Page 115 of Haunt Me

“Like this?”

“Not quite.”

“This?” I ask after changing my grip again.

“Still wrong.”

“You could just show me instead of watching me fail at this repeatedly.”

“Could.” He doesn’t move for a second, something working behind his eyes like he’s debating it. Then he steps in behind me, close enough that I feel the heat of him even though he left space between us. His hand closes over mine on the handle, adjusting my grip with slow, deliberate pressure.

“Like this,” he says, low, right near my ear.

I don’t answer right away. I don’t trust my voice to come out steady if I try.

“Okay,” I finally manage.

He steps back fast, putting distance between us again like he only just realized how close he’d gotten, and clears his throat.

I miss the target completely on my first three throws.

“It’s the axe,” I tell him on throw four, which also misses.

“Sure it is.”

“It’s clearly defective.”

“Clearly.” He’s almost smiling now, his shoulders loosening.

“You’re better at this than you’re letting on,” he says, watching my fifth throw actually stick, barely.

“Beginner’s luck.”

“Maybe.” He studies me a second too long, arms crossed again like he’s trying to put his guard back up. “You planning on sticking around Ashbourne or is this just a pit stop on your way somewhere else?”

“Sticking around, I think. I like it here.”

His expression shifts, fast. I can’t quite read it before it’s gone.

“That’s good,” he says, quieter now.

“Your turn.” I hold the ax out to him. “Show me how it’s supposed to look when someone actually knows what they’re doing.

He takes it, testing the grip, and steps up to the line. Just as he draws his arm back, the radio behind the bar cuts out mid-song, static crackling through the speakers for a half second before an entirely different song comes on. “Light On” picks up right in the middle of the first verse.

He goes rigid.

The axe slips from his grip, clattering against the concrete instead of the target.

“Wolf,” I say carefully.

He’s staring at the speaker, his face gone pale under the bar lights.

“You okay?”

It takes him a second too long to answer.

“Fine.” His voice comes out rough. He doesn’t pick the ax back up. “I should go.”