Chapter 249: I Miss You

I floated down to the poolside, sat next to Reid, and began to talk—like he could hear me, like he could listen and respond. But when I looked over at him, looking at the deep sorrow in his eyes, tears welled up in my ghostly eyes and I whispered:

"I’m sorry for making you worry. I’m sorry I left, Reid."

I had repeated those lines a thousand times already, hoping that, by some miracle, he would finally hear me someday.

The first moment I woke up as a ghost, I panicked. I did all I could to make him realize I was there. I cried, yelled, tried to even break things—but my hand passed right through everything.

And yet... my body did not pass through Reid. He was the only real thing I could hold, even if he couldn’t feel a single thing from me.

I slowly leaned my head on his shoulder, my heart aching. Seriously, I’m a ghost. How can I be so hurt even after death?

"Kain..." Reid suddenly spoke.

"Yeah?" I answered softly, even though I knew he was just talking to himself.

"I miss you."

"Me too, Reid," tears rolled down my cheeks as I pressed closer against his solid shoulder. "Me too."

Right beside where Reid sat on the stone deck, our three-month-old daughter lay nestled in a shaded infant lounger. Her tiny feet kicked rhythmically against the cushion, her small hands swatting aimlessly at the air as she made soft, bubbly sounds.

Watching her grew more painful with every passing day.

I had watched every single milestone of her tiny life as an invisible spectator. I was there the first time she opened her eyes in the nursery, there when her soft tuft of blonde hair began to grow in, and there for every late-night feeding where Reid held her alone in the dark, rocking her until his arms shook. I had reached down a hundred times to touch her soft cheeks, only for my hands to pass straight through her like smoke.

I couldn’t hold my own daughter. I couldn’t comfort her when she cried. All I could do was watch her grow from the sidelines of the living world, a silent shadow in her nursery.

Reid didn’t move. He just sat there on the edge of the stone tile, his feet submerged in the quiet blue water, staring blankly down at her with a silence he couldn’t break.

"She looks so much like you today," Reid murmured softly into the empty air, his voice barely louder than a whisper, rough from disuse. "She has your jawline, Kain. Every time she smiles... it’s like you’re mocking me all over again for losing my cool."

A choked, breathless laugh escaped my lips. I reached up with a ghost-light hand, resting my palm against his cheek. My hand didn’t slide through him—it anchored there, warm and solid against his cold skin, even though his eyes didn’t flicker toward me.

"I’m not mocking you," I whispered, resting my forehead against his shoulder, letting my eyes close as the phantom weight of my grief pressed into my chest. "She has your hair, Reid. And your stubborn eyes. She’s going to be just as terrifying on the ice as you were, if she decides to pursue that path."

"I tried to put her in that little jersey your mom brought over yesterday," Reid continued, unaware of my touch, his fingers tightening around the silver chain around his neck until his knuckles turned white. "Number fourteen. I couldn’t do it. I got it over her head and I just... I broke down, Kain. I had to take it off."

"Reid..."

"I can’t even look at the ice anymore," he choked out, his dark grey eyes welling up with sudden, hot tears that spilled over his lashes, tracking down his hollow cheeks. "They called from the front office again. They want to retire your number next month. They want me there to pull the banner up to the rafters."

He turned his head slowly, looking at the empty space beside him—looking right through me, his gaze hollowed out by three months of endless nightmare.

"How am I supposed to watch your number go up there without you standing next to me, Cap?" Reid whispered, his voice cracking down the middle, raw and bleeding. "How am I supposed to raise her alone? I can’t do it."

My soul tore open all over again. I wrapped both arms around his solid neck, burying my face into the crook of his shoulder, clinging to him with everything I had left in this lingering, half-lived existence.

"You’re not alone," I sobbed into his skin, feeling the faint ghost-phantom echo of my own tears soaking into his shirt, even if he couldn’t see them. "I’m right here. I haven’t left you for a single second. Reid, please... look at me. Feel me."

Down in the shallow end, our daughter let out a tiny, high-pitched babble, splashing her hands into the pool water and making a bright, golden ripple catch the sunlight.

Reid blinked, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand as he looked over at her. A faint, painful flicker of warmth returned to his dark eyes—the tiny spark of the man he used to be.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched our daughter, his breath shuddering out of him in a long, quiet sigh.

And for just a fraction of a second, as the gentle summer breeze swept across the patio carrying the faint scent of frozen pine and sweet orchids, Reid paused. He tilted his head slightly toward his shoulder—toward where my head was resting—as if feeling a sudden, unexplained trace of warmth against his skin.

"Reid," I heard Brad’s voice call out gently from the glass patio doors.

The moment was broken. Reid took a slow, deep breath, swallowing down the remaining tightness in his throat before straightening his posture. He reached over to gently rest his palm over our daughter’s chest, keeping her grounded as Brad walked down the stone steps toward the pool.

"I didn’t mean to interrupt," Brad said softly, his shoes crunching lightly against the gravel border before he stopped a few feet away. He looked between Reid’s hollow eyes and the quiet baby resting in her lounger, a ache settling across his features. "The front office called again. Devin wants to know if you need them to push back the banner ceremony, or if you’d prefer to handle the statement privately."