The Ghosts Between Us (The West Hills Book 1) by Brigham Vaughn

Author:Brigham Vaughn [Vaughn, Brigham]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: hurt comfort, may december, enemies to lovers, Secrets, forbidden, doctor, bisexual, closeted, artist
Publisher: Two Peninsulas Press
Published: 2019-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

“I’m going to tackle Cal’s office next.”

I’d thought I’d lied to my mother when I told her Elliot had other plans after the gallery meeting, but after they left, he’d informed me he had a few errands to run before he went to Cal’s apartment. I’d come straight here. A few minutes ago, I heard the rattle of keys in the lock and the door opening, so I wasn’t surprised by Elliot’s appearance in the bedroom doorway.

I looked up from the pile of clothes I was sorting through. Most—except a well-worn and well-loved leather jacket and his favorite wetsuit—were being donated. I’d nearly finished the bedroom, and I knew I’d been putting off sorting through the office for some reason, but apparently, Elliot was braver.

“Sounds good.” I tucked another T-shirt into the trash bag.

“I figured since I’ve already been dealing with his photography ...” Elliot’s voice trailed off, and I gave him a long, searching glance. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, and when I took in the dark smudges under his eyes, worry spiked in me.

“Is everything okay? You look ...”

“Like death warmed over?” Elliot’s laugh was a scratchy bark. “Yeah, I stayed up all night working, and it’s hitting me hard now.”

I dropped the shirt I’d been folding, then walked over to him. “You could have taken a break today or gone home and slept for a while before you came over. I appreciate your help, but I don’t expect you to wear yourself thin doing it.”

Elliot shrugged. “I would have just tossed and turned anyway. I’ve been sleeping like shit lately.”

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked tentatively. Elliot and I were getting along so much better now, but some things still made him snarly and remote.

“Hit me over the head so I can go to sleep and wake up in about two years? If ever.” His laugh was a little bitter.

I blinked at him, unsure if he was punchy because he needed sleep or if it was a thinly veiled cry for help. “Uhh, well, I’m pretty sure inflicting head injuries on people violates my Hippocratic Oath. I could put you in contact with a doctor if you’re having sleep issues though. Sometimes, sleep can be difficult during the grieving process. Seeing someone couldn’t hurt.”

He held up a hand to stop me. “I was kidding, Dr. Allen.” He gave me a tired smile and pushed his hair off his face, gathering the dark strands at the back of his head and securing it with the ever-present elastic tie on his wrist. “I’m apparently out of practice at telling jokes, but I promise, that’s what I was going for.”

“I’m glad,” I admitted, the worry I’d felt dissipating a little but not entirely.

He gave me a disarmingly soft smile and shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I promise. I am really fucking exhausted, but it’s only because I sketched all night. Don’t worry about me so much.” He yawned, then touched his fingertips to my forearm before he levered himself off the door jamb.

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