American Hellhound

by Lauren Gilley

  The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring, vibrating with tension. No matter what happened now, Maggie knew things would be ugly at home later. Maybe even in the car.

  Why not push her luck and delay that?

  “No, Mom, I don’t need shoes,” Maggie said with forced cheer. “In fact, I think I told Rachel I’d meet her at Stella’s later, so I’m going to head on over there now.” She started toward the door. “Rachel can give me a ride home.” Over her shoulder: “I’ll see you later, Mom! Thanks! Love you!”

  The last thing she saw before she pushed out the shop door and was engulfed by sunlight was Denise’s appalled expression morphing into one of incredible anger.

  Oh, it was going to be hell to pay later.

  But that was later. And at least for now, her shopping trip had come to an end, thank God.

  Maggie blew out a deep sigh of relief and pushed her hair off her face, holding it tight at the base of her neck in both hands and letting the autumn air cool her tacky skin. It was a cool afternoon, but the stuffiness of the shop, and the stress of placating her mother, had left her overheated. And thirsty. She had ten bucks in her purse, and the first order of business was finding something to drink.

  She set off down the sidewalk, breathing in deep lungfuls of exhaust fumes and restaurant sizzle, eyes scanning the shop fronts. She was about a hundred yards from Stella’s when she saw a familiar figure walking toward her. Dark hair, broad shoulders, sunglasses, black leather cut.

  It was Ghost.

  And he was leading a dark-haired, pale-faced little boy by the hand.

  His head lifted, and he saw her. Despite the sunglasses, she could see recognition cross his face.

  Now what, she wondered, and held her ground, waiting.

  ~*~

  He almost didn’t recognize her. Almost. She wore khaki slacks and loafers, a red sweater and a wool coat that had to cost more than his entire wardrobe. Her golden hair was pulled back in the front, and fell in loose waves down her back. Diamonds glittered at her earlobes. The rebellious girl in her scuffed boots had been replaced by a respectable, wealthy socialite, and the transformation hit him hard, harder than he wanted to acknowledge.

  He glanced down at his grease-spattered jeans, his cracked harness boots. He’d tugged on a semi-fresh sweatshirt that morning, but over the same t-shirt he’d had on yesterday.

  Beside him, Aidan dragged his little sneaker-clad feet, breathing raggedly through his mouth. His hand felt sticky inside Ghost’s, clammy with sickness sweat.

  Last night, inside the shell of Hamilton House, fueled by whiskey and the vivid black of her eyeliner, Maggie had seemed somehow attainable. He’d felt like the man in that situation, totally in control, worldly, superior even.

  But now, with her dripping money and him dripping kid germs…he felt like something she might scrape of the bottom of her expensive shoe.

  She stood in the middle of the sidewalk, arms folded, in their way. There was nothing to do but walk on and go around her.

  Like a coward, he kept his head ducked until the last minute, only meeting her gaze when they were almost on top of her.

  “Hey,” he muttered, and wanted to leave it at that.

  But up close, he could see that Maggie didn’t look disapproving or superior. Same as last night, she looked concerned, her gaze flicking from his face down to Aidan.

  “Hi,” she greeted. “You guys okay?”

  Aidan tipped his head back – Ghost saw the sheen at the end of his runny nose – and looked up at Maggie. If there was such a thing as love at first sight, it happened to Aidan, though his eyes retained that careful, shuttered look that children of divorce perfected.

  “Yeah,” Ghost said, hating the embarrassed roughness of his voice. “Just leaving the doc in a box.”

  “Oh no,” Maggie said, and she sounded sincere. “What’s the verdict?”

  “Strep throat.”

  “Ugh. I’m sorry,” she told Aidan. “You must feel crummy.” Then to Ghost: “They write him a prescription?”

  “Yeah. On the way to fill it now.”

  “Good.”

  So awkward.

  For him, anyway. Maggie looked gorgeous, and worried, and perfectly lovely in all ways. He had no idea what to do with that.

  Ghost told himself that he needed to say something else, something polite, some kind of small talk shit. But his tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth.

