Graveminder (21 page)

“I know, and if you can’t focus, what good are you going to do them? The members of the council are asleep at this hour. Charlie refused to answer our questions. Between jet lag, Maylene’s funeral, Dad’s death, trips to Charlie’s world, shootings ... Catching a couple hours’ sleep is going to do more good than anything else we can do right now.”

For a moment, they stayed like that; then she stood. “You’re right. I’m going to grab a quick shower.”

Feeling foolish, she turned her back to him. “Can you unfasten this?”

She unhooked the clasp between her breasts, and then shrugged the outer layer of the dress off. She pulled her hair over one shoulder and stared steadfastly in front of her.

The first touch of his hands on her back made her draw in a sudden breath. They both froze for several heartbeats—each of which she was convinced he should be able to hear. Then, carefully, he began to unfasten the row of eyelets that ran along her spine. Her grip tightened on the sheer outer layer she held in her hand.

When the dress gaped open in the back, he pressed one kiss to her the back of her neck. She shivered and looked over her shoulder at him.

Say it. Tell him.

She took a steadying breath, stepped away from him—and fled.

Chapter 37

B
YRON LISTENED TO THE WATER TURN ON UPSTAIRS AND DEBATED THE
foolishness of following Rebekkah. Unlike her, he couldn’t care less
why
they were together, only that they were. He’d spent his life waiting on her, but had he known about Graveminders and Undertakers he’d have given her up rather than have her in danger.
She has no choice.
Because of the contract, they were tied together until death.
Which isn’t going to make her any more likely to admit her feelings.
She was the Graveminder—but she was still the same woman who hated being trapped, the same woman who had let her dead sister stand between her and Byron for years, the same woman who was so afraid of losing the people she loved that she denied loving them. She was the same woman he’d loved for years.
And now she’s going to be in danger for the rest of her life.
He wasn’t sure if her vulnerability in the land of the dead was more or less frightening than the fact that a dead girl was in Claysville killing people. In both worlds, Rebekkah was a target.

How did you do this, Dad?

Everything had shifted in mere days—giving Byron what he wanted most, a future with Rebekkah, and putting that very same thing in a state of danger he couldn’t have anticipated. He checked the doors, and then stood at the bay window in the living room looking at the dark. Daisha could be right outside, and he wouldn’t know it. She could be killing someone. She
would
kill people.

He picked up the journal and flicked through the pages.

If Mae knew Lily had died, none of this would’ve happened. What kind of man hides his wife’s death? Lily was kept there, and because of it, she came back. Mae was heartbroken.

Byron turned to another section and read:

Charlie refused to tell me anything about Alicia’s anger. She isn’t much better. She’s steered me wrong a few times, but most of her information is good ...

The number of secrets in the thin book was staggering. Byron skimmed, looking for Charlie’s name.

Nick is a jackass. If he could, he’d let the ministers move here without any knowledge of the contract. He says, “The townsfolk don’t know about it when they have children, so why should the ministers?” The difference is that the townsfolk are trapped here. New people aren’t. They can come and go if they aren’t born here.

Ann brought up parenthood when I mentioned the fracas at the meeting. We’re allowed to have a child whenever we choose. Undertakers don’t have to wait for consent. How do I pass this on to my own son? How do I tell Ann no?

Rebekkah came partway down the stairs. She was wearing a long nightshirt; the top of it was damp from her dripping-wet hair. “The shower’s free.”

If it wouldn’t make her run, he’d be upstairs with her already. Instead, he nodded. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

He resumed reading:

Mae understood why Ella did it, but she didn’t want to tell me. I saw her look at Ella. She knows the lure of Charlie’s world. I don’t understand it, but she tells me that the world she knows there is not what I see.

Sometimes I dream of killing Charlie.

Byron flipped forward again and read:

Mae was bitten. I wanted to kill the dead, but she’s unable to remember that they are monsters. She lets them in her home, brings them to her table ... I don’t know how to reason with her sometimes. Sometimes I think she forgets that she is human. If they come here, they can kill her. They would kill all of us. She tells me I worry too much, but I exist to protect her. It’s my job.

Carefully, Byron closed the book and went upstairs.

This wasn’t a fantasy: there were no rules in place to protect the townsfolk while they rested. The monster could—and had—entered homes. Daisha had entered
this
house and killed Maylene. She’d entered Byron’s home and bitten his father.

And we have no idea where she is.

He thought about Daisha coming into the house while Rebekkah was alone. His shower was brief. He’d barely dried before he yanked on a pair of jeans; he dried his hair with one hand as he opened the door of the bathroom.

Rebekkah stood in the doorway to her room watching him. She’d obviously made a decision of some sort because she’d brought his bag to her room. It sat on the floor at her feet.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked.

Without breaking their gaze, he came to stand in front of her. They’d been here, in this standoff, so many times over the years. She’d only ever had to look at him, and he was hers to have. She never admitted that what they shared was special. He couldn’t count the number of rooms they’d shared and the number of nights they’d spent in various cities and towns, yet never once had she allowed herself to admit that
he
mattered, that
they
mattered.

“Is it that you don’t want to sleep alone or that you want
me
here?”

“You,” she whispered.

She backed away from him, and he stepped into her room. He unzipped his bag and pulled out the gun that Alicia had given him. He put it on the nightstand, and then put the bag against the wall where he wouldn’t trip on it if he had to get up suddenly.

Rebekkah pushed the still-tangled bedcovers back and sat on the edge of the mattress.

He turned off the lights and went to her. With a small sigh, she curled into his arms. He lay back and held her.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she murmured as her eyes drifted closed.

“Liar.” He held her with one arm cradling her to him and the other free to smooth her hair back.

Or reach for the gun.

