“Sure, buddy, anything.”
“I left my lighter in my room, and my ankles are swelling up something fierce. Could you run and go fetch it for me so I can have it when break time rolls around?”
Ghost nodded. The silver box lighter was a war memento, and he had never seen Sid without it. “Absolutely.”
“Room 1434. I can’t remember exactly where I left it, but it should be easy to find. I use the damn thing every day.” Sid took a small keyring out of his breast pocket and dropped it in Ghost’s hand.
“I’m a master detective, don’t you worry.”
“Yeah, just keep your sticky fingers to yourself!” said Sid as Ghost headed out of the common room.
“What’s that?” called back Ghost sarcastically. “Help myself to whatever I find? Sid, you’re a gem!”
He could hear the men laughing at him behind his back as he headed down the hall, twirling the keyring in his fingers and whistling Def Leppard to himself. He’d been to Sid’s room once or twice, but still took two wrong turns around Shadyside before he found the right hallway. Everything looked so uniform, he found it wondrous that the residents found their way around at all—especially the ones that weren’t all there.
There were only three keys on the ring Sid had given him, and the second one opened the door to his room. Ghost carefully entered the small apartment and closed the door behind him. Sunlight filtered in vertical towers across the living room floor, shining through the sliding glass door and its hanging shades. A bloom of colorful flowers wafted gently in the breeze on the deck outside. Ghost poked around the living room’s warm wooden furniture, sneaking peeks in candy jars, tiny drawers, and glass bowls filled with pocket paraphernalia, but didn’t see Sid’s beautiful silver box lighter.
He changed his whistling tune to the Black Eyed Peas and decided to try the bedroom. A small, Tiffany-style lamp was on next to the bed in the otherwise dark, tidy room. Something about the place felt very much like a woman lived here—or should have lived here. Ghost couldn’t quite tell if it was the furniture itself, the way the rooms were so carefully and tastefully decorated, or the tiny impractical accents that men of Sid’s generation just didn’t seem to give a shit about unless they were trying to please a woman. Sid had been married once, and Ghost wondered if he had just replicated the world he lived in with her, piece by piece, even though he was on his own. He figured there were worse ways to deal with heartbreak.
By the light of the lamp, Ghost searched the places in the bedroom most likely to hold his treasure, and after just a few minutes he found the lighter nestled in the pocket of Sid’s night jacket, a plaid, well-worn thing hanging patiently on the bathroom doorknob.
“Goddamn, I’m good,” Ghost said to himself, wrapping his hands around the lighter.
“Yeah? You better fucking hope so.”
The voice behind him was feminine—and angry. Ghost stood and whirled, expecting to find one of the nurses. Some of them had never quite taken to him and would hassle him any chance they got. But what he found instead was someone he’d never seen before.
She was tall and lithe, built like an athlete, her blonde hair falling like shining fabric across her shoulders. Even though her outfit was professional, there was aggression in it—the solid blacks and grays, the heavy boots, the pants instead of a skirt. She stood in the doorway to the bedroom, blocking his exit, her fists clenched at her sides. A brown leather messenger bag that reminded him of something Indiana Jones would carry hung at her side.
Ghost was stunned. She could have been a supermodel. But it was the blazing anger in her bright green eyes that made his heart stop—and his dick swell. Eight out of ten women would have already turned and fled at the sight of a strange biker poking around a room where they didn’t belong. But it looked like that thought hadn’t even crossed her mind.
She squared her jaw. “Just what the hell are you doing in here?”
~ TWO ~
Bridget
A migraine had been pulsing, teasing at the base of Bridget’s skull since lunchtime. Fridays always had a special energy and chaos to them, and today was no exception. Once she saw Xander Trudeau upchuck an entire carton of chocolate milk in the lunch room, she knew it was going to be one of those days. As she stared, furious, at the rough-looking man snooping around her grandfather’s apartment, she felt the headache start to fade away under a wash of rage-fueled adrenaline.
Immediately, Bridget assumed she had stumbled onto a robbery. She knew old people were frequent targets, but she was shocked to see someone here at Shadyside. It had been a long goddamn time since she had been in a fight, but she was ready for it. She realized her fists were already clenched, and some part of her brain had already planned on how she would maneuver out of her messenger bag before she struck. This asshole had picked the wrong day to try and mess with her family.
As she squared her feet, Bridget took a deep breath. “I’m not going to ask you again, shithead. What the hell are you doing in here?”
He looked her over, his eyes lingering over her breasts, and for some reason, her fists—yet he seemed completely unconcerned. “Valhalla, you’ve sent a Valkyrie for me, after all this time?” said the man in a quiet, excited voice.
“Does this have to get ugly?”
“Whoa, hey,” said the man, raising his hands up in surrender. Bridget saw a shiny glint in his right hand.
“Are you in here stealing from old people?” she spit, taking two hard steps toward him. He had a good four inches in height on her, but in that moment, she was fearless.
