Chapter 18

“He wants me to play it again.”

“He, who? Jefferson?”

“No. Davis.” Goose restarted the song snippet.

“He spoke to you?” I asked at its end.

“Maybe. I…I think so.” Goose ran the clip a third time. “He’s lost.”

“Lost, like stuck? Stuck between here and Heaven?”

“I’m not sure. The lyrics mean something to him, though. Where the song cuts off means something.” Goose was quiet a moment. “He’s gone. But I think we’re getting somewhere.”

“Me, too.” I stood and offered my hand. “Me, too.”3

I awoke first the next afternoon, having slept quite well, once Goose had gotten home around dawn to join me in bed. Nearly every time we slept together, I put on my glasses to see him open his eyes. With sleep in them, his always disheveled hair in a particularly wild state of sexy bedhead, it was one of the many times over the course of a day I found him sexy as fuck.