Eighteen
Then
Ghost didn’t expect to get any sleep on the couch, between his lumpy cushions, the steady drip of the kitchen sink, and his pounding awareness of Maggie down the hall. But he did sleep, because suddenly he was awake, and his senses were flooded with the snap, pop, and delicious scent of bacon. He couldn’t remember the last time there was bacon on his stove. He didn’t even have any in the fridge.
He blinked the crust from his eyes and sat up. He could see through the window that it was still dark out. The clock on his VCR told him it was ten after six.
Maggie must have heard him stir. “Morning,” she called from the kitchen. “I already got Aidan up and breakfast is on the way.”
“Bacon?” he asked, rubbing his bristly face with both hands. For once, he wasn’t hungover, and he didn’t know what to make of that.
“And eggs.”
Bacon and eggs? He must still be asleep.
He got to his feet and shuffled into the kitchen, squinting against the lights. “I didn’t think I had bacon.” He moved to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder at the hissing skillet.
“You didn’t.” She lifted the crisp slices out with a fork and began laying in another round. “I ran out to Leroy’s and got some.”
“You what?”
“You can call me kid all you want, but I’m old enough to run errands, Ghost.”
“I know.” It was just so unexpected, was all. “It smells good.”
“Good.”
So did she. She’d showered, hair still damp in places, and smelled of citrus and flowers. She was dressed in a pale pink sweater, jeans, and low-heeled brown boots. She was so much more tempting than breakfast, and he took a hasty step back before he gave in to the urge to touch her.
“Bacon and eggs!” Aidan cheered as he trooped into the room, dressed and clean-faced and up earlier than Ghost could remember.
The unforeseen danger of bringing Maggie into his home: he’d never want her to leave.
~*~
Sometimes, Maggie reflected, you didn’t realize how badly something stressed you until it was removed. Thus was the case with her mother.
She was busier, juggling the cooking and time with Aidan with her homework. But she felt energized. She didn’t dread any part of her days.
She enjoyed spending time with kids, always had, and she had her favorites among her babysitting clients. But Aidan didn’t seem to look at her as a preferred sitter. He was a boy badly in need of a mother; he was starved for affection. He was always smiling in her presence. He obeyed every suggestion and correction. In the afternoons, Maggie went skateboarding with him in the parking lot, helped him construct Lego fortresses, flipped through his favorite car and bike magazines. His reading skills needed some work and she began subtly tutoring him, disguising it as play.
And then there was Ghost. Half the time he seemed surprised, even startled to find her somewhere in his apartment. And the other half he gobbled her meager cooking like it was ambrosia, thanked her with a ducked head and humble tone, and watched her with hooded eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking.
It was an unexpected sort of peace. And like peace of all kinds, it only lasted about a week.
“Maggie,” her Spanish teacher, Señora Diaz said on Tuesday. “Can you stay a minute?”
A few of her classmates glanced over with mild curiosity – or in Stephanie Cleveland’s case, something like glee.
“Sure,” Maggie said, watching the rest of her Spanish IV class file out, wishing she was among them. She walked up to Señora Diaz’s desk with the dread of someone about to face a firing squad.
“Maggie,” her teacher said, expression pinched with concern. “You weren’t at Spanish Club yesterday afternoon.”
No, because she’d been watching cartoons with Aidan.
“Is everything alright?”
It was mandatory to provide either a doctor or parent note for any missed club meetings. And here she stood, in good health, not in possession of a note. “I’m fine, ma’am.” She forced a smile. “Something came up.”
“I hope your parents are okay.”
“Oh, they’re fine.” They hated her, but were fine otherwise.
Maggie wasn’t surprised to find Stephanie waiting for her when she left the classroom, leaned negligently back against a row of lockers, fluffing her hair. She grinned when she spotted Maggie and fell into step beside her.
“How’s it feel sleeping in your car?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Maggie said. If all her proper young lady training had been good for anything, it was her ability to keep cool and disinterested on the outside while fuming internally. “Turns out I’m not the rat, huh? That’s you.”
Stephanie shrugged. “I told you not to fuck with me.”
“Yeah. You did. Did it ever occur to you that maybe you shouldn’t fuck with me?”
Stephanie snorted.
“I’m serious.” Maggie knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t resist, not when this girl needed a dressing-down. “If you really think I have Lean Dogs connections, it wouldn’t be a smart idea to try and stir shit up with me. Just saying.”
“Yeah right,” Stephanie said with a grimace. “You’re too much of a goddamn good girl.”
Maggie paused, forcing Stephanie to do the same. She sent her her hardest, coldest, best Denise Lowe look. The kind of stare-down that curdled stomachs. “Oh really? Then why am I living with my biker boyfriend? Listen up, bitch.” She took a step forward, gratified to see Stephanie pull her shoulders in and cower a little. “This is your first and last warning. Stop bothering me. Find someone else to harass.”
