were endless.
Too bad. So sad. It didn’t matter if I grunted the entire time I was out of my body. I was doing this for Steve, and I would humiliate myself a million times over if that was what it took. Besides, I was sure if I did anything out of the ordinary, Candy Vargo would be delighted to let me know.
“Define weird,” Gideon said with a smile that made my heart skip a beat.
“Umm, fine point. Well made,” I replied with a small laugh. Weird was my new normal. “I would like it very much if you were close.”
Gideon nodded and lay down to the left of Steve. He gently put his hand on top of the blanket and whispered something in Steve’s ear.
Steve smiled and sighed.
I was dying to know what he said, but it was none of my business. The illogicality of everything happening was strangely perfect. My dead gay husband and the man I was in love with were friends. Steve approved of Gideon. My best friend had succeeded in what he had come back to do and now it was time to let him go.
“John Travolta, you can touch my back now,” I said, wrapping my arms carefully around Steve.
“Do you really have to call me John Travolta?” the Archangel inquired.
“Would you prefer deadbeat asshole?” I asked politely.
His pause was long. His chuckle was unexpected. “John Travolta will be fine.”
“As you wish.” I parroted the phrase he seemed so fond of and ignored the feeling of his hand on my back.
There was something so right and so wrong about my father’s touch. It was something I’d longed for as a child. As an adult, I still longed for it. However, the man was touching me because he had to, not because he wanted to.
“Keep your hand on me until I come back,” I told him flatly.
He had promised his word was good, but that didn’t mean I trusted him. His alliance with Clarissa was too obvious to ignore. There was no way I wanted to dive into Steve’s mind twice since it was unknown how it would affect him. I couldn’t take the chance that John Travolta would remove his hand before I was clearly able to prove Steve’s innocence.
“He will not remove his hand,” Charlie said in a steely tone. “If he does, he shall be handless for the rest of eternity.”
“Vicious. I like it,” Candy said with approval.
Heather moved across the room and stood behind John Travolta. With a snap of her fingers, the Archangel’s hand was bound to my back. The Angel hissed his disbelief at the disrespect and distrust that was being shown to him.
“Please tell me you can undo what you just did,” I said flatly. “I do not need a John Travolta barnacle for the rest of my life.”
“I can,” Heather said with a grin. “Not to worry. I wouldn’t burden you with the weight of a coward.”
Without looking, I felt my father’s body tense in fury.