  Maggie, though, had no such problem. She smiled down at Aidan and said, “Hi there. My name’s Maggie.” She didn’t crouch down to his level, didn’t baby-talk him. Just looked right at him like he was a person, instead of a kid. He’d never seen anything like it. On the rare occasion he had Aidan at the clubhouse, the groupies wanted to pet him, and coo at him, and pull him into their laps. Like he was a Chihuahua instead of a little human.

  Once again, Maggie sidestepped his expectations when it came to women.

  Aidan sniffled and said, “Hi, I’m Aidan.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Aidan. I hope you start feeling better soon.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ghost finally peeled his tongue loose and said, “What are you doing?” Like a dumbass.

  She lifted her brows in question.

  He gestured to the street around them. “Here,” he added, still like a dumbass.

  She understood, though. “Oh. I was shopping with my mom.” She made a face, nose scrunching up. It was cute. “I needed a break. Gonna go grab a Coke.”

  “Mommy issues again,” he said, and felt something inside him unclench, his nerves dissipating.

  She chuckled. “Yeah, yeah.”

  “You wanna come to the pharmacy with us?” he asked on impulse. “I’ll buy you that Coke.”

  “I want one too, Daddy,” Aidan said, tugging at his hand.

  “Alright. Ask Mags if she’ll go with us.”

  Aidan turned his brown puppy-dog eyes on her, and Ghost could see that she was sunk.

  In recent months, he’d asked girls to make out with other girls, to bring him drinks, to suck his dick, to stop snoring and get out of his bed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever asked for anything as innocent as a walk to the pharmacy and the chance to buy her a soda. And, interestingly, the outcome of this request felt important in a way none of the others had.

  Maggie nodded. “Alright, I’ll come.”

  ~*~

  “Does your throat hurt? Sometimes when my throat hurts, Coke tastes weird, and Sprite is better.”

  Aidan considered a moment, and winced when he swallowed. “Okay.”

  Maggie grabbed a twenty-ounce Sprite for him and a Coke for herself, letting the freezer door thump shut afterward. When she handed Aidan’s bottle to him, he looked up at her with something like reverence. His little voice was hoarse from strep when he said, “Thank you.”

  Maggie babysat for other families in the neighborhood all the time, but she’d never seen a kid quite this cute. Part of that was his close-cropped curly hair and his little button nose. And part of it was his startling resemblance to his father…who was pretty darn cute himself.

  Drinks in hand, they began a slow walk back toward the counter where Ghost was waiting for Aidan’s antibiotics.

  “How do you know my daddy?” the boy asked.

  Maggie opened her Coke and took a sip to stall for time. She wanted to be careful in her answer. “We met yesterday,” she said, finally. “He helped me out.”

  “Helped you out how?”

  She cast a glance down at his face, but he didn’t look like he was trying to trap her – she mentally berated herself for being suspicious of an eight-year-old’s motives – only curious. “Well, I was somewhere I shouldn’t have been, and your daddy helped me get home.” She left out the part about asking him to buy her beer.

  “Where were you?”

  “Um…I’d rather not say.” When she glanced at him again, he was staring at her, that penetrating kid look that made her want to squirm.
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br />   But he said, “Okay.”

  Ghost turned away from the counter, frowning. “It’s gonna be a half hour,” he said when they reached him. He didn’t sound happy about it.

  Maggie looked between father and son, the sadness of the scenario hitting her all over again, like it had out on the sidewalk. Aidan was being a trooper, but his face was flushed and his eyelids droopy; he probably had a fever and his throat had to hurt like hell. Ghost had dark circles under his eyes that she hadn’t noticed last night, like he hadn’t slept; the tight line of his mouth highlighted his impatience with the situation. He was a concerned father, and a dutiful one, too, taking his child to the doctor and getting him the medicine he needed. But he wasn’t a happy one. From his dirty jeans to Aidan’s runny nose, the entire situation screamed a need for a maternal figure.

  Maybe there was one. Maybe she just didn’t give a damn.