She whirled away before the other girl could respond…
And almost collided with Vince Fielding. Damn her luck.
“Maggie! Oh, crap, wait, sorry–” He fumbled his books and managed not to drop them. “Maggie, wait up.”
She didn’t wait. She walked down the hall as fast as she could without running.
“Maggie!”
She felt his hand on her arm and spun violently, shaking him off, unjustly angry that he’d touched her. “Don’t grab me like that.”
“Okay, okay, sorry.” He showed her his empty hand in apology. He was breathing hard from chasing her – he was always chasing her. She didn’t think they’d been designed to occupy the same space at the same time.
“What, Vince?”
He looked constipated. “You aren’t really living with some biker guy, are you? The guy from downtown? With the leather…” He plucked at the front of his shirt and Maggie figured he meant Ghost’s cut.
She sighed. “It’s really none of your business.”
“But, Maggie, those guys are bad news.”
“So’s Stephanie, but nobody goes around warning me away from her. Excuse me,” she said, side-stepping him. “I’m going to be late for class.”
~*~
After Spanish she had history, and ended the day with ceramics. She was abysmal with clay, but it lowered her blood pressure, getting her hands dirty and pretending she could shape a bud vase.
But then the day was over and she walked to her car. Her shiny, powerful, gorgeous car.
In pink spray paint all down the driver side, someone had written the words Lean Bitch.
~*~
There was a cot she could sit on, but she didn’t want to use it, not until she had to. For starters, there were stains on it. And secondly, one end was occupied by a woman in a tube top who’d fallen asleep with her head tipped back against the wall. Maggie recognized her: Trina the infamous local drunk. Her mouth was open and she was snoring so loud it seemed impossible she didn’t startle herself awake.
She’d seen the holding cells at the police station back when she was ten, on a field trip with her fifth-grade class. She’d never imagined she’d wind up inside one. But. Well.
In retrospect, she’d acted rashly. But at the time, she’d been too enraged to see straight, much less think that way. It was all a blur: throwing her bag down. Charging back into the school. Finding Stephanie with her clique, and launching herself at the bitch. It had been a fast, nasty tangle. Lots of screaming from the bystanders. Two jock boys had pulled them apart, finally. Maggie had had blood under her nails, and Stephanie had looked like she’d been in a fight with a cat – scratches all over her face, neck, and shoulders. The teachers had shown up. And then the police.
Her parents – her mother – thought it would do her some good to spend the night in lockup and think about what she’d done. An officer had informed her of this, and he’d heard it from a school administrator who’d called her house and then relayed the message before she was put in the back of a squad car.
She’d used her one phone call to leave a message with Rita at Ghost’s apartment. Rita hadn’t sounded too sympathetic.
And now here she was: in holding.
She sighed and slumped back against the cinderblock wall. What little remained of her supposed bright future had been thoroughly stomped-on this afternoon.
The scrape of footsteps and jangle of keys surprised her. An officer appeared, expressionless and bored as he unlocked the cell door. “Your cousin’s here to bail you out,” he said. “Let’s go.” When Maggie just stared at him: “I’m talking to you, Lowe.”
She jolted upright and hustled out of the cell. She didn’t care who was out there pretending to be her cousin, she’d take it over staying here.
A young, slender, auburn-haired woman was waiting for her, dressed in tight jeans, harness boots, and a fitted denim jacket. She was very pretty, and the smile she shot Maggie was warm, but there was a definitive air of don’t-fuck-with-me about her. It was the aura Maggie’s mother was always trying to project, only it was cool, rather than uptight and bitchy.
“Hi, cuz,” she greeted, and pulled Maggie into a hug. “Play along,” she whispered into her ear.
Maggie squeezed her back in acknowledgement. “Thanks for coming to get me.”
“I had to.” The girl pulled back and held Maggie at arms’ length. She rolled her eyes. “You know your mom. Changed her mind, but then didn’t have the nerve to drive down here and pick you up. So stubborn. And then this guy.” She nodded toward the desk sergeant. “Didn’t want me to take you. Like Aunt Denise’s money wasn’t good enough.”
He gave them a bored look.
“Come on.” The redhead looped her arm around Maggie’s shoulders and steered her through the door.
They passed through the airlock and down the front stairs in silence. When they reached the parking lot, the girl let her arm fall away.
“I really can’t believe they bought that cousin story. Thank God.” She turned her head to face Maggie as they walked, sticking out a hand. “Hi. I’m Jackie. Collier’s old lady.”
Maggie accepted her shake. “Maggie Lowe. I’m sorry…Collier’s…old lady?”
“Collier being Ghost’s best friend,” Jackie said with a sympathetic smile. “Old lady being a biker’s wife.”
“Oh. Your husband’s a Lean Dog?”
