Layla

The man rolls his window all the way down and leans over the door. He sees the dent. “Now, don’t do that to Randall’s truck. He’ll be confused enough when he wakes up at work and can’t remember what happened to half his night.” He puts his cap back on and slowly begins to back out of the driveway. “A human dies every second, and they don’t always die the right way. I have a lot more people to help.” He raises a hand in the air. “I’ll keep in touch online. Sure would like to see how you two work this one out.”

He turns his truck around in the driveway.

We watch him in silence until he’s gone. Until it’s just the two of us.

He really was just here to give us answers. Nothing more and nothing less.

I’m full of a frustration that can’t be settled, but at the same time, I feel like I’ve been given clarity. It’s like the strand of hair that’s been strangling my heart finally broke loose and it’s beating that out-of-control, irregular beat again that only Layla’s presence can create.

A plink and a BOOM.

“Layla?” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

I turn to her. “Nothing. I just wanted to say your name.” I pull her to me. I hold Layla for several minutes as we stand in silence in the front yard. I’m not holding Sable or Willow or a false version of Layla.

I hold Layla.

I may not have a solution. I don’t know how I’m going to keep her in my arms forever, but for right now, I have her. And I’m making damn sure she never spends another night alone in this house again.CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The mood in the house has shifted drastically in the last hour. We spent the first ten minutes kissing, hugging, reveling in the knowledge that our love somehow transcended realms.

We now have answers as to why Layla’s soul ended up here. But those answers are accompanied by a million more questions and a lot of unexpected grief.

I don’t even know how to properly mourn the idea that Layla essentially died . . . because she’s here with me. But she isn’t.

It feels like she’s been returned to me, but in a horrific way. I feel further away from her than I’ve ever been, even though we’re standing in the bedroom and I’m holding her in my arms.

I feel helpless.

Her face is pressed against my chest, and we have no idea what to do next. I don’t want to come face to face with Sable, and if Layla goes to sleep, that will happen. I’m too angry to do that right now.

“Do you think Sable knows?” Layla asks, pulling back to look up at me.

I shake my head. “No. I think she’s probably just as confused as you are. She has these memories that she can’t explain. That don’t belong inside the head she lives in.”

“That has to be scary for her,” Layla says. “Waking up in the hospital with conflicting memories. Recognizing Aspen and my mother but not quite being able to place them, then being told they’re her family.”

I grip Layla’s cheeks with both hands. “Do not feel sorry for her,” I say. “She did this. None of this would have happened to either of you if she hadn’t shown up to my house with intentions of hurting us.”

Layla nods. “Are you going to tell her what happened? That she’s Sable?”

“Probably. She deserves an explanation as to why she’s been tied up.”

“When are you telling her?”

I shrug. “I feel like the sooner we let her know, the faster we can hopefully come up with a solution.”

“What if she demands to leave?”

“She will. I have no doubt about that.”

“Are you going to let her leave?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Layla’s eyebrows draw apart in worry. “We can’t keep her here against her will. If someone finds out, you could get in legal trouble.”

“She’s not leaving here in your body. It’s yours.”

“Tell that to the police,” Layla says.

“No one has to know. But she is not leaving here until we figure out how to fix this.”

Layla grips the back of her neck and pulls away from me. “You heard that man. He said there’s no way to fix this.”

“He also said this is rare. Maybe it doesn’t happen enough for anyone to have figured out a solution yet. We’ll be patient. We’ll do our research. We’ll figure this out, Layla.”

I wrap my arms around her again, hoping to ease her nerves. But that’s hard to do when I know she can feel my rapid heartbeat against her chest.

I’m just as worried as she is. If not more.

“I think you should tell her now,” Layla says. “Maybe if she realizes what she’s done, she’ll stop fighting you. Maybe she’ll help us figure this out.”

Layla has always seen the best in people.