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I never thought I’d see the day when I felt bad for Radleigh McCoy. Perhaps this was karma for all the women he’d pumped and dumped over the years.

“You’re not… thinking of leaving her, right?”

Truly, I didn’t think he would but he looked so dejected.

His head snapped up, shock in his eyes. “Of course not. But she keeps making stupid comments about how there are so many women I meet when I’m on the road, and how none of them are frumpy and overweight like she is. Sometimes she baits me and other times she’s quiet about it, but it’s always the same thing. She thinks she doesn’t look good and that I’ll find someone else. I don’t want anyone else. Why would I?”

“Why do you think she feels this way?”

“Damned if I know. My mom says it’s hormonal. Some crap about how she wants to keep her family close right now and I should be patient. I’m trying to be, but she keeps on pushing. It’s just so damn frustrating!” He growled, his fists clenched. “I can’t believe after everything she still doesn’t trust me.”

I couldn’t help thinking it was
because
of everything that she still didn’t trust him, but that was beside the point. Because, honestly, he was right. Again. Their rough start was over. Like a million years ago. While we both knew it was a hormonal thing making her paranoid, it didn’t make the situation any easier to live with.

“I’ve never been pregnant so I can’t speak from experience,” I began, “but I have friends who have children, and some of them said they went through the same kind of thing. They felt gross and heavy and unattractive, and-”

Radleigh shook his head. “She’s never looked more fucking beautiful. Every day I’m with her, and I know she’s carrying our baby inside her, it makes me… I just want to kiss her and thank her for giving me something I never knew I wanted so much. She’s not unattractive, she’s perfect.” He turned to me, his fingers unclenching slightly and a tiny smile lifting the corners of his lips. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll kill you.”

I laughed softly. “Have you told Leah? Because she’s the one who needs to hear it. If you feel that way every day, tell her every day. Tell her until she believes it. Don’t let her let those bad thoughts get the best of her. She’s tough, she can work through it on her own, but she doesn’t have to. You’re here.”

I blinked back the tears as I said those last words because I wanted that. A man who was there for me. Like Leah, I could deal on my own, I had no choice. But I wanted to feel love again, the way I did with Will. More than anything, I wanted to get through a full conversation with someone that didn’t end with me feeling so shitty. Shitty about losing Will, and shitty for being a useless friend.

“I do tell her,” Radleigh said. “Sometimes it’s okay and it makes her feel better. Other times it’s the start of a new fight.”

“Tell her more often.” I took a few swallows of my drink, trying to get my focus back on Radleigh. “There are what… two months left until the baby’s due?” Radleigh nodded in confirmation. “That’s a long time when things aren’t great between you, but once the baby comes, everything will be good again.”

“Will you talk to her? Could you try to get her to open up and tell you what the hell’s going on inside her head?”

“Sure. But keep in mind I can’t break the best friend code. Whatever she tells me, I can’t tell you.”

He rolled his eyes, but I knew he understood. I was being slightly facetious with the mention of “the code” but there was truth at the heart of it. I wouldn’t betray her; wouldn’t betray either of them. But if I could help them smooth things over, I would.

That familiar ache crept back into my bones; Leah wasn’t the only one with a monster taking over her brain. I downed the rest of my drink, and even though I’d barely been at the club for an hour, I needed to get out. There was somewhere I needed to be.

Chapter  3 – At Last

Creeping around a cemetery after dark is something only weirdos do, right? Then, I’d definitely become a weirdo. Using the torch on my iPhone to light my way, I wished I’d brought a jacket with me. It had gotten chilly, and I was mildly creeped out about being in a graveyard at 10.30pm. I kept shifting my eyes from side to side and turning around to make sure I wasn’t being followed. If anyone
had
followed me, they’d have thought me totally nuts and more than a touch paranoid.

But I knew where I needed to be. Even though it was stupid and maybe reckless. Who knew what kind of people hung around in cemeteries when the sun faded and the moon came out?

I craved peace, and going home wasn’t going to provide enough. Sure, it was my sanctuary, but after trying to help Radleigh with Leah, and remembering that special feeling of being wrapped up with someone you love, I had to be close to Will. Had to talk to him and settle the unease inside me.

I reached Will’s grave and sat down next to his headstone in my usual spot.

“Nights out without you suck. All nights without you suck, but I really miss that awesome feeling of having a great night out with you then going home together and lying on the bed, laughing about everything that happened. The warmth of being close to you. I think I miss that more than anything, especially right now.”

A tear dripped down my cheek and I brushed it away with the back of my hand.

“I know I have to stop this. I have to stop talking to you like you can hear me. Like you’ll appear and hold me, and tell me how to move forward. Because I know you can’t and you won’t. I guess if you could, if I knew I could just come here and see you again, I’d never move on.

