Phantom

The second I try to blow the dust off the radio, I instantly have a face full of regrets. The mites billow before me just as I inhale, and immediately, I’m bent over coughing, which is then promptly interrupted by a series of sneezes.

“What did we learn?”

Zade’s mocking voice from behind me has me tempted to send my fist flying into his face.

“Shut up,” I mutter before falling victim to yet another sneeze.

He chuckles, so I swipe at my snotty nose, then proceed to wipe my hand across Zade’s chest. His mouth drops, and he looks down at his shirt.

“That was just savage,” he mumbles.

Feeling much better, I refocus on the old radio in the corner of the basement. It’s woken Zade and me up in the middle of the night several times now, playing on its own accord despite not being plugged in.

I’m not even sure if it truly works anymore, but if the ghosts want to listen to music, then who am I to stop them? I decide to bring it up to the living room so at least then I can utilize it, too.

“All right, big guy,” I say to Zade, waving toward the radio. “Bring ’er up. I’ll be waiting at the top, comfortably sipping my wine while you do all the heavy lifting.”

Mirth ignites in Zade’s stare, though something darker accompanies it.

He’s so going to get me back later. And I’m probably going to like it.

Probably.

Grinning, I escape back up the stairs while Zade sighs and heaves up the heavy radio. I pause midway, long enough to croon, “Good boy,” before booking it the rest of the way up the steps.

His answering growl is devilish, and if I had any goddamn sense, I’d lock him down there with the rest of the demons. He’d be right at home, and I’m positive they’d be under his command within a day.

Just as I promised, by the time Zade makes it up the stairs, I’m sipping on my wine in the living room, pointing him toward the cute black stand I found at Goodwill today, stationed right by the fire. It’s all metal, with several prongs twisted into a filigree shape beneath the flat top, a skull right in the middle.

Zade cocks a brow as he brushes past me, and my heart flips, fully understanding that I’m pushing his buttons. But in true Addie fashion, I jam my finger onto it ten more times purely because I can’t help myself.

He places the radio down onto the stand, and just as he goes to turn away, I speak up.

“It’s not centered.”

Slowly, his stare slides to mine, challenge and warning swirling in the depths of his irises. He slides the radio an inch to the left, and I purse my lips.

“Too far. Move it back toward me a couple centimeters.”

His eyes narrow, but he complies. His silence is as dangerous as it is unnerving, and it sends heat coursing through my veins.

I cock my head, taking my time as I study the radio. It’s definitely centered, but I’m having so much fun.

Meeting his gaze after several moments, I take a slow sip of wine, butterflies unleashing in my stomach. His stare has only sharpened, and there’s no doubt that I should’ve locked him downstairs.

I’ve never done what I was supposed to, though.

Only when I swallow do I say, “It’ll do.”

One menacing step from him is all it takes for me to squeal, set my glass down on the coffee table, and run.

The sound of static stirs me out of a deep slumber.

I jerk upright, looking around the living room in confusion. The radio still appears dead, and I’m half-convinced I dreamed up the noise.

The fire is still crackling, and according to the clock on the mantel, only an hour has passed since Zade and I fell asleep on the couch, naked and spent.

He did exactly what I knew he would and thoroughly punished me. He said since I wanted to drink my wine so bad, I had to hold the sweet alcohol in my mouth while he fucked me. If I dribbled or swallowed any of it, he stopped.

Too many times, I nearly choked on it, and after my third orgasm, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. He saw it coming and placed his mouth over mine, quickly repositioning us so the wine poured from my mouth into his.

He swallowed it down while I screamed.

Still asleep, Zade shifts behind me, drawing my attention over my shoulder to his naked form scarcely hidden beneath a fleece blanket that was draped over the back of the couch.

My chest tightens from the view of him so relaxed, so vulnerable. His expression is slack, and his full lips are slightly parted as he softly breathes. Seeing him like this is a privilege I get only at night or during moments where it’s just the two of us sequestered away from the rest of the world and all its problems.

And every time, it makes my heart ache with how infinitely I love Zade Meadows.

There will always be a small part of me that resents him for it—that hates this man for burrowing beneath my skin so deeply. I lived a much simpler life when I wasn’t constantly fearing for his safety or that he’d go off on a mission and not make it home to me.

Yet there isn’t a single atom in my body that regrets it or wants for anything else. He may be a goddamn psycho, but these days, I might be considered one, too. And I’m okay with that.

Zade twitches, and I smile softly. The firelight creates the most tantalizing shadows across his form, his packed muscles riddled with ink and scars. If I wasn’t aching between my legs, I’d wake him up again. But even the smallest of movements sends a twinge straight to my core.

Phantom music begins to play from the radio, ripping my attention away. My mouth drops as an undeniable melody emits from the speakers. It’s fucking creepy, considering we hadn’t gotten the chance to plug it in yet.

I grin, an excited smile stretching across my face.

After nabbing Zade’s black T-shirt from the floor and slipping it on, I quickly approach the radio, my brain taking several seconds to recognize that Frank Sinatra is crooning from the speakers.

Cautiously, I turn the knob just the slightest and smile when the volume increases.

It’s impossible for it to be playing anything, yet I’m confident this isn’t a dream.

With a grin, I step away.

The ghosts wanted to dance, so they shall dance.

I still have the taste of the wine lingering on my tongue, and my throat feels quite raw, so I pad toward the kitchen for a glass of water, the checkered tile chilling my bare feet.

I’m too busy rubbing my eyes to notice anything at first, but just as I approach the island, my stare catches on the window directly ahead of me.

The reflection offers an unobstructed view of the living room behind me, where I can still see Zade sleeping on the couch.

However, he’s not alone.

My hand drifts over my mouth, astounded by the two figures before him, embracing one another as they twirl in front of the fire.

I gasp when I lay eyes on a woman with curled black hair and bright-red lips, smiling up at a man much taller than her. He wears a hat and a black trench coat, and he stares down at her with unequivocal love.

For a split second, I wonder if it’s my great-grandfather, but then I glimpse his face, along with the gold ring glinting on his pinky finger. I recognize him instantly from an old picture of him standing behind Angelo Salvatore.

Ronaldo.

Gigi and Ronaldo are dancing to Frank Sinatra in front of my fireplace, gazing at one another with so much love, it makes my heart ache.

It’s the first time I’ve seen them together, though admittedly, Gigi has only shown herself to me once before. I always wondered if Ronaldo was here with her. Seeing them now—knowing that he is—sends tears rushing to my eyes.

It’s been decades since their passing, yet still they remain together in the afterlife. Even death could not tear them apart, their love surpassing the inevitability of their mortality.

One day, hopefully far in the future, Zade and I will join them, and I am so excited to meet them.