I don’t. It’s agonizing, but it’s better than the thought of Layla possibly dying. “This isn’t the solution.”

“And living this way is? She won’t sleep unless we drug her, and then I’m left with the side effects. I’m tired. You’re tired. If this is the only way I can exist with you . . . then I’d rather not exist at all,” she says. She’s crying now, and I can’t take it. I don’t want to see her upset, but the selfish part of me would rather see her upset than not see her at all.

“If we did it and it went wrong, I would never forgive myself. I can’t live without you, Layla.”

“You can. You have for the past seven months.”

I look at her pointedly. “And I’ve been fucking miserable.”

She stares at me solemnly. Then, as if she somehow feels sympathy for me, she places her hand on my cheek and kisses me. Her kiss is sweet, but it’s also desolate. I don’t know what to do with it.

It’s torture, kissing her through her pain, because I know what’s going on in her mind right now. She thinks death is the answer.

I’m afraid death will be the end.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I say.

“We’re going to have to do something about this. And soon, while I still have the energy.”

“I’m not going to agree to it.”

Layla’s fingers trail down my arm until she finds my hand. She slips her fingers through mine. “It can work, Leeds. If we plan it out just right, it’ll work.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because,” she says. She presses a kiss against my jaw. “I love you more than Sable does. I’ll make it work.”

I want to believe her. But what happens if it doesn’t work? What if I can’t bring her back? If her body dies for good, her spirit will likely die right along with it.

And then what would I do? How would I explain her death to the police? To her family? To Aspen?

Layla reaches up a hand to smooth out my furrowed brow. “Relax,” she says. “We can worry about the details after we wake up.”

I nod, wanting nothing more than to put these thoughts away. I just want to think about Layla.

I trace my fingers delicately over her lips, and she’s gazing up at me with the same expression she was looking at me with when we were lying in the grass the first night we met. Right before I asked her why she was so pretty.

I trail my fingers over the freckles spilled over the bridge of her nose. “Why are you so pretty?” I whisper.

That memory makes her smile.

This is what I’ve been missing. These moments with Layla. The unspoken memories we share together . . . the looks we give each other. We had an immediate connection the night we met. A connection so strong it brought me back here to her when I didn’t even know I was searching for her. A connection that kept me here, even when I was convinced Willow was Sable.

Layla kisses me again, only this time our kiss doesn’t stop. It lasts for so long my lips feel swollen by the time I push into her.

She wraps herself tightly around me as we make love. I keep my eyes open the whole time because I’m amazed by how different it is now that I have her back. It’s exactly like it used to be. Intense and perfect and full of meaning.

When it’s over and she’s wrapped in my arms, I realize she might be right.

We found each other once—when we met.

Then we found each other again—after she died.

That makes me believe in us enough to think we could do it a third time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Layla has spent the last two days meticulously planning out her death.

I’ve spent the last two days trying to find alternative solutions.

Sadly, I’ve found nothing.

She’s growing weaker. The longer she continues to take over Sable, the less sleep Sable gets. And when Layla does leave her body long enough for Sable to sleep, Sable sleeps very little. Only when the meds kick in, and even then, not for long.

Sable continues to try to escape, which has resulted in her wrists suffering even more damage. The marks are too prominent to hide. I keep them bandaged up, but I worry because Aspen and Chad are due to show back up today and we aren’t sure how to hide Layla’s wrists from them. Right now, she’s wearing one of my long-sleeved shirts because there wasn’t anything with sleeves long enough to cover her wrists in her wardrobe.

Hopefully Aspen doesn’t notice the bandages.

Hopefully Aspen doesn’t notice anything.

Layla’s legs are across my lap, and we’re mindlessly watching TV when we hear their car pull into the drive. We’re not actually paying attention to the TV. We’re just attempting to appear normal, which we’ll be attempting to do for the next twenty-four hours while Aspen and Chad are here.

Layla stands up and pulls the sleeves of her shirt down. She tucks them beneath her thumbs and heads toward the door. I follow her.

Aspen is already peeking her head inside when we make it to the foyer. I open the door all the way and take Aspen’s bag. Layla hugs her as soon as she walks through the door.

The hug catches me off guard. It isn’t a casual greeting. She hugs her tightly, like she’s missed her. I guess she has. Layla was confused the last time Aspen was here. She thought all her feelings belonged to someone else, so she probably didn’t acknowledge that the pull she felt toward Aspen was real.

“Well, hello,” Aspen says, laughing at Layla’s affection. Layla releases her, and Aspen tilts her head, looking at her curiously. “You look exhausted.”

Layla shrugs it off. “I’ve been sick for a few days. Feel much better now, though,” she lies, smiling brightly.

Chad nods his head toward me and grabs Aspen’s bag. “Please tell me you have beer. I’ve been driving twelve hours, and I need beer.” He walks toward the stairs to take their bags up to their usual bedroom, but Layla stretches her arm out, ushering Chad toward the hallway instead.

“Y’all get the downstairs bedroom this time,” Layla says. “The upstairs bathroom is broken.”

She’s lying, and I’m not sure why, but I help Chad take their things to the downstairs bedroom. Then the four of us congregate in the kitchen as Chad searches for something to drink.

“What’s for dinner?” he asks. “It smells good.”

Layla and I threw a casserole together about an hour ago. In the wake of everything happening, it was a nice reprieve. We’ve had a few moments over the last couple of days that I’ve somehow managed to enjoy, despite our circumstances. It’s hard not to let the reality of our situation remain front and center in our minds, but in the few times we’ve been preoccupied with something else, it was a welcome reminder of how things used to be between us. Before Sable.

“There’s a casserole in the oven,” Layla says. “It’s almost ready.” She looks at Aspen. “How was the trip to Colorado?”

Aspen smiles, but it’s obviously forced. She and Chad exchange a look. “Interesting,” Aspen says. “Two flat tires, one broken taillight, six hours wasted while we were stuck in a ditch.”

“Those six hours were not wasted,” Chad says to her, raising an eyebrow.