“Every single first without you kills me, Will. Tonight I really wanted to stay at the club. I wanted to socialise and hear more about everyone’s lives because I think I’ve turned into a selfish bitch. That’s not me, but now I’m lost. I’m trying so damn hard to make an effort to be part of our group again but this past year so many things have changed for so many people, and since you died,
I’ve
changed. I miss you so much that part of me is missing too. Part of me died with you, and maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s just what happens when you love someone. But I have to find a way to heal, or at least learn to live without the chunk of my heart that was buried with you. I just… I wish you could give me a sign, or some kind of message to help me figure out how to do that.”

I’d heard about people who’d gotten “messages” from the other side. Read about them in magazines, and seen them on those shows where those with “the gift” talk to dead people and relay words of comfort from people who’ve passed. I wasn’t much of a believer in any of it. Those shows and stories seemed like examples of con artists playing on people’s emotions, and exploiting the vulnerable to make a quick buck. But I’d never more wanted to believe. To think Will could send me the answers I needed to help me when I couldn’t find a way to help myself.

More tears dripped down my cheeks and I wiped them away then stood up because I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to leave but I knew I shouldn’t stay. Underdressed for a night time walk anywhere, let alone a damn cemetery, I questioned my sanity again. If I’d calculated all the time I’d spent in that exact spot beside Will’s grave, the number would have been huge. I didn’t always talk to him, especially not during the day when there was a chance of being overheard. But I had spoken to him more than was probably considered normal. Did “normal” people talk to their dead loved ones at all? I asked Bree once, but she said she didn’t. Her nightmares stopped her from wanting to. Of course, her situation was a lot different to mine. I knew she’d talked to Will after he died, right after his funeral. But she didn’t keep coming back for hours on end, just to be close to him.

“Freya.”

I spun around, heart pounding at the sound of my name. For a second I thought…
no
.
Stupid, Freya.

“What are you doing out here?”

Miguel didn’t sound surprised; after all, he’d known where to find me. His eyes flickered with sadness; whether for me or Will I didn’t know. I opened my mouth to explain but no words came out. What would I have said? It wasn’t as if my friends didn’t know where I went when I disappeared for long periods of time.

“You just left the club without a word to anyone. We were worried. Can we please get out of here?”

I couldn’t bear the pain on his face; it intensified the chills running through me, sprinkling my arms with goose bumps.

“Freya, please. I can’t stand being here but I won’t leave you here alone.”

I nodded, stepping towards him. Miguel was the most laid back person I’d ever known but he hated the cemetery. Never visited Will’s grave. I once overheard him telling Leah he didn’t want to think of Will buried under the earth; it was too morbid and miserable. If he wanted to feel close to Will, work was the best place to be, not somewhere that didn’t hold good memories of him, somewhere Will had never been connected to.

“I’m sorry I worried you.”

Miguel slipped his jacket off and placed it around my shoulders. The warmth was welcome after the cold chill of the night air. He wrapped his arm around me, guiding me towards home as my tears continued to silently fall.

“I don’t want tea.”

Miguel halted on his way to my kitchen and turned to me. I stood in the hallway, his jacket still over my shoulders. My tears had dried, but my legs ached. My heart ached.

So. Damn. Tired.

“Do you want anything?” he asked.

“Beer and sleep.”

He shook his head. “Not beer. You’re shivering; you need something warm.”

In a childish protest, I shrugged his jacket off and threw it over the chair in the hallway before pushing past him and grabbing a beer from the fridge.

He was right, of course. I didn’t need or want alcohol. I should have thrown on my PJs and gone right to bed, but hey, doing that every single night hadn’t made me feel any better so far. What if changing my routine held the key to snapping me out of my funk?

Hell of a night. Hell of a day. Hell of a week.

Miguel followed me into the living room and we both sat down in the best corner, the one with all the bean bags and pillows. I took a drink of my beer then offered the bottle to Miguel. He hesitated for a second before taking it and raising it to his lips. After a few swallows he handed it back to me, and with a sigh I placed it on the small table beside me. I didn’t really want it. Didn’t want anything except a few hours of peace.

“What’s going on, Freya? Is this why you’re not sleeping? Because you’ve been spending a lot of time at the cemetery?”

I turned to my head to look at him, ready to bitch him out for his insensitivity, because who the hell was he or anyone else to judge me on the limited amount of things I could do to ease the pain? But I noticed how his eyes had dimmed, all sign of light and life drained away. Miguel was as tired as me.

“That’s not why. I don’t usually go there at night; I’m not insane.”

I reached for the beer bottle again and took another drink, hoping it would take the edge off the awkwardness of the conversation; of having the conversation with someone who intensified my sadness.

