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Skating unencumbered on Santa Monica pier was, Willie maintained, better than anything heaven could offer him. The weather was perfect; sun bright with the tiniest chill in the air. There were enough people around to have some entertainment, the sounds of the boardwalk fading to indistinct chatter as Willie soared, as free as he could ever hope to be in the afterlife. Going this fast and unrestrained was the only way he could take his mind off of the lingering stench of Caleb’s club, and the look of sheer disappointment on Alex’s face—
Lost in his head, Willie hadn’t been paying much attention to the path before him, zipping through the lifers with no problem. It was a shock when something slammed into his chest, sending him flying backwards. If his helmet hadn’t been cracked already, the force with which he crashed into the ground certainly would have done it. Bells rang in Willie’s ears; he’d learned the hard way that, despite not having an actual, physical brain, ghosts could still get brief concussions.
“What the fuck,” he muttered, glaring into the sun to figure out what, exactly, he’d crashed into.
When he looked up, Luke Patterson was looming over him, hand pulled back as if he was considering knocking Willie right back onto the ground.
Beside him, someone sighed—Reggie, Willie realized, as the spots slowly faded from his vision. “Luke, we said we weren’t going to fight him.”
“You said that,” Luke said. “I never agreed.”
“Mind telling me what the hell that was about?” Willie asked, finally back on his feet. He took a step backward; Luke, fists clenched, clearly wasn’t listening to Reggie. Willie had been in enough fist fights in his life that he could probably take Luke with one hand, but kicking the crap out of Alex’s best friends probably wouldn’t put Willie any further on the path to forgiveness.
Willie felt a little nauseous realizing that Alex was nowhere to be seen. If they were so mad at him, maybe the stamp had worked faster on Alex —
“I think I figured out my unfinished business, and it’s kicking your ass for breaking Alex’s heart.”
—and Alex was gone— wait. What?
“Wait, what?” Willie said out loud, trying to follow the 180 the conversation had taken.
“Alex is being all sad and broody,” Reggie said, pulling Luke back a little. “And that’s Luke’s territory.” Luke glared, and Reggie shrugged. “What? You know I’m right. Alex is the anxious, snarky one, I’m the happy-go-lucky optimist, and you’re the sulky tortured artist. It’s out of whack any other way.” Reggie turned back to Willie. “He’s trying to hide it, but there’s a reason Alex was always tree #3 in school plays. He does not have a good poker face.”
It was a little comforting, even if Willie simultaneously felt like more of a terrible person, to know that Alex was as upset at being separated as Willie was.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t want to hurt him,” Willie said.
“Yeah, that’s not good enough,” Luke said, unintentionally echoing Alex’s words from earlier. Even with the short time Willie had spent with all three of them together, it’d been clear they’d picked up habits from each other: he’d seen Reggie drumming out a mindless melody with his fingers, and Luke had been wearing rings that seemed way more like Reggie’s style than his. Part of being a family, Willie thought, a deep ache in his chest. It’d been so long since he’d had other people that really, truly cared about Willie, and not just what Willie could provide for them. For a minute, Willie had allowed himself to imagine something like that with Alex, but then he’d gone and signed Alex’s death warrant. “He's such a great drummer, and a good guy too. If you’re going to dick him around, you at least owe him an explanation.”
“I’m guessing he doesn’t know you’re here,” Willie said. “I can’t imagine he would be happy about this.” That was an understatement; Alex would have killed them faster than the stamp if he had any idea what they were up to.
Luke shrugged, growing somehow even more hostile. “Since when do you care about what makes him happy?”
Reggie rolled his eyes. “I am not meant to be the adult of the group,” he muttered under his breath. “What Lucas is trying to say,” he said a little louder, “is that we’re worried about Alex, because he’s really sad and doing a bad job of covering it up. And also he’s drumming like a raccoon in a trash can. So short term we’ve got to get his head out of his ass because we have a gig tonight, but long term we love him and want to see him happy and there’s no point in having ghostly crime immunity if we can’t threaten the guy that dumped him out of nowhere to cough up a reason why.”
“Just, tell him I’m sorry,” Willie begged. “It’s not his fault; I just—he deserves better, is all.”
Luke looked like he agreed completely, but Reggie was looking at him a little more shrewdly. For such a self-proclaimed goofball, he was oddly perceptive. “You’re not telling us something.”
“I’m sorry,” Willie repeated, stepping away. Luke held out a hand again, but this time he didn’t look angry; he looked worried. For Alex, Willie knew, but also maybe a little for Willie himself. They’d all had fun the night at the club; maybe Willie could have gained two brothers, in addition to whatever he could have had with Alex, if he hadn’t gone and blown it.
He couldn’t look at the concern and sadness in their faces, anymore; Alex’s Wow, that hurts was echoing endlessly in his brain. He teleported, focused on being anywhere but there.
He opened his eyes to see the museum he’d taken Alex to staring back at him. Willie stepped through the door absentmindedly; the museum was quiet and cheery, unaware of the turmoil that was Willie’s afterlife right now. He collapsed on a bench; it was only after a minute that Willie realized it was the same one he’d taught Alex how to lift. As he’d held Alex’s hand and screamed at the top of his lungs, Willie had felt more alive than he had since he’d actually been alive.
Caleb would disappear him if Willie told Alex and the others the real reason Willie had left. But Willie’s afterlife—and life— had always been about taking risks for things he loved.
Maybe love was a strong term for this budding thing he had with Alex, but Willie wanted to find out. If Caleb didn’t kill him first. Or Luke. Or Alex himself.
Oh, well. Maybe he could get back on Reggie’s good side, at least. There was only one way to know for sure.
He closed his eyes and pictured the studio.