“Yep. Our boys are brothers in arms.”
Ghost wasn’t “her boy,” but she was too relieved to correct Jackie. “Thank you so much. Really. I can’t…” She was shaking, she realized. “I can’t believe this happened. I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.”
Jackie waved off the apology. “It happens to all of us.”
“Getting taken to the police station?”
“More than it should.”
“God.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re underage. It won’t go on your permanent record.”
Maggie bit back a distressed sound.
“And I saw the car. Bitch had it coming.”
Her stomach rolled. Just thinking about her poor car made her sick. “And after he just painted it,” she groaned.
“He’ll repaint it,” Jackie assured. “He and Collier already took it to the clubhouse.”
“Is that where he is now?”
“Yeah. He’ll meet us back at the apartment.” Jackie smiled. “He’s so worried about you.”
~*~
When Jackie parked in front of Ghost’s building, the headlights illuminated the man himself, sitting on the curb with his hands knotted together. He leapt to his feet before the engine was off, and was opening Maggie’s door as she reached for the handle.
It was hard to read his expression in the dim glow of the building’s security lights, but his voice was obviously worried. “Hey, you okay?”
Maggie thought she’d been holding up pretty well, all things considered, removed and disinterested, not allowing herself to think too hard about what was going to happen next. But a gust of cold nighttime wind funneled into the car, bringing with it the now-familiar, now-comforting scents of Ghost. And he was staring at her, hand braced on the roof of the car – he was caring about her.
She took a deep breath and suddenly she was crying, hot tears rolling down her face.
“Oh,” Ghost said. “Hey, hey.” He reached into the car and pulled her out and up, into his arms. “You’re alright, baby. You’re okay.” He smoothed her hair and held her close, right up against the strong beat of his heart.
“Why – why,” she stuttered, crying like a baby. “Why am I – I – I always crying on you?”
“That’s alright. I don’t mind.”
~*~
Ghost thought someone must have stuck a firecracker between his ribs, because his insides were a riot of sparks, and heat, and temper, and pain. Maggie’s phone call from the precinct had shattered all his illusions about this situation they were in, forced him to face what was really happening to his cold, shriveled-up heart. It had taken Collier a good fifteen minutes to talk him into letting Jackie go bail her out. And even then, the whole time he was borrowing money out of the safe, retrieving the car – he hoped Maggie fucked that bitch up – and riding back here at the speed of light, he’d been buzzing with violence. He wanted to hurt people. And he wanted, he realized now, to wrap her up and make it all better through sheer force of will.
The warm wetness of her tears against his chest was a welcome sensation. “It’s okay,” he said, over and over, rubbing her back. “You’re okay.”
Over the top of the car, Jackie watched them with sadness in her eyes. This’ll never work, her expression said, but she hated it for him.
Maggie took a deep breath, her body trembling in his arms. “I’m sorry.” She smoothed her hands across his damp shirt. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” He hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her head back. Even with red, puffy eyes, she was beautiful. She also looked embarrassed, and ashamed, and that wouldn’t do.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he assured.
That got a tiny smile out of her. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Not in my book, you didn’t.”
“You can be a character witness at my trial, then,” she joked halfheartedly, but he felt some of the tension bleed out of her shoulders.
“You hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Come on. You should eat.”
He held on to her all the way up the stairs until they reached the apartment, only letting go so she could go through the door ahead of him.
Aidan was in front of the TV with Collier and jumped to his feet. “Maggie!” He ran at her, grabbing her around the waist in one of his enthusiastic kid-hugs.
Ghost felt a tug at his sleeve and turned to find Jackie staring up at him with more of that poor-you, your-love-life-is-doomed look from down by the car.
“She seems like a nice girl,” she started, voice low.
“Jackie, thanks for picking her up, but just don’t, okay?”
“She doesn’t belong in your world,” she persisted. “What are you going to do with her?”
He ground his molars to keep from insulting her. She didn’t deserve that, even if she was asking for it at the moment. Instead, he said, “Whatever she’ll let me,” and brushed past her into the apartment.
~*~
Maggie made another fruitless attempt to wipe the mascara smudges from her cheeks and finally gave up, setting the towel down on the counter. She looked like a raccoon with an allergy problem. But it would have to wait until she washed her face before bed. She didn’t have the nerve to go back out there bare-faced. Ruined makeup was better armor than no makeup at all.
If only she could hide in here the rest of the night.
She squared her shoulders and gave herself a stern, if raccoon-eyed, look. Whatever happened next, whichever direction her future took, tonight was the easy part. Tomorrow, and the days after, would bring the fallout, and the real struggle.
She slipped out of the bathroom and down the hall. Collier and Jackie sat together on the sofa, Aidan at their feet, sleepily absorbed in whatever was on TV. Ghost was in the recliner, perched on the edge of the seat, every line and muscle taut. His head snapped up immediately when she appeared in the threshold. Collier and Jackie turned to look more slowly.