“I know you’re not insane. I’m worried about you. I want to help.”

“You can’t help, Miguel. Not unless you can fast forward my life to a point when this stops hurting.” I let out a hollow chuckle. “I don’t think that place exists though. And worrying? What good does it do? It just means one more person is unhappy. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will be. But until then, I’ll worry.”

He meant well, which only made me feel worse for trying to withdraw from him. Being around Miguel again was another thing I needed to tackle; just like being at work, doing my job, trying to fit back into the team, and getting through every day without curling up into a ball until the pain stopped. Each thing on the list seemed impossible to overcome, a string of never ending struggles.

I handed the beer bottle back to Miguel. “I should go to bed. You wanna crash in the spare room?”

His eyes widened a little, but he nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

With a small smile, I stood up. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Freya.”

I walked through the cemetery, my eyes flicking left and right as I searched for him. Where did he go? I saw him only a moment ago, caught a glimpse of him before he vanished and left me calling out his name. As fog descended around me, casting a sinister light around the gravestones and making it hard to see, I called out again.

“Will!”

No answer. The fog grew thicker, and my heart raced. He was here. He was
here
.

I took off running, tears falling down my cheeks. I couldn’t let him slip away from me again. I had to get him back, but the darkness, the mist, it thickened until I could no longer see.

“Freya!”

It wasn’t Will’s voice shouting in my dreams that woke me, it was Miguel’s. I blinked hard a few times, forcing myself to return to the real world as Miguel said my name again, more softly this time.

I rolled onto my back, swiping strands of sticky, sweaty hair from my face, and pushed the comforter away from me. Cool air hit me immediately, providing instant relief and I drew in a deep breath.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded without looking in Miguel’s direction. I wasn’t ready yet; my mind was still in the graveyard. Still searching. I rubbed my eyes, and after a couple of minutes, my surroundings became clear again.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine. You scared me, but it’s okay. What happened?”

“Dreams.”

Even when I slept, in my dreams the pain followed me, making me toss and turn as I saw Will, all the while knowing it wasn’t real; that when I opened my eyes he’d be gone again and some days I wished more than anything that I wouldn’t wake up so I could hold on to him forever.

I didn’t want to die. I just… I was tired of living half a life.

My breathing steadied and I shuffled up the bed into a sitting position.

“You wanna talk about it?”

I shook my head. “What’s the point? Doesn’t change anything.”

“How do you know? Have you tried?”

“I talked to Leah about it. All that happens is I think about it more and the dreams keep coming.”

“Are they about Will?”

The prickling of hot tears behind my eyeballs sent my heart rate soaring again. Why wouldn’t the tears stop? Why were they always on the surface, ready to rain down my cheeks at a moment’s notice? I clenched my fists, trying to push the emotion back down.

“Freya?”

“Yes!” I snapped. “They’re about Will! They’re always about Will!”

I hated how harsh my voice sounded, and how quick I was to snap. I hated it, but I didn’t stop it.

With a curt nod, Miguel stood and left the room. I let out a snarl of frustration, throwing one of my pillows across the room where it hit my dresser and knocked my favourite framed photo of Will and me onto the floor with a light thud. My feet kicked, untangling themselves from the sheets and I crawled across the bed, pressing my stomach against the mattress as I reached over the end to pick the photo up. As I put the frame back in its rightful place, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The light from the hallway cast an eerie glow on the room and I looked… haunted. Those awful dark shadows under my eyes, and my skin so pale it was almost transparent. God, what was it going to take to find my way back to being me?

Still looking in the mirror, I saw Miguel re-enter the room carrying a glass of water. Without a word, he placed the glass on the dresser then sat on the edge of my bed.

“Thank you.” My words came out as a whisper.

I shuffled forwards to take a few sips of the drink. The liquid trickled down my throat and I felt my body awakening a little more as the water re-hydrated my system.

“What can I do, Freya?” Miguel asked, his voice almost as quiet as mine. “How can I help you?”

That was the thing. The thing nobody could grasp. Help is what you give somebody when there’s an actual problem with a real solution. Grief isn’t that way. Grief isn’t a problem – at least not in the usual sense of the word – and a solution doesn’t exist. If there was one single way for my friends to help me, didn’t he think I’d have asked by now? Did he think I wanted to stay in this place where nothing ever changed and my heart remained shattered? Because honestly, if there was some magic glue to piece it back together, I’d have taken it in a second.

“There’s nothing, Miguel. I told you. Nothing.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

I shrugged. “Up to you.”

His weight shifted from the bed and I placed my empty glass back on the dresser. As I turned onto my side, Miguel kicked my bedroom door, making it slam shut.

“Fuck you, Freya! I’m sick of this!”