  Seeing that Ghost’s gruff composure threatened to dissolve, she said, “That’s okay, we can kill a half hour.”

  His brows lifted, skeptical.

  “We can,” Maggie insisted. “Come on, Aidan,” she said, and he fell right into step beside her as she headed for the small arts and crafts section.

  “Um,” Ghost said as he followed, heavy harness boots clunking across the linoleum. “What are you doing?”

  She’d spotted a word search book a week or so ago when she’d come in to buy tampons, and it was still there, tucked in behind a few Lisa Frank sticker books. “Do you like word searches?”

  Aidan nodded.

  “Good.” Maggie grabbed a pack of thin-tipped markers and headed for the checkout counter.

  “What are you doing?” Ghost repeated, long strides carrying him up beside her. He leaned in too close, like he was trying to intimidate her; judging by his tone, she thought maybe he was.

  “Checking out,” she said, smiling at the clerk as she put her purchases on the counter.

  The clerk’s eyes flicked between the two of them, half-curious, half-stricken. The Dogs seemed to have that effect on people in town.

  “You’re buying something for my kid.”

  Maggie glanced over at him as the clerk rang up the book and markers. His expression struck her as odd: the combination of surprise, and doubt, and anger. She thought of her own father, of the kind, warm smiles he bestowed on her whenever she brought him a slice of cake after dinner, or offered to help him with the yard work. The delight he always displayed at Christmas when he opened a gift she’d made for him herself, in ceramics class.

  Ghost’s expression was not that of a man used to receiving gifts. Nor even everyday kindnesses.

  That was the moment she felt the first tiny fissures erupt at the edges of her heart; that first little break thanks to this man. Maybe he was kind of an ass, and maybe he was an outlaw biker, and maybe he sold pot to high school kids, but it was obvious that nobody showed this man any love. She might be practical, but she wasn’t proof against an unloved man.

  “Yes,” she said, tone gentle. “For your kid.” She pulled ten dollars from her purse and slid it across the counter.

  “You shouldn’t do that,” Ghost muttered, but his face softened.

  ~*~

  In another week, it would be too cold out to sit like this, but for today, the breeze was gentle and the sun warm against their backs. They were camped out at the picnic tables in front of the ice cream place next to the pharmacy; people still wanted ice cream, but didn’t want to eat it outdoors. Aidan sat at one table, markers scattered across the tabletop, absorbed in his word searches. Ghost and Maggie sat at another, side-by-side, elbows touching in a way that warmed her and excited her, watching Aidan, and the traffic passing on the street.

  They hadn’t spoken, but Maggie felt something nestled between them. An understanding. So she didn’t feel like she overstepped when she asked, low enough that Aidan couldn’t hear, “Is his mom still in the picture?”

  Ghost snorted. “You just get right to the point, don’t ya?”

  “It’s a legitimate question. Since you kissed me and all.”

  “Oh, you think it’s like that?”

  “It could be like that.”

  He sighed, sounding tired. “No. She’s long gone. Hates my guts.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged; she could feel it against her shoulder. “Maybe I’m a huge asshole and deserve it.”

  “She abandoned her child,” Maggie said, voice going hard and angry. “There’s no excuse for that.”

  “Probably some people don’t agree with you.”

  “Probably some people are stupid.”

  He snorted again, but it sounded amused this time. “Probably so,” he agreed. In a quieter voice: “It’s just me and Aidan these days.” The words came out heavy, sad.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well…it is what it is.”

  “Do you at least have family?” she pressed, knowing it was none of her business. She couldn’t curb her sympathy; she wanted to make sure these two lost boys had someone looking out for them.

  “I have the club,” he said, firmly, in a tone that brooked no arguments.

  Some family, she thought, and hoped her derision didn’t show on her face. A bunch of criminals who sent him out to sell drugs when his son was home sick.

  Speaking of which, Aidan’s poor little head was hanging low over his word search, listing to the side. He felt terrible.

  Maggie reached into her purse and found the small notepad she always carried – because Denise insisted that a true Southern lady be prepared for every inevitability. She found a pen too and used her thigh as a makeshift writing table.

