Page 7 of Challenge Me

Maybe that was just my driving, though.

Maybe I had only ever driven with my hands too tight on the wheel and my mind too tense to relax.

Maybe it would be different with Ghost.

The keys rested heavily in my palm.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and looked across the garage, where Ghost waited for me in the low light. The overheads slid across his paint in long, glossy strokes, catching on every curve, every sharp edge, every detail of the 1970 Dodge Challenger.

I had been avoiding him. There was no point lying about it now, so I stepped closer, my heels echoing softly against the concrete.

“Apparently,” I whispered to him, “we both need this.”

For a second, nothing happened.

Then the driver’s door unlocked with a soft click.

Chapter Three

Ghost

I felt your grip on my keys as you watched me. I dared not move, watching you back like you were a fish, cautiously debating taking a bite of a lure, and I was a fisherman who hadn’t eaten in a week or more.

You stood there for a good minute, as if waiting for something.

A sign?

Permission?

…Me?

Did you need me?

I appeared in front of my hood, cautious as I offered my hand out to you. You looked at my outstretched hand as if taking it came at a price. I feared you wouldn’t take it if I let you think too long, that you would find another excuse.

I grabbed your hand, pulling you closer, taking away the choice. My shadow slid over your shoulders, wrapping around you like a coat.

You were so small. I’d never noticed that before, but standing this close, looming over you, I noticed now the narrowness of your wrist beneath my fingers, your head level with my shoulder. I considered shrinking myself to match, to make the difference between us less obvious.

I could have, but no. You didn’t need smaller. You needed someone stronger because you were tired of being the strong one.

You leaned into my touch.

The surrender was subtle. Anyone else might have missed it. A fraction of your weight shifting forward. Your shoulder easing beneath my shadow. The smallest exhale leaving you.

But I felt it. I felt all of it.

I opened the door for you.

Was it desperate? Probably. But I’d spent three weeks in this garage, and I was eager to see the skies again. I was eager to show you what a hundred and fifty thousand dollars had bought you.

“Sit,” I whispered against your ear, watching shivers run down your neck.

You laughed as you obeyed, a small gesture of regaining some control. Carefully, you lowered yourself into the driver’s seat, your cane angled aside, your posture still stiff, your hands arranging themselves gingerly on the wheel as though it was your first time driving and you’d had ‘ten and two’ beaten into you.

I allowed you to have that little bit of control. It was an illusion anyway, no matter how much you wanted to believe otherwise. You could hold the wheel. You could sit in the driver’s seat. You could pretend all decisions still belonged to you. But I surrounded you completely. My frame held you. My shadow pressed close.

I wasn’t like Fox, sitting in the passenger seat to ride shotgun. My ghostly form melted into the driver’s seat, holding you in my lap; my arms rested over yours in a strange embrace. We could both drive.