Layla

by Colleen Hoover

I felt a twinge of guilt for that—being excited for her to go to sleep at the house so Willow could take over. But not guilty enough to stop myself from doing everything I could to keep her talking.

“What was his reaction the next day when he saw everything had been moved?” Willow presses her lips together tightly. She moves her head from side to side with a sheepish look on her face. “Well . . . that’s the thing,” she says. “I moved everything while he was still in the room.”

She’s a ghost who doesn’t want help. I’m a guy who doesn’t want to leave her. We’re communicating through a girl we have no right to be using like we have been.

How do I know she won’t be in the car with us when we leave? I can’t call the police. What the hell would I say? The ghost of the girl I killed is stalking me? Again?