Aidan had never received this from Olivia.
In that quick, stolen moment before their heads lifted and they saw him, Ghost felt the crumbling foundations of his life shift. He fell in love with her a little bit then. No one, not even him, had ever put that kind of smile on his son’s face. For that alone, he’d slay dragons for her.
Then they were looking at him.
“Hi, Daddy,” Aidan greeted, still smiling. “Maggie came!”
“I see that.”
“Hi,” Maggie said, some of her brightness dimming. “I’m sorry. I can explain.” She fiddled with the flashcards in her hands and looked so miserable it took every ounce of self-control not to go to her. He’d never been able to resist a woman who needed him.
“It’s fine,” he said, and walked through to the kitchen.
By the time he had a beer in his hand, and was flipping through the mail, silently panicking, she’d joined him.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, still miserable. “I know this is presumptuous. I was going to go to my friend Rachel’s house, but her mom heard about what happened.”
“What happened?”
She stared out through the cloudy window above the sink, arms banded tight around her middle like she was in pain. “Stephanie – the blonde from yesterday? – she told her mom some sob story about me hijacking our manicures so we could go buy weed off you guys. Said it was all my idea.”
“Fucking bitch.”
An unhappy smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “And then her mom called my mom. And.” Her voice quavered. “Of course my mom believes I’m the dope-smoking, biker-fucking common slut of the neighborhood.”
The way she said it, Ghost knew her mother had used those exact words: common slut.
He’d never wanted to hit a woman so badly. “She threw you out?”
She blinked furiously and dabbed under her nose with a knuckle. “I threw myself out. I couldn’t…” She turned to him then, tears standing in her eyes. “I’m sorry I came here. You don’t need my problems. I just didn’t know–”
“Come here.” He set his beer down and gathered her in his arms. She tucked her face into the hollow of his throat and sagged against his chest. So easy, so willing to trust him and lean into him. “Don’t be sorry. It’s good you came here.”
“I should have–”
“No, sweetheart. You did perfect. I’m glad you’re here.” So I can make sure nothing else happens to you, he added to himself.
She shuddered hard and burrowed in even closer. He felt her fingers curl into the front of his shirt; felt the knobs of her spine against his palm as he rubbed her back; felt the warm rush of her breath across his collarbone. She was soft, and vulnerable, and so very alive in his arms, battling the tears she didn’t want to cry, shivering and clinging to him. It was the most perfect sensation – but he hated the reason she was here.
“Fucking bitch,” he said again, tightening his hold on her. Her parents could come pounding on his door right now and they’d have to crowbar him off their daughter. “You don’t do that.” He was surprised by the anger in his voice. He was mad as hell. “You don’t throw your kid out. Not just her kid – you. Like you’ve ever done shit wrong in your life.”
She sniffled against his shirt. “Threw myself out, remember? And I did get you to buy me beer.”
“That ain’t wrong.”
To his delight, she laughed a little, her ribs jumping under his hand. “I think we might have different definitions of wrong.” She pulled back a fraction, which he hated, but she looked calmer, which pleased him. He’d made her laugh, helped her feel better. That was without question his biggest accomplishment of the past week.
“Yeah, we do. But you don’t treat family the way your mom treats you.” The way his own father, and now Duane, had treated him.
Maggie smoothed her hands down his shirt, reaching to finger a damp patch near the collar where her tears had soaked through. Whatever previous objections she’d had about touching him had vanished. Fatigue, defeat, and heartbreak had seemingly pushed her past the point of propriety.
“I can find somewhere else to go,” she offered.
A lock of hair had fallen down against her face and he tucked it back. “Absolutely not.”
She smiled up at him, and he was doomed.
~*~
Maggie offered to cook dinner. Given the state of the pantry, that ended up being mac & cheese with cut-up hotdogs. Aidan asked for seconds and took forever to go to bed, too excited to admit he was tired. Ghost finally got him tucked in at ten ‘til ten, and realized he was exhausted. As usual. And usually, he would grab another beer, his smokes, and settle in to stare blankly at the late night shows until it was time to move to his bed and stare up at the ceiling until just before the alarm sounded.
Tonight was different, though.
There was a beautiful, golden-haired girl at the kitchen sink, washing the dinner dishes. It struck him as odd: the way she dove right into things – feeding them, plunging her hands into his dirty old sink – when she was so superior to him in every way. Her breeding, her home life, her education, the expectations placed on her – she would have been within her rights to call him trash. But she didn’t; he didn’t think she was capable of such a thing.
“You don’t need to do that,” he said, propping a hip against the counter beside her.
“I don’t mind.” She reached to push her hair back with soapy fingers; it kept falling over her shoulders and obscuring her view of the dishes. Such a small, feminine gesture, and it drove him nuts.
“Here.” Before he could question his actions, he reached out and gathered the thick mass of her hair in one hand, held it in a loose ponytail at her nape. A few stray tendrils slid loose and he smoothed them behind her ear with a careful sweep of his thumb.
She stilled, bowl clasped in her dripping hands. “You.” Her throat jumped as she swallowed; her lashes swept low over her cheeks. “You don’t have to do that,” she echoed.
He said, voice rough, “I don’t mind.”
The bowl landed in the water with a quiet splash. She turned to him, mouth pink, and soft, and inviting, eyes wide, full of questions.
Ghost knew it was wrong – it was so wrong – but he couldn’t resist. Just once. Just a taste. He couldn’t help himself.
He pulled her to him, hand still gripping her hair, and cupped her face with his free hand. Brought her in close enough