  “Here,” she said when she was done, and tore the note off to hand to Ghost.

  “What?” he asked, staring at the paper like it might bite.

  “My phone number,” she explained, rolling her eyes. “I do a lot of babysitting in the evenings and on weekends. If you’re ever in a pinch and need someone to watch Aidan.”

  Brows knitted together, he took the paper carefully between two fingers and brought it up to his face. “Maggie Lowe,” he read aloud. “Babysitting.”

  He looked up at her, expression unreadable. Then back down at the paper. “You’re offering to babysit my kid?”

  “I am.”

  He stared at her. Blinked. And burst out laughing.

  Maggie sighed. “It was a legitimate offer, not a joke.”

  “Oh, sweetheart. Believe me, it was a joke.”

  “You’re a jerk,” she muttered, half-heartedly.

  “Yep,” he agreed. “Always have been. It’s just my nature.”

  “Seriously, though,” she said, giving him her most sincere look. She’d been told it would pass Sunday school inspection, and in this case, it was genuine. “I’d be happy to watch him if you ever needed it.”

  “Yeah. Well.” His laughter faded, replaced by melancholy. “Thanks. But.”

  She watched him stare down at his own hands, brows pinching together again.

  “Probably not a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  He flicked a humorless grin, motioning between the two of them. “In case you haven’t noticed, we kinda got that whole Lady and the Tramp thing going on here.”

  “I’m up for spaghetti if you are,” she joked, elbowing him.

  His grin turned true, gaze warm when it lifted to her face. “Yeah, that’s definitely a bad idea for you.”

  Speaking of bad ideas…

  She checked her watch. It was time to figure out a way to get home. There was going to be yelling; if she delayed too long, there would be twice the yelling.

  Maggie slid off the table and got to her feet, stomach fluttering when Ghost’s eyes followed her. “I’m not worried about bad ideas,” she said. “Most of my ideas are pretty good.” She sent him a cocky grin and he returned it.

  “You running off?”

  “You’re trying to scare me off,” she corrected. “It isn’t worki
ng, by the way, but I have to get home.”

  “You got a ride this time?”

  “Uh…not exactly.”

  Ghost made a face. “How’s a girl who lives on your street not have her own wheels?”

  She shrugged, and rather than tell him she’d only had her license a few weeks, she said, “I just don’t.”

  “Hmm.” He studied her, gaze unfocused, tongue poking out one cheek as he thought. “Shit,” he muttered, then, “hang on and let me get his meds. Then we’ll take you home.”

  That fluttering in her belly intensified. “I’d like that.”

  ~*~

  It wasn’t until they walked up to the truck that Ghost realized giving someone a ride wasn’t the best idea. When he wasn’t on his bike – his gorgeous, aggressive, gleaming bike – he drove an old red-and-white Ford pickup with a bench seat in the cab wide enough to sit four. There was no backseat to stick Aidan in, though, so they had to sit three across, Maggie rubbing elbows with his sick, contagious kid.

  She didn’t seem to mind, though, asking Aidan what he was learning in school (not much), and if he liked his teacher (yeah, no). Ghost didn’t realize it at first, but after a few miles he noticed that his hand had loosened on the wheel, and that his muscles had unclenched. The sound of her voice, calm and soft, washed over his skin, a balm for his near-constant stress. She wasn’t chirping away like the girls at the club; and still she wasn’t cooing, but having an honest to God conversation with Aidan. Listening to his responses and offering some of her own.

  Damn it, he liked this chick.

  Strep throat finally started to take its toll, though. Aidan’s excited spiel about Legos slowed, and slowed, and eventually tapered off into silence. When Ghost piloted the truck to a halt beneath the pear trees, like last night, he saw that Aidan had fallen asleep and was leaning up against Maggie’s shoulder.

  “Shit,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s fine,” Maggie said, and sounded like she meant it. Just like it sounded like she meant that she was sorry Olivia had split, and that she’d be glad to babysit Aidan. It didn’t make any sense to him.