Burn Of Scotch

| 7 |

Kelly Anne's voice was just background noise to me, a droning soundtrack to my internal turmoil. She was yammering on about some wine club, but who gives a rat's ass about wine when you're wrestling with ghosts?

"You know, you're too gorgeous to be flying solo. You are single, right? Oh, was that too forward?"

I flashed her a tight-lipped smile, the kind that says, 'Thanks for noticing, but you have no idea.'

"Was. I was with someone. He's gone now. Dead," I managed, the words tasting like ash. Avoiding the topic of me and James.

Her face fell, sympathy oozing out. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. Here, let's swap numbers. My club might—"

"Yeah, sure," I cut her off, handing over my phone, my eyes already wandering, searching. And then they landed on him.

Guero.

My heart slammed against my ribcage.

No, he's dead, Elena. Dead.

But my feet, traitors they were, followed him up the stairs, each step heavier than the last, my mind screaming, This isn't real, this isn't real.

I burst into the bedroom, the sight of him turning my world upside down.

"Hey, beautiful," Guero said, shifting nervously, his hands stuffed in his pockets like he used to when he was about to lie or confess something big.

"Guero..." I whispered, my voice a ghost.

Then, like a magnet snapping to steel, I was in his arms, my face buried in his neck, inhaling the familiar minty scent that haunted my dreams. I locked my arms around him, terrified to let go, because if I did, he might vanish into thin air again. We stumbled, a dance of two halves trying to become whole, until he had me pinned against the wall, his hands caging mine above my head.

Our eyes met, his searching mine. My hands roamed his face, tracing every line, every curve, tears blurring my vision.

"Oh, my god," I gasped, barely a whisper.

His face inched closer, and mine followed, magnetic. Our lips were a breath apart, his nose brushing mine. I pulled back just to look at him again, to etch this miracle into my memory, before my hands found his neck, pulling him into a kiss that was part reunion, part resurrection.

But as our lips met, a war erupted within me. James, his touch, his laugh, flashed in my mind.

Guero, why now? When I've just begun to love again?

Tears mixed with kisses, my heart a battlefield where old love clashed with new, each touch a skirmish in a war I wasn't sure I wanted to win or lose.

The kiss was a battlefield, his lips initially hard against mine, a clash of desperation and desire. But the moment his arms encircled my waist, drawing me against the drum of his heartbeat, everything softened, melted, exploded. His lips gentled, and I could feel his heart racing, a mirror to my own erratic pulse.

I broke away, my hands pressing against his chest, a barrier between us. "I - I - I don't understand, how is this possible?"

He was silent, his thumb brushing away my tears with a tenderness that belied the storm inside me. Then, he pulled me back into him, his face buried in my neck, his lips leaving a trail of kisses that felt like both a balm and a brand.

"I thought I'd never see you again," I whispered into his chest, his grip tightening around me.

"I'm here, baby. I'm here," he murmured, pulling back to cup my face, his eyes closed as if savoring the feel of me. "I'm right here." His lips brushed mine once more, a whisper of a touch.