Fourteen
Then
He was an idiot. He was the biggest idiot alive. Sell her a car? Who was he kidding. He’d charged across that street because he’d seen her with her not-boyfriend and every masculine, jealous, stupid part of him had snarled.
And now he was letting her skip out on some sort of after-school activity he didn’t fully understand so he could take her over and show her the car. Thank God he’d moved it to his building and he didn’t have to take her to the clubhouse. He wasn’t that stupid, at least.
“So who was he, if he wasn’t your boyfriend?” he asked now as they headed down the sidewalk together. He had his hands in his pockets, and forced himself not to turn his head and watch the breeze play with her glorious hair.
“Ugh,” she said. “That was Vince. We go to school together and he likes me. Or, at least, that’s the impression I get. Who knows. He’s always sucking up to my parents and telling me I ought to listen to them more.”
“Now that’s a kid who doesn’t want to get laid anytime soon.”
He was surprised, and gratified, to feel the sharp point of her elbow dig into his ribs.
“Vince isn’t like that. He isn’t some old horndog like you.”
“So you’re defending him?”
“No.” When he risked a glance, he saw that she was scowling down at the sidewalk. “He’s not a bad guy, he just…I just don’t want that.”
“An inexperienced idiot?” he guessed.
“Someone else trying to control me.” She slowed down, hugging herself tightly. Ghost didn’t think it had anything to do with the air temperature.
He stopped, turning toward her, and she mirrored him, tilting in so they faced one another. Her head lifted, and her eyes pleaded for understanding. “My mom’s a tyrant. She’s always talking about me getting married. Married to the right kind of man. And she’s always throwing clammy-handed cotillion escorts and suck-ups like Vince at me. I’ve been trapped for sixteen years, and she’s trying to make sure I’m trapped for life. I just…I can’t do this anymore.” She bit down on her lip, hard, expression raw with emotion.
“Shit,” Ghost muttered. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m not.” But she blinked a few times.
They didn’t have anything in common, and they came from different worlds, but he thought he understood her. His life hadn’t felt like his own in a long time. Between losing Mama and Cal, and Dad’s unwieldy Scotch-pouring fists, Liv, the Army, and the club…when had he ever steered his own course?
“Hey,” he said, and laid what he hoped felt like a brotherly hand on her shoulder. She blinked some more before she finally met his gaze. “Let’s go check out that car, huh?”
“I can’t afford it.”
He smiled at her. “I bet you’d be surprised.”
~*~
It was the shiniest thing in his building’s parking lot. She couldn’t believe someone hadn’t stripped it yet, given this neighborhood.
Clean, sparkly black with dual white stripes down the center, the Monte Carlo was the antithesis of her mom’s Mercedes.
She loved it.
“I love it,” she breathed, gliding a palm along the roof. She turned to face Ghost who watched her from a distance, arms folded across his chest in a self-satisfied way. “Where did you find it?”
He shrugged. “Guy let me have it.”
Shady. She gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Is this a drug payment car?”
“No. Hey – it’s not,” he insisted when she continued to stare. “It wasn’t in great shape, and he wanted to unload it.”
“Wait.” Her stomach felt fluttery. “You fixed it up? What was wrong with it?”
Another shrug, this one uncomfortable-looking. “Little transmission work. Tires. Paint. Not much.”
“Not much?” That sounded like thousands of dollars’ worth of work to her. “Ghost, I can’t afford–”
He closed the distance between them in a few long strides, arms falling to his sides. “I’ll sell it to you for a dollar.”
“What?”
He held up a finger. “One dollar.”
“But…” She wet her lips, panic creeping up her throat in tense shivers. “Why would you do that?”
His expression softened, eyes warm and chocolatey. “Because I like you. And I want you to have a car.”
The panic unfurled in her bloodstream, an effervescent rattle: one-part hunger, one-part blind terror. She could spar with him, but she had no idea how to handle his kindness. It was one thing to be attracted to him when he was being an asshole bad boy – that she could resist. But when he broke down and looked vulnerable, or friendly? That she couldn’t handle. That scared her.
“But…why?”
He stepped in closer; she could have leaned forward and pressed her face into his shirt. She didn’t – but.
“I have a car, you need a car,” he said, and then his voice dropped, low and smoky. “Plus I don’t like the idea of you standing on street corners waiting for buses and friends who might not show up.” Then he reached and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. And froze.
His fingers were warm, and callused. The scents of leather and smoke rolled off his jacket. His eyes widened, shocked, before they shuttered and he pulled back like she’d burned him.
“So. Yeah.” He cleared his throat too-loudly. “You should buy the car.”
Her breath came in uneven stutters, just from that one, innocent touch. She’d kissed him before, and here she was low on oxygen from a brush of his fingertips.
But it was different now, she knew. The quietest contact from someone you wanted trumped grappling with a stranger every time.
Ruined. She needed to be ruined.
“Ghost.” She hated the trembling in her voice, but it couldn’t be helped. “What would you do if I was over eighteen?”
“But you’re not.”
“But what if I was?”
His gaze lifted, hungry. “I think you already know the answer to that, sweetheart.”