“No!” he said, actually sounding insulted. He didn’t move back when she approached, but he did keep his hands up. “What am I, some piece of shit meth addict?”
Bridget reached out and flicked the black leather biker cut lying on his muscular chest. When she looked up at his face with accusatory eyes, his eyebrows were raised, and a tiny smile teased at the corners of his mouth. What was that—surprise? No… amusement.
That only made her angrier. “Wouldn’t be much of a stretch,” she said, holding his stare.
“Are you saying all this bulking up I’ve been trying to do isn’t working?” said the man. He looked, concerned, at each of his biceps. “If I’m skinny enough to be mistaken for a meth addict, shit… I knew that guy at GNC was talking out of his ass.”
Bridget followed his gaze to his arms and found herself instantly disagreeing with his assessment. Even though he was on the lean side, there was not a single problem with how he had bulked up. His biceps were cut, stretching against the thin white cotton of the short-sleeved shirt underneath his vest. No, nothing about him suggested he was an addict of any kind. In fact, now that she got a better look, he actually looked incredibly healthy… and handsome.
Hey. Focus. Dangerous stranger in your grandfather’s room, remember?
“What’s in your hand?” she asked.
He lifted up his right hand and revealed the lighter her grandfather always kept on his person. “I’m just getting this for Sid, I swear. I’m not stealing anything.”
Bridget flinched at the familiarity. “Sid? Sorry, are you telling me you’re on a first-name basis with my grandfather?”
“Oh, shit!” said the man. His face lit up in a smile of recognition as he looked her up and down. “You’re Sid’s granddaughter? Man, why didn’t he tell me you’re so stacked?”
A weird mix of confusion and something like butterflies washed over Bridget. “Excuse me?”
“Seriously, I am immediately furious at him for not setting us up on a blind date years ago. He’s been holding out on me!”
The adrenaline was dying, now that Bridget knew she was in no danger—but the headache was returning. She clasped the bridge of her nose. “Look, guy, it’s been a really long goddamn day. Let’s just… let’s back up a bit.”
He folded his arms and sighed. “Well, the year was 1979. The USSR was beginning its charming little campaign into the desert wastelands of Afghanistan, and
an album by a young street tough by the name of Michael Jackson was hitting the charts…”
“Not to the beginning of your life,” Bridget snapped. Yet she was laughing under her breath. The weight of her tension began to dissipate.
“Oh,” said the man with a gesture. “Sid left his lighter in here, and he asked me to come in and get it. And so, that’s what I was doing. And then you arrived, and suddenly the world got a little brighter.” He finished with a bold smile and held her gaze.
Bridget watched him for a moment. She liked to consider herself a pretty good judge of character. She came from a long line of military members, and had learned a lot first-hand when she herself enlisted and deployed overseas. And hell, being around children and parents for her career was basically a master course in character judgement.
Something about this man stunk of a soldier’s bloodlust. But there was something else she couldn’t put her finger on. She couldn’t get a full read on him, and it bothered her.
She sighed and decided she was too tired to meet this with fury anymore. “What’s your name?”
“Ghost McBride,” he said with a bow of his head, and a dramatic sweep of his hand. “At your service, dumpling.”
“Don’t call me dumpling.”
“Good notes; got it.”
“I’m seriously supposed to believe your name is Ghost?”
Ghost shook his head and made a noise like he was deeply annoyed. “Man, you know, we all collectively agreed to participate in Prince’s insanity when he changed his name to that stupid symbol. And I know I’m not a guitar god, but I don’t get why everyone’s gotta hassle me about my name. At least you can pronounce it.”
Bridget stared at him a moment, unsure how to handle his surprising disposition. Despite herself, she laughed and shook her head at him.
“So if I can’t call you dumpling, what should I call you? Pumpkin? Sugar beet? Or are you more partial to some exotic food names, like Pad Thai?”
“You can call me Bridget,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “Like every other normal person does.”
Ghost put his hands down and took a step closer to her. There was something else in his smile now. “But what if I want to be a special person?”
“Call your mama, then,” said Bridget as she put up a hand. “I’m sure she’ll tell you you’re special.”
Ghost walked forward until her hand was pressed against the hard muscles of his chest. She swallowed against a suddenly tight throat and tried to resist the urge to run her fingertips down his body.
“Go ahead,” said Ghost in a low voice. “You think these muscles are for me? Nah. They’re for you. They go to waste if they aren’t touched by beautiful ladies such as yourself.”
Bridget hesitated longer than she would have liked before she yanked her hand away and straightened herself. “I’ll take a rain check, thanks,” she said. The words did not come out as sarcastically as she wanted.
“Nice,” said Ghost to himself, as if he’d won some victory regardless.
