Chapter 251: Reid Could See Me?

I was sure I was imagining it, I was so sure it was a coincidence that he was looking this way, but then, with quivering lips, and eyes wide with disbelief, he called out,

"Kain?"

The sound of his voice—so fragile, so desperate, cutting straight through the deafening roar of twenty thousand screaming fans—made my entire soul freeze.

My breath hitched in my throat. I stopped sob-laughing, my arms loosening slightly around his neck as I stared back at him in shock.

He was looking at me. Not through me. Not past me. His grey eyes were locked onto mine, wide with disbelief, the pupils blown wide as a fresh wave of tears spilled over his lashes and tracked down his flushed cheeks.

"Reid...?" I whispered, my voice trembling so hard it vibrated through my ghostly chest. "Can you... can you actually see me?"

"Kain..." he choked out again, taking a single, staggering step forward. The crowd was still roaring, the spotlight blinding, but to Reid, the rest of the world had completely vanished.

Beside him, Marina caught his arm, her eyes wide with concern as she noticed him staring intently at the empty space in front of him. "Reid? What’s wrong? What is it?"

Reid didn’t answer her. He couldn’t. He slowly reached out his hand, his fingers trembling violently as he extended them toward my face.

I held my breath—or whatever ghost-equivalent I had left—and leaned into his touch.

When his fingertips brushed against my jawline, a sharp, golden spark of warmth surged through the air between us. It wasn’t the cold, hollow pass-through I had experienced with everything else for the last three months. It was real. A faint, unmistakable pressure pressed against his skin, and for the first time since I died on that operating table, Reid felt the undeniable heat of my presence.

A choked, breathless sob ripped from Reid’s throat, his knees buckling for a split second before he forced himself to stand firm, pulling Sarah just a fraction closer to his chest with his other arm.

"It’s you..." Reid whispered, his quivering lips parting as a broken, beautiful smile fought its way through his tears. "You’re... you’re really here..."

How was this possible? I looked past his shoulder at Marina, who was staring at him with a mix of deep worry and utter confusion. It was glaringly obvious—he was the only one who could see me. But how? How had the barrier between us suddenly thinned?

My mind raced, but the cold reality of our surroundings snapped me back. If he kept standing in the middle of the ice, staring blankly into thin air and weeping at nothing while calling my name, they would think he was losing his mind.

The sports broadcast cameras were zoomed in on his face right now, the stadium jumbotron projecting every micro-expression. The media would devour him alive tomorrow, running headlines about a broken widower suffering a breakdown in front of twenty thousand people.

I refused to let him or our daughter be dragged into another cruel public spectacle.

"Reid..." I whispered urgently, my voice trembling as I pressed my palm firmer against his cheek, trying to guide his focus. "Listen to my voice. Walk off the ice. Come... come outside with me."

Would he listen to a ghost, a possile hallucination?

Reid swallowed hard, his chest heaving as he fought for control. For a second, he looked like he wanted to reach out with both arms, to wrap me up right there under the blinding arena lights. But my plea seemed to pierce through his shock. He blinked through his tears, taking a slow, shaky breath as he forced his gaze to shift just enough to make it look like he was staring into the distance of the roaring crowd.

Marina leaned in, her hand resting firmly on his arm. "Reid? Are you okay to walk back?"

"Yeah," Reid rasped, his voice rough and uneven as he pulled Sarah a little tighter against his chest. "Yeah, I’m... I just need air."

Without waiting for the rest of the team or the media staff, Reid turned and began navigating off the black carpet toward the quiet tunnels of the arena. I floated right beside his shoulder, my phantom hand resting against his back, leading him away from the flashing cameras and into the dimly lit, private corridors behind the home locker room.

The deafening roar of the crowd gradually muffled into a low, distant hum as he pushed through a set of heavy exit doors, stepping out into the crisp, quiet night air of the private stadium courtyard.

The moment the heavy exit door clicked shut, cutting off the noise of the arena, Reid didn’t pause to ask questions. He surged forward, wrapping his broad arm tightly around me and crushing my body against his chest.

He didn’t care about the physics of it. He didn’t care about logic, or whether his mind was finally fracturing under the weight of three months of unbearable grief. All that mattered was that I was standing right in front of him—bright, real, and still here when he blinked.

A sharp, violent wave of heat crashed through us as we collided.

A choked, gut-wrenching sob tore out of Reid’s throat, his entire frame shuddering as he buried his face into the crook of my neck, clinging to me as if the entire universe would fall apart if he let go for even a single second.

"Don’t leave me," he sobbed, his voice completely broken, raw and bleeding into my skin. "Please... please don’t leave me, Kain. I can’t do this... I just can’t..."

"Reid..." I wept, my own tears spilling over as my arms wrapped around his neck, holding him with every ounce of strength my soul possessed. "I’m here. I’m right here."

His shoulders wracked violently with heavy, painful sobs, his fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt, desperate to anchor himself to the reality of my touch. He didn’t care if I was a phantom, a dream, or a dying hallucination—he just held me, breathing in the scent of the orchids that had lingered in his memories for ninety days.

And then, pressing against my ribs right between our bodies, I felt it.

A tiny, solid, radiant bloom of warmth against my stomach.

My breath caught in my throat, my entire heart thumping violently against my ribs. Down between us, cradled securely in Reid’s dark wrap, Sarah let out a soft, sleepy sigh, her small, warm chest rising and falling against my own.

Ah, my child...