One morning, Pax leaned back on the bed, his head supported by his arms crossed beneath it. The early summer sun, low in the morning sky, shone through the trees, casting shadows on the wall, while the moving branches created the effect of an old-time movie. Audra snored softly beside him, smiling in her dream state. He wondered if he was part of that dream.

He was reminded of a time when he had watched Sarah sleeping like this. Dream of Me, Please, the song he was playing at The Club on the night he destroyed his arm and killed Tomas, was written while he watched Sarah sleep. As he thought of Sarah, he felt calm in his mind, not overwhelmed by grief. It felt strange. He remembered a different time.

“Don’t be alone, Pax.”

Sarah watched him write as he sat up in bed. He glanced at her. Earlier that week, they had received the worst possible news. Incurable. Inoperable. It was a slow descent with only one outcome. He struggled with the thought that she would soon be leaving him.

“Shut up,” he replied, looking away, and immediately regretted his words.

She laughed, which turned into a cough. One cough sparked another, and soon she was choking. Pax pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, singing softly into her ear to soothe her and help her breathe steadily.

She nodded thankfully and pulled back, looking into his eyes, her voice soft and husky.

“I mean it, Pax. Don’t be alone. Find someone to love. You can be so closed off sometimes. It would help if you let it out. You need to let that beautiful music in your heart sing.”

“I’m not talking about this,” he said matter-of-factly. She laughed again, though quietly.

“I’m not saying you should go out and start dating at your age, baby. Still, it would be fun to watch that from the afterlife. You have a lot of living to do and plenty of love to share. Find someone to share it with.”

He remembered feeling angry at her for that conversation. He also recalled her pulling him close and kissing him until the anger faded. They made love. It was slow, awkward, and imperfect. Her condition added an unspoken caution in Pax, which dulled the passion of their intimacy, preventing it from reaching its usual heights of ecstasy. They laughed about it and apologized to each other for their lackluster performance. She tried once more to get him to promise that he wouldn’t be alone, that he would love again. He declined to respond.

He felt Audra stir beside him, pulling him back to the moment. He watched her hand wrap around his waist—her beautiful ebony skin contrasting with his, her Carolina blue-tinted braids spread across the pillow around her head. Had he found someone like Sarah had told him he should? Did she know he would? Did she make sure he stayed open to it? Something in his chest stirred, and he chuckled.

“Stupid butterflies,” he said softly, but not softly enough.

“Butterflies?” Audra asked, looking at him.

“Forget about it,” he said, as he took her hand.

“Pax, honey,” Audra smiled as she spoke. “Have I ever told you that I love your accent?”

He smirked. “I don’t have an accent, Kid. You do.”

“Down here, honey, you’re the one with the accent.”

He turned onto his side and supported his head with his hand.

“Has anyone ever told you that they didn’t understand anything you just said? I bet they have.”

She looked at him, her golden-brown eyes sparkling with delight at his Yankee sarcasm.

“Because,” he continued, “nobody has ever said that to me.”

She laughed and stuck out her tongue. He pulled her head toward his and kissed her before she could retract her tongue. They made love quietly, yet with no lack of passion.

The sun was fully up when they collapsed in exhaustion, sweaty and flushed, their minds hazy with dopamine. Pax settled back into his position, his head resting on his hand, supported by his elbow.

He looked at Audra, her eyes closed and a blissful grin spread across her face. She was the “someone” that Sarah told him to find. He felt certain of it. The year and a half they had spent together felt much longer. The meals they shared, the laughter, the thrills, the sex—oh yes, the sex—and the music, always the music. All of it seemed perfect. Something he never thought he would experience again in his lifetime.

“Hey, Audra?”

She opened her eyes when she heard her real name slip from his lips.

“What’s wrong?”

He smiled while shaking his head. “Nothing. No. Nothing is wrong.”

Audra turned toward him, her eyes wide with disbelief. He took her hand, and she squeezed it, still uneasy about his sudden switch from calling her “Kid.”

“I was wondering,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “I was wondering if maybe we should—”

His pause increased her anxiety.

“We should what, Pax?”

No, honey. He heard the difference, just like she did. He decided to speak his mind quickly and be damned if the words didn’t come out right.

“I was wondering if you would… maybe… like to get married?”

Her face shifted. It was subtle, but he noticed it. She relaxed slightly, then tensed again, but in a different way—more around her mouth, less around her eyes. Her hand that had been gripping his loosened. He waited.

“Oh, Pax, honey.”

He heard the shift in her tone—sharps and flats fighting for dominance. She caressed his cheek and kissed him softly. He waited.

Her smile was genuine, and her copper eyes sparkled. Then, she shook her head slowly.

“Honey, you are a most amazing man. I love what we have and know you would be an equally amazing husband, but—”

But.

She gently held his face in her hands, her eyes fixed on his.

“Pax, honey, I can’t compete with a ghost.”

He felt the motion in his chest again, but it wasn’t pleasant. These weren’t butterflies; this was a knotting sensation, like swallowing a live snake.

He felt anger building inside him and took slow breaths to control it.

“What?”

Audra noticed the impact of her comment and let his face go. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her bent legs.

“Pax, honey,” she tried to stay calm amid his growing disappointment. “You must know that you talk about Sarah quite often. I know all about what she liked and disliked. What she would do and what she would never do. How she liked to dress, what she enjoyed drinking, how she liked to dance.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, looking away as Audra’s voice bounced off his bare back.

“There’s almost nothing we do together—except maybe in bed—that you don’t bring up how Sarah would act in similar situations.”

“Stop saying her name,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Pax, honey,” she continued, “I love you. There, I said it. And I love being with you, but I can’t replace something you never let go of. I can never be her. I love this—what we have—but it will have to be all there is for us because I will never be enough to replace her.”

A void of silence filled the room. She waited. He exhaled.

Audra reached out to touch his back, and his sudden recoil revealed everything she needed to know. Tears streamed down her face.

“Oh, Pax.” No honey.

He stood, dressed, grabbed his wallet and keys, and began to leave. Audra bounded from the bed and positioned herself, naked and defiant, between Pax and the door, arms wide open, chest lifting and falling with her breathing.

“No!” she said. “You don’t get to unleash that Paxton Butler rage on me. Not on me. You stay here and talk to me about this.”

Pax stopped mid-step, his face shifting with every breath—anger, disappointment, fear, and his old enemy, despair, all vying to take control.

“I can’t do this,” he said through clenched teeth.

“You can’t or you won’t?” she asked, trying to hold his attention.

Pax said nothing. He looked at her, this beautiful woman who had captured his heart and now squeezed it.

“You will do it,” Audra replied. “We have too much between us to just walk away like this.”

“I can’t,” he repeated. “Not now.”

“Then when?” Her tone softened, and she lowered her arms.

“I don’t know,” he said, stepping around her and walking out the door.

He didn’t hear her calling after him. He didn’t hear her sobbing. He didn’t hear the door closing behind him or the roar of his engine when he started the car. He heard nothing. For the first time in his memory, he heard nothing.