She didn’t know how this guy was both annoying the hell out of her, and somehow the most charming person she’d met in years. And she didn’t know why she believed his story, but she did. After all, the front door hadn’t been jimmied open, and it was less likely a crook would risk stealing keys off an actual resident. Sid had most likely given him the keys freely. Still, he was clearly capable of dangerous things, and she wasn’t about to let her grandfather go unchecked against him.
“I’ll take the lighter to Sid,” said Bridget, holding out her hand, “and we’ll find out if you are who you say you are.”
“Good!” said Ghost. “And then you’re gonna feel like you missed a really great opportunity for not touching my muscles when I offered.”
“I doubt that. The lighter, please?”
Ghost dropped the lighter in her open palm, grazing his hand against hers as he did. The feeling of his skin on hers sent a jolt of desire through Bridget’s nerves. She closed her hand over the lighter and pulled it away with a little groan of annoyance, making Ghost laugh. She turned away from him before he could see the truth in her eyes.
“They’re playing poker,” said Ghost, pointing toward the wall.
“Of course,” she replied, adjusting her bag on her shoulders. She didn’t wait for Ghost to follow, but left her grandfather’s apartment and headed down toward the common room. After locking the door behind him, she could hear Ghost’s footsteps as he hurried to catch up.
The men at the poker table let out delighted greetings when they saw her enter the common room. Her grandfather pushed himself up on shaky legs to give her a strong hug and kiss the tops of her hands. Bridget instantly felt lighter and happier, seeing the smiles on her grandfather and his friends. Walter and Frank each saluted her, and she saluted back.
“What a wonderful surprise!” said Sid, grasping her hand in his as he sat back down. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“I know. I was going to call ahead, but I figured I’d just run this by.” She dug through the messenger bag at her hip, pulled out a crinkled pharmacy bag, and handed it to him. “I didn’t want to wait for their delivery guy, since the pharmacist already made this late coming to you.”
“You’re a perfect angel, honey. You didn’t have to go out of your way like this for me.”
“Ah, knock it off, old man,” said Bridget with a playful smile as she leaned down and kissed the top of his forehead.
“Seriously, Sid, we are no longer friends.” Ghost came up behind her with his arms stretched out wide. “How the fuck long have we known each other?”
“Ghost!” Sid scolded. “There is a lady present!” He gestured to Bridget.
“Yeah, I know! That’s why I’m pissed!” Ghost replied. “How long until you were going to tell me you have a smoking-hot granddaughter, you son of a bitch?”
Bridget rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I found this guy in your room. He said he was looking for this.” She held up the lighter before she handed it to her grandfather. “I wanted to make sure he wasn’t hassling you.”
“Who, Ghost?” Sid waved a hand. “No, on the contrary! Ghost is a good ol’ boy. I asked him to fetch the lighter for me.”
Ghost leaned over her shoulder, his lips close enough to her ear that she could feel the heat of his breath. It sent chills down her spine. “Will you be taking that I told you so to go, or would you like to eat it here?”
Bridget glared at him before she turned back to her grandfather. “All right. I just wanted to make sure.”
“You worry too much,” said Sid.
Bridget glanced over the messy poker table and finally noticed the smattering of glass bottles, as well as some magazines she hadn’t looked closely at until now. When the gents at the table realized she spotted their porn, they scrambled to cover it up. Ghost just laughed.
“So, you’re the one who keeps bringing them this garbage?” said Bridget to Ghost.
“Hey,” he said, raising his hands again, “these men are goddamn American heroes.”
“Ghost, language!” said Sid again.
“You are goddamn American heroes, and no American hero is going without access to booze and Photoshopped titties. Not on my watch.”
Bridget opened her mouth to protest, but she realized Ghost actually had a point. She didn’t want to tell him that, though. Instead, she just sighed. The smirk on his handsome face said he knew damn well that he’d won that one.
“Anyway,” said Bridget, “I’m too tired to clean up this entire debauched mess tonight.” She gestured widely at the men and the table, and they laughed.
“You sound like every one of my ex-wives,” said Frank.
“Do you want me to have the kitchen bring out some tea?” Sid offered with a pat on her hand.
“No, Gramps, I think I’m just going to head home. It’s been a long week. I just wanted to make sure you had what you needed.”
“Okay, sweetie,” said Sid. Bridget bent down
and gave him a hug and kiss before making her way around the table to give each of the senior gentlemen the same goodbye. When she finished, Ghost was waiting for his turn with open arms, batting his eyelashes at her.
Bridget glared at him. “Nice try.”
“We’re all friends here,” said Ghost, opening his arms wider.
Bridget rolled her eyes with a laugh and turned back to the table. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”
The men chimed out their loving goodbyes to her. Bridget stepped around Ghost’s open arms and headed out of the common room toward the front desk and doors to the parking lot.
“Hey, wait!” said Ghost, turning to follow her. “You can’t go yet.”
Vindication: A Motorcycle Club Romance Page 2
