Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

N oah woke, instantly alert, with Annabelle sprawled across him. It was still dark, and as much as he strained to hear what had woken him, the building remained silent. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he eased Annabelle off him and got out of bed. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and grabbed his gun—just in case.

He found the source of the disturbance in the loft. Therese’s ghostly form stood by Annabelle’s work desk, studying her artwork. She smiled at Noah as he approached.

“She draws beautifully.”

Noah didn’t want to discuss Annabelle’s art. “I’m sorry, Therese,” he said softly.

Her smile didn’t waver, but there was a tender sadness in her eyes. “For what? For sleeping with Annabelle?”

He grimaced. “Please tell me you weren’t watching?”

“Ew! No!” She silently glided over to the window. “I just know you. And you’ve nothing to be sorry about.”

Noah joined her by the window and looked out toward the ever-present lights of the downtown skyline. “I’m falling in love with her,” he confessed to the woman who’d always owned his heart. “But I still love you.”

“I know.” Therese bumped her hip against him, but he didn’t even feel the air move.

“It feels wrong somehow,” he admitted in a whisper. “But I can’t stop it.”

“It isn’t wrong, Noah. It’s how life should be. You can’t spend the rest of yours talking to a ghost; you need to live again. Really live. That’s what I want for you.” Her smile was bittersweet. “And you always gave me what I wanted, didn’t you?”

His heart clenched. “Unless it was insane.”

Her laughter was tinged with sadness and acceptance. “You have a big heart, honey. There’s plenty of space in it to love both of us. It doesn’t have to be one or the other. I don’t mind sharing with Annabelle.”

Noah’s throat tightened, making it difficult to swallow. “Will you still hang around?”

She turned to face him, so much love in her expression that it hurt to see it there. He blinked furiously, studying her face, drinking in the woman he’d loved for as long as he could remember.

“I think I’m going to head to Atlantic City and pester the boys for a while.”

“You don’t have to go.” He wanted to wrap an arm around her, to keep her close, but there was nothing left to hold.

“No, I get that, but I think I should. You’re in good hands now. You don’t need me.”

He fought to swallow again. Damn annoying throat. “I do, you know. I always will.”

Therese looked wistful. “We’ll always have Paris.”

Noah barked out a laugh before rubbing his eyes. “You hated that movie.”

“It was Bergman. She was always so stoic. I just wanted to slap her.” She reached up to cup his cheek, and he told himself he felt the warmth of her hand against his skin. “If you ask me, Sam was the best character. He was dependable, creative, a great piano player.” She flashed him a mischievous grin. “So good with his fingers.”

He focused on breathing as he waited to be able to talk again. “Will I see you again?”

“You can see me whenever you want. All you have to do is close your eyes. After all” —Therese smiled widely— “I’m a figment of your imagination, right?”

“I-I hate letting you go.” His words came out as a growl. “I hate it.”

“Would it help if I told you I was going to a better place?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I am. Atlantic City is far superior to Houston.”

His chuckle was weak and his vision had blurred. “No goodbyes,” he said fiercely.

“No.” Therese dropped her hand from his cheek. “I’d say, see you in Heaven, but it’s a bit trite.” She cocked her head to one side. “What happens when you love two people, and you all end up in Heaven? Do we have to share you? Is it a ménage à trois situation? Because I don’t roll that way.”

“When you find out, let me know.” He let out a breath. “This isn’t how I wanted life to go.”

“Me neither.” Therese glided toward the loft’s exit, as though she had to physically walk out of his life. As though seeing the last of her leave would somehow make it easier. “Have Annabelle put me in a book,” she called back to him. “In a sexy catsuit.”

He sniffed, nodding. “Will do.”

“I love you, Noah. Be happy,” she said, and then, she was gone.

Noah doubled over, the sight of her leaving for good a physical blow to his gut. He rubbed his hands over his face as he stumbled toward a stool at the breakfast bar. Once there, tears like razor blades sliced his cheeks as they fell. He wasn’t sure how long he sat with the raw, wrenching agony of their final goodbye, but eventually, he registered the loft door open.

He sat up straight, sniffing as he blinked away the last of his tears. Rodrigo appeared on the other side of the kitchen island and set a bottle of Scotch and two glasses on the counter between them.

“I was watching the cameras,” he said as he poured them each a drink.

Noah didn’t reply, and they silently drank together.