Ruined. Ruined. Ruined.
She steadied herself against the side of the car. “This is worth more than a dollar.”
“I won’t take a penny more.”
She took a step toward him, leading with her hips, calling on every bit of body language she’d observed in her friends. “Then let me make it up to you a different way.”
A single brow lifted. “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t.”
She took a deep breath. It was that or pass out. “It would help me, too.”
“Trust me, it wouldn’t.”
“I need to ruin my reputation. You need a babysitter. And to get rid of this car. It can be mutually beneficial.”
He breathed a laugh. “Ruin your reputation?”
“I assume you’re familiar with that sort of thing,” she said, frowning, chills skittering down her back at the sound of his laughter. She’d hoped he’d grow heavy-lidded and snarly and just lean into her. Laughing at her instead of with her was of no help.
“Very.” He grinned and leaned to brace his hip against the front quarter-panel of the Monte Carlo. “But trust me, that ain’t something you want.”
“I want to stop failing to live up to everyone’s expectations. That’s what I want,” she shot back.
He stared at her, nonplussed. “You really think the best way to do that is to ruin your life?”
“I said reputation, not life.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Says the outlaw.”
He sighed. “So what’s your big plan? Get some compromising photos of us and wave ‘em in front of your mom?”
The idea sent a hard shiver down her back. “Maybe.”
He gave her the eyebrow again. “You understand I’d get arrested for that, right?”
Well, shit.
“And bad shit happens to pedophiles on the inside.”
An offended noise built in her throat. “Pedophile? Do I look like a child to you?”
“Doesn’t matter.” His eyes swept her head to toe. “It’d still be statutory.”
“Only if you’re more than four years older.”
“I’m twenty-seven.”
That knowledge shouldn’t have turned her on – she was miffed about the P word – but it did.
“Okay…” she said, as her nefarious plan came unraveled on the cool pavement between them.
Ghost opened his mouth to say something else and they were interrupted by a shout from a window above.
“Hey, Ghost!” A thin redhead in an oversized sweatshirt was leaning out the window above Ghost’s kitchen sink. “I gotta get home.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Bring Aidan down with you on your way out.”
She nodded and retreated, shutting the window with an efficient slam.
“My babysitter,” Ghost explained.
Which meant this conversation was over for the time being. Maggie stepped back and put some space between them, just on principle. With that space came the thought what am I doing?
A few minutes later, the redhead emerged onto the sidewalk, Aidan following along behind her.
“Thanks, Rita,” Ghost told the girl, and she nodded.
“Bye, dude.” She patted Aidan once on top of the head and then headed off toward her car, giant keyring jingling.
Maggie’s feelings toward Ghost were a confusing tangle of want, and fear, and doubt, but there was nothing confusing about the sensation in her chest as she watched the man turn toward his son, his face softening with heartbreak and regret. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anything as sweet, or as tragic, as these two Teague boys.
“Hi, buddy,” Ghost greeted, voice full of uncharacteristic hesitance. “You have a good day? How you feeling?” He cupped his hand against Aidan’s forehead to check for a fever.
“I’m good.” Aidan wiped his nose with the sleeve of his Spider-Man sweatshirt. “Mrs. Allison showed us a video about snails.” He made a face that was part-disgust, part-delight. “And Rita let me have Cheetos.”
“That’s good.” Ghost petted his hair, running his fingers through the dark curls with something like longing on his face. “I’m glad.”
Then Aidan turned and spotted Maggie.
His face lit up. “Maggie!” And he launched himself toward her.
He caught her around the waist, face pressing into her stomach. “Oh,” she said with a startled laugh. “Hi, Aidan.”
He tipped his head back, little chin resting against her sweater, beaming up at her face. Now here was someone who wasn’t looking at her breasts, or tattling to her parents, or offering to ruin her, or giving her one-dollar cars.
“Maggie, guess what?”
“What?” She resisted the urge to touch his hair like Ghost had; it looked so soft and inviting, like a puppy’s coat.
“I got a pet spider! I found it in the bathtub–”
“Oh Jesus,” Ghost muttered.
“–and Daddy put it in a jar, and he said I could keep it! You wanna come see?”
Maggie risked a glance to Ghost, who was definitely blushing, and then back down at Aidan. “I’d love to, but I have to be home for dinner. I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Aw.” Aidan puffed out his lower lip. He deflated against her, and made to pull back. No whining, no begging. Like he was used to being disappointed.
“Tell you what, though,” Maggie said. “I’ll come another day and see it. Okay?”
He smiled. “Okay.”
~*~
Ghost had a bill of sale already typed up in his back pocket. It listed the car’s serial number and description – he even had a Polaroid photo of it dated in black ink – and the agreed-upon price – which she still thought was insane. They both signed, and then he folded it up and handed it to her. “Show your parents when they ask if you stole it,” he instructed.
“Thanks.” She tucked it into her purse and then stood awkwardly, keys clenched in one hand.
Ghost gave her a little smirk. “You do have your license, right?”
