Chapter One

GHOSTS

Lilah

The curdled cream in my coffee should’ve been the tip-off that today was going to be craptastic.

Because I couldn’t start the day without a caffeine kick, I stopped at a lovely little café on my way to work—only to get to the counter and realize my wallet wasn’t in my purse and I had no way to pay for the overpriced latte I felt compelled to order.

So I ran back out to the parking lot and managed to scrounge up enough spare change to pay. Of course, by the time I went back to claim my drink, my latte had been scooped up by someone else and I had to wait an extra ten minutes because seven more people were now ahead of me in line.

Fortunately, work wasn’t far and even with the delay, I would still be early. I’d hoped to have half an hour before my shift to do some reading in preparation for my upcoming statistics class. But no problem. I could fit that in during lunch instead of being social.

Just one more course after this and I’d have all the admission requirements for the master’s of nursing program at the University of Minnesota, where I’d applied for next fall. I’d been working as a nurse full-time for four years, and now, at twenty-six, I was ready to go back to school and further my education.

Latte in hand, I stepped outside into the drizzle that had begun during my wait. Ominous dark clouds loomed low as I rushed to my car. Setting my coffee on the roof, I rooted around in my purse for my keys. The light rain quickly became a downpour, soaking my hair and plastering my scrubs to my skin, and still, I couldn’t find my damn keys.

Which was when I lost my grip on my purse. The contents scattered over the parking lot, and my keys rolled under my Corolla. I had to get on my hands and knees to retrieve them, mashing my chest against the ground right into a puddle of dirty rain water.

By the time I finally managed to get all my things together—apart from my lipstick and a compact that had rolled into a sewage grate—I was approaching officially late status. And I had a staff meeting at nine thirty. In my frazzled state, I forgot about the coffee on my roof, which miraculously stayed in place—until I hit the first stoplight, where the coffee promptly dumped all over my windshield.

I made it to work with little time to spare, looking like a drowned rat and completely uncaffeinated. Thankfully, I had an extra set of scrubs in my locker for just such mishaps.

Discombobulated but determined to keep it together, I managed to semidry my hair with the hand dryer in the women’s bathroom, although the time I’d spent with the flat iron this morning was completely wasted.

I was on my way into the conference room for the morning staff meeting when an attractive man in a suit, wearing glasses—I’d always had a bit of a weakness for men with glasses—called my name.

Turned out he was from my husband’s lawyer, sent to deliver the final divorce papers. After nearly six years of marriage, the asshole didn’t even have the common courtesy to bring them to me himself, or schedule a time for us to meet and sign them. I hadn’t realized we’d reached this kind of communicationless impasse.

I spent the entire meeting trying to hold back tears—of embarrassment, of anger, of frustration.

A pervasive feeling of emptiness clung to me like climbing vines, making the day drag. But I didn’t want to go home, aware my only company would be my dog, Merk, and as much as he was a good listener, I needed more than that right now.

I didn’t think my day could possibly get any worse.

I was horribly wrong.

At the end of my shift, I make my customary final stop at the nurses’ station to review end-of-day paperwork. Ashley, who works the reception desk, is staring up at an MRI brain scan, her hands on her hips.

“What’s this?” I ask, moving to stand beside her. The shadows on the scan don’t look particularly good.

“Stroke. Came in less than an hour ago.” She glances over her shoulder at me. “You on your way out?”

“Yeah.” My gaze snags on the name at the bottom of the scan. The clipboard slips from my hand and clatters to the floor. “Oh God.”

“Lilah? You okay?”

I shake my head, unwilling to believe what I’m seeing. This can’t be happening. Not today.

Ashley puts a hand on my shoulder. “Do you know him?”

I nod, swallowing back a terrified sob before I can respond. “Yes. What room?”

“Let me check.” She rushes to the board, finds the room number, and repeats it twice. “Do you need me to come with you?”

“No. I’m fine.” That’s not even close to true. The man I love like a father has suffered a stroke.

I wish I’d never gotten out of bed today. I wish there were no today.

I race to his room, heart in my throat, body humming with adrenaline. But when I get there, I don’t find Martin Kase’s wife, my second mother, as I expected. No, sitting in a chair next to the bed, head down and looking lost, is their son. My stomach fills with concrete as I take in not a ghost but the ghost from my past. Ethan.

My mouth goes instantly dry. My legs feel suddenly wooden and weak at the same time. I can’t seem to take a full breath. Or get a handle on the sudden, violent rush of emotions that paralyze me. I feel raw, as if my nerve endings are all exposed, and the air makes my skin feel like it’s on fire.

This is all too much. I’ve already taken too many punches to the heart today. And in this moment I feel like I’ve barely recovered from the punch he delivered eight years ago. My heart aches exactly the way it did the night he called to tell me it wouldn’t work anymore. We wouldn’t work anymore. That all the years we’d been together—through my dad leaving when I was just a child, all of high school, every single first-time experience, prom, helping him pack for college—all of it meant nothing. He needed to focus on hockey, on his career in the NHL, and I was a distraction he couldn’t afford.

Ethan pushes up from the chair, his massive body unfurling. Good God, he’s filled out. Sure, there have been pictures on social media, and I’ve caught glimpses of him on the ice when I’ve accidentally turned on a hockey game—any time he plays I’ve made a point to turn it off. But nothing could ever prepare me for being this close to the man who took my heart, crushed it, and gave it back to me in pieces.

He’s still uncommonly beautiful, more now than he was when we were teenagers. I swear his shoulders are twice as broad as they were a decade ago. I can barely hold his eyes without being submerged in a deluge of memories I thought I’d buried long ago. I’d nearly forgotten how arresting his eyes are—okay, that’s untrue—but it’s been a long time since I’ve been hit with the full force of them. The vibrant blue with a halo of amber edging the iris, the burst of gold that colors nearly a third of his right eye draws me in and briefly holds me captive, just like it always did when we were younger.

“DJ.” It’s just my name. Two small syllables. But the effect of his voice is bone jarring. I feel the grit of his pain like sandpaper on my heart.

I fight to keep my voice even. “I go by Lilah now.” The words leave my mouth before I can call them back and find a different, more appropriate greeting. I shift my gaze away, anywhere but him. Martin looks frail in that hospital bed, and I wish Jeannie were here, a lifeline I can cling to, something to keep me from being torn apart from memories I don’t have the strength to handle. After all, the present is already crushing me under its weight.