Celeste Files: Unjust by Kristine Mason

to me, being with you does. That’s all I want. Not the endless reminders of what I am.” She grabbed the beach bag, and walked toward the wooden ramp that led to their condo. Once there, she slid into her sandals, then hurried along so she could cry in private.
    Maybe she wasn’t being fair to John. Maybe she should be more sympathetic and understanding when it came to how he had to deal with her gift, too. Screw it. From the moment her psychic abilities returned, she’d been apologizing for her gift and what could possibly happen because of it. Why should she have to apologize for something she couldn’t always control? She hadn’t asked to be a psychic, nor had she invited a ghost on their vacation.
    When she reached the condo, she headed straight for the shower. The tears she’d expected didn’t fall. Instead, her anger intensified. While she knew John loved her, and that the alpha male in him couldn’t stand that he couldn’t always protect her, he needed to stop throwing what she was into her face. He either needed to accept her psychic flaw, or…what?
    The tears finally fell. She rinsed them away, along with the soap from her hair and body, and considered their daughter. Olivia could have the gift, too. Would John want to suppress it? Would he ground her if he caught her talking to a ghost or giving someone a reading? Or would he tell her that her gift made her that much more special to him?
    “Celeste,” John said, and knocked on the bathroom door. The hinges gave a slight creak. A cool breeze from the AC blew in through the crack between the shower curtain and tiled wall. “Can I come in?”
    She reached for the bath towel and, keeping the shower running, wrapped the towel around her wet body as she stepped from the tub. “I’m finished. It’s all yours.”
    “I was hoping to shower with you,” he said, already naked.
    “And I told you I’m finished.”
    With a nod, he stepped into the shower and slid the curtain shut. “Do you want to go to dinner?”
    “I’m not in the mood. Why don’t you go hang out at Polina’s Paradise? There’s lunchmeat in the fridge. I can make myself a sandwich,” she said, toweling off her hair and body.
    “I’d rather hang out with you.”
    Staring at her foggy reflection, she ran a brush through her mop of wet curls. “I thought you were too pissed off.”
    “I’m not anymore.”
    She set down the brush. “I’m so happy for you,” she said with heavy sarcasm.
    He shut off the water, and stepped out of the tub rubbing a towel over his head. “I don’t want to fight.”
    “I don’t either.” She hung up her towel. “But we can’t keep doing this.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “I know when you married me you didn’t sign up for all of this.” She paused at the doorway. “You also know that I didn’t know I could speak to the dead.”
    His eyes softened with regret. “I was pissed off at what’s been going on, not at you.”
    “But that’s just it. How many times do you have to be pissed off about what’s going on?”
    His face went rigid. “Again. What does that mean?”
    She tried to come up with the answer she still didn’t have. She loved John. She wanted to have more kids with him, to grow old with him. But how fair was it for him to be continuously subjected to what she didn’t even know her mind was capable of doing? And what about her? Why should she feel guilty for being psychic? Why should she have to apologize to her husband for being who she was?
    The thought of leaving John, allowing him to move on with his life, maybe marry a normal woman— no . That absolutely didn’t work for her. Just picturing another woman touching her husband had jealousy twisting her stomach. But other than him fully accepting that they might never lead a normal life, she had no idea how to help their marriage.
    “I don’t know,” she said, her eyes filling with more tears as she stepped out of the bathroom. “I don’t want to talk about