Rebekkah’s eyes opened again. “Byron ...”

He wrapped a damp strand of her hair around his finger, then let it fall onto her shoulder. Some part of him, the same part that had accepted the terms she’d set every time he’d held her, told him to keep quiet. The rest of him was tired of playing by her rules. “No changing. No commitments. This is meaningless. It’s always meaningless.”

She sighed. “That’s not ... never mind.”

“I’m bound to you for the rest of our lives. I’ve loved you for years. You’ve loved me just as long.” He didn’t look away as he said it, and she didn’t deny it this time. “You can protest all you want, but my
job
is to keep you safe, take a bullet over there if I have to. I signed a contract. I shot two men today.”

She sat up and pulled away from him. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask you to do anything.”

Byron watched her. “And you can’t change who you are or what you feel. I get that, but I can’t change who I am either. This is who we are. Regardless of what we do now, I’m in your life. Regardless of how you feel, I’m yours until our death. ”

“If Ella hadn’t died—”

“But she
did
.”

Rebekkah scooted to the foot of the bed, putting herself out of reach. “She died knowing that I ... that we ...”

“
Kissed
. It was kissing, and we’ve done a hell of a lot more since then. It’s not
Ella
standing between us. You feel guilty, and you’re afraid. I understand, but you need to let it go. I won’t ever leave you, Bek, no matter how often or how hard you push me. I’ve been waiting for you for most of my life, and I’ll be here. That won’t change whether you and I see where we can go or not. Tell me we’re just friends, or friends with benefits, and”—he shrugged—“I’ll try to accept that.”

“You’ll
try
?”

“Yeah, I’ll
try
.” He rolled onto his hip and slid to the far side of the bed. “I’m going to spend however long we have anchored to your side. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t want you in my life
and
in my bed. I’ve lov—”

“Maybe you don’t want
me
, Byron. Did you even consider that? You want the
Graveminder
.” She glared at him. “If Ella hadn’t killed herself, you’d—”

“She did, though, didn’t she? And, in case you forgot, I felt like this
before she died
.” He sat up and tugged her onto his lap. “I used to look for you every time I came home. I scanned Dad’s letters looking for mentions of you. Not Ella, not the Graveminder.
You
, Rebekkah.”

“Would you do it if I weren’t the Graveminder? If you weren’t the Undertaker?”

“I wish I could answer that, but there isn’t an answer. We
are
those things. I can’t undo any of it. Unless you die, you’re the Graveminder, and”—he took her hand in his—“I don’t think tossing yourself, your life, and the town to the side to figure out you and me is a very good idea. If you want to ignore this, ignore me for everything but the ... job, I’ll try to do that, but I think it’s a mistake.”

She didn’t answer, and after a minute, he released her hand.

“We don’t need to figure it out tonight. It’s been a long”—he glanced at the red digits of the clock—“day, night ... several days. Let’s try to sleep.”

“You’re a good man.” She crawled off his lap. “You deserve better.”

At that, he paused. His resolve not to continue to push her tonight evaporated. “So now you’re protecting me? Staying out of my bed and my life to keep me safe?”

“Yeah. I guess that’s one way to put it.” She slid to the opposite side of the bed, but she didn’t lie down.

He stretched out and propped himself up on one arm. “You might be the woman I love, but it’s not like I’ve exactly been celibate.”

“So tell me it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Tell me it wouldn’t complicate everything; tell me it wouldn’t be the start of a relationship.” She slid off the bed and stood staring at him for a moment. When he didn’t answer her, she put a hand to the hem of her nightshirt and lifted it slowly. “Or tell me no.”

Byron watched her lift the shirt, enjoyed the sight of her bare hips and her flat stomach.

When he didn’t speak, she continued to lift the nightshirt higher. All the while she held his gaze. “You don’t want the same things I do.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Without breaking their gaze, he moved toward her. He knelt on the mattress so he could reach out. Slowly, he trailed his fingertips over her stomach.

She paused.

“I didn’t say stop,” he whispered.

She pulled the shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor.

He cupped her breasts, and then kissed first one and then the other. “Beautiful.”

She caught her breath and slid her hand around the back of his neck.

He slid his thumbs over her already hard nipples, and then he trailed his hands over the curve of her breasts and around her back. He didn’t hold her fast, but he kept his hands on her bare back. His fingers splayed across her skin, and for a moment he couldn’t think beyond the knowledge that he was finally touching Rebekkah again.

She didn’t speak—or pull away. Her breathing was as uneven as his. Her lips parted, and she stared at him.

He moved upward, nipped her throat, and kissed his way to her ear. She sighed and tilted her head to give him better access.

“We both know”—he kissed the curve of her shoulder—“that if we made love”—he leaned back and watched her face as he slowly traced the contours of her right side—“it would mean something”—he kissed her gently—“to
both
of us.”

Then he pulled away. “I’ll agree to one thing, though: it wouldn’t be the start of a relationship. We started a relationship years ago.”

She stared at him, but still didn’t say a word. The expression of shock on her face was almost enough to make him waver; he forced himself to hold her gaze—in part because the sight of her nearly naked body wasn’t doing much for his resolve either.

Before he could give in, Byron stood, reached down, and pulled the bedcovers farther back. “I’m a grown man, Bek. Don’t throw challenges at me unless you’re sure you’re ready for the results.”

“You’re telling me no?”

“I am,” he said.

Wearing nothing but her panties now, she slipped into the bed. He pulled the covers up over her and walked away.

When he reached the door, she spoke. “Byron?”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”

“I’m not ready for any of this. For us or for being the Graveminder.”

“Being ready doesn’t matter sometimes. There
is
an ‘us,’ and you
are
the Graveminder.”