“Yes.” She fiddled with her purse strap; listened to the sound of Aidan’s skateboard wheels behind her on the blacktop. “I still can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“If it’ll make you feel better, we can say you owe me one.”
“One?”
“Favor. Of the non-sexual variety.”
She rolled her eyes and bit back a smile. “You’re terrible.”
“I know.”
And then he cupped the back of her head, pulled her in, and pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth. He was pulling back and letting go of her before she could even process it. “Drive safe, okay. And call me if it gives you any trouble.”
“O-okay.”
His smile was a wicked version of the one his son had given her earlier. “Get going.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Okay.”
~*~
Driving home, she kept thinking about his hand in Aidan’s hair, and the way his eyes had shimmered in the late afternoon sun.
~*~
The Monte Carlo handled like a dream – and by that, she meant it didn’t. She’d learned to drive and taken her road test in her mom’s Mercedes, which was all low purrs and gliding, one-touch steering. The Chevy, though, drove like her uncle Mac’s farm truck: muscular, tight, and rough, jolting over potholes. It was like a wrestling match. And it was an SS, which meant the barest touch of the pedal had the engine roaring.
She fucking loved this car.
Thankfully, she arrived home before her dad left to pick her up outside the church. She parked the Monte Carlo behind his Beamer and stayed in the car a long moment before she killed the engine, hands gripped tight on the wheel. Explaining this wasn’t going to be fun.
Through the windshield, she watched the side door off the garage open, and her mother stepped out, brows pinched together.
Maggie sighed. Here goes…
~*~
It had become a regular thing, this staring up at the ceiling business. Ghost lay in his underwear with the covers pushed down around his shins, hands folded over his belly, counting the individual bumps of his popcorn ceiling. Aidan had gone down quickly and easily tonight, still recovering from strep and tired from playing with his skateboard – Ghost thought maybe he shouldn’t have let him do that. Should have made him go inside and rest. Drink fluids. Something. Hopefully he wouldn’t have relapsed in the morning.
The sound of the phone ringing out in the kitchen startled him. He jackknifed upright, catching the time on the bedside clock: just after one. Middle-of-the-night calls were never a good thing.
He walked down the hall with dread pooling heavy in his belly, all the hair standing up on his arms by the time he pulled the receiver off the hook.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” a female voice whispered. “It’s me. Maggie.”
“Mags,” he said, automatically, surprised.
She took a quick breath on the other end of the line.
“What?” Worry washed over him. Was she hurt? Did she need him? He could feel his chest inflating, some instinctual, alpha male instinct.
“Nothing. I just…like when you call me that.”
He exhaled, instinct taking a dark, pleased turn. “You alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I wanted to say thank you for the car. It’s amazing.”
He leaned back against the counter and stared down at his bare toes against the linoleum. The fluorescent tube above the sink droned into the quiet. “You already said thank you.”
It was hard to tell, what with her whispering, but he thought he could hear a smile in her voice. “It needed saying again.”
Warmth blossomed in his chest and unfurled slowly. A sensation he only experienced around Aidan these days. “It handles alright?”
She breathed a quiet laugh. “It’s powerful.”
“That’s an SS for you.”
“Yeah.”
It was quiet a beat, but it didn’t feel awkward.
Ghost said, “Did you have to wait ‘til your folks fell asleep before you called?”
“Uh-huh. Mom was…let’s just go with pissed-off.”
“You showed her the bill?”
“I thought she might rip it up. But I reminded her how much babysitting money I had saved up, that I could pay for gas and insurance. Dad managed to talk her down a little bit – he said it was a ‘beaut’ by the way.”
“It is.”
“And he told her it would be good for me to have my own wheels.”
“So they’re gonna let you keep it?”
He swore he heard her rolling her eyes. “I have to take it and let our regular mechanic ‘make sure it’s safe.’ And I have to keep it spotless, and I’m not allowed to have more than one passenger at a time. But yeah, I can keep it.”
He wanted to say something about the “regular mechanic.” But bit his tongue – Mags couldn’t help what had been decreed. “Do they know it came from me?” he asked.
She blew out a breath across the receiver. “Yeah. I couldn’t lie about that.”
When she didn’t offer more, he said, “What’s your punishment?”
She hesitated. “I’m grounded. I can only go to school and my extracurriculars. And I have to help with my mom’s charity luncheon.”
“Your mom’s wasted on civilian life. She shoulda been a drill sergeant.”
Maggie snorted. “Believe me, I know.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
His turn to snort. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
She made a concerned noise.
“Nah, it’s fine, I just…” He shrugged, though she couldn’t see him.
“It’s not my place,” she started, slowly. “And you don’t have to listen to me. But. Ghost, it doesn’t have to be like this. It could be better.”
“That’s what you don’t understand about the club, sweetheart.” His voice grew rough. “Once you’re in, you’re in for life. And the president makes the rules.”
“Even if other members have better ideas?”
“No one questions him.”
“Maybe somebody should.” He didn’t respond, so she said, “I’m sorry, I won’t keep you. Night, Ghost.”
“Night.”
The line went dead.
He hung up the phone slowly. No one had ever pushed Duane to go a different direction, not really.
But maybe somebody should.