It felt like one of those precipice moments: caught between fighting what chased her, and falling off the edge. Leaping off. She felt dizzy, suddenly, sixteen and out of her depth. Did she fight? Step off? Or leap?
“Anyone hungry?” she asked, and didn’t think her voice shook too badly.
Somehow, she didn’t think she’d have much choice in the matter. She’d be forced to leap, and hope she managed not to hit the ground.
~*~
They had grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for dinner. Comfort classics ready in ten minutes. Her mother would have died. Jackie helped Maggie in the kitchen and she was grateful for the company; the small talk kept her mind off darker things.
“It’ll be okay, you’ll see,” Jackie said, hugging Maggie as she and Collier left.
Maggie smiled. “Thanks.” She believed her – in that she planned to make the best of things, though she had no delusions about her life returning to normal.
Aidan had fallen asleep on the couch and Ghost picked him up carefully. “Be right back,” he whispered, and carried the boy off to bed.
With their company gone, Maggie allowed the fatigue to wash over her. She was shaky with spent nerves, totally drained.
“Damn,” she murmured, sinking down onto the couch. Ghost had fixed her a Jack and Coke earlier, and she plucked it off the end table. The ice had melted and it slid down her throat, warm, and fizzy, and kicking. Just what she needed. Again, her mother would have died.
Ghost returned, silent in his socked feet, grabbing the whiskey bottle off the counter on his way to the couch. “Damn,” he said, and sat down next to her, close enough that she slid into his side when the cushion dipped.
She smiled. “That’s what I said.”
“Pretty much sums it up.” He clinked the bottle against her glass and took a long swallow. When he spoke next, she felt his warm breath right in her ear. He draped his arm across her shoulders, holding her against him. “I’ll get the car fixed up. It’ll take a couple days, tops. And you can drive my truck until then.”
“What if they spray paint the truck?”
“Well, I’m guessing your claws took care of that. But if they do, I’ll fix it up too.”
“You’re sweet.” And he was. So much sweeter than she’d thought possible, back when he kissed her outside the liquor store that first time. “But I’m suspended. I don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow.”
He gave her a squeeze.
“What does it mean? Lean Bitch?”
“Ah.” He shifted a little. When she tipped her head back against his arm, she saw him wince. “Yeah. Well. That’s what the…ah…the…”
She’d never seen him like this. It would be cute if it wasn’t worrying.
“It’s what the groupies call themselves.”
“Groupies?”
“Club groupies. You know…” He was blushing.
“Would club groupies be anything like band groupies?”
“They wanna have sex with the club guys. Run errands. Generally don’t wear panties.” He looked to the ceiling and exhaled like it pained him to talk about this. It was adorable. “So yeah. Like band groupies.”
Maggie bit her lip. “How terrible for you, being around all those panty-less women.”
“Hey…” he started, then looked down and saw that she was grinning. He smirked. “It’s the leather, you know. The ladies just can’t resist it.”
She laughed. “You sure it’s not the whole sad, handsome single dad thing?”
He shrugged. “Nah.”
Then the reality of it hit her. “So that’s why Stephanie painted that on my car. To tell everyone I’m a groupie.”
“Baby, ain’t a person in this city who’d look at you and think that.”
“No.” Her voice turned dull and flat. “Those are just the kind of women you’re actually attracted to.” And why hadn’t she thought of that earlier? Because she was sixteen and stupid. Had she really thought a guy like Ghost – an outlaw, for God’s sakes – wasn’t drowning in women? Women who would do anything – who weren’t stranded debutantes with angry mothers and homework?
She started to shift away.
His arm tightened. “Hey,” he said, softer. “Hold up.”
“No, I’m being stupid…”
“Mags.” She looked at him, utterly helpless when he called her that. His expression was serious. “I’m divorced, I’m not dead. But I…I haven’t been with anybody since I met you.” His cheeks colored, and a muscle flexed in his jaw, like he was embarrassed by his own admission, but didn’t want to break eye contact.
“You haven’t?”
“I’ve been a little preoccupied with this gorgeous jailbait blonde who’s been driving me crazy.”
She swallowed. “’Jailbait’ doesn’t feel like a compliment.”
“The truth isn’t that complimentary, in my experience. And I did say gorgeous. That’s true and it’s a compliment.”
She had to smile again, and he smiled in return.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I couldn’t have made it through this stupid week without you.”
“You’re welcome.” His voice was a deep velvet purr, vibrating through his chest. His eyes went to her mouth.
Weeks ago, kissing him had felt reckless and stupid. Now, it felt like seeking comfort, like leaning into something strong and dependable. It felt like something she needed. So she stretched up and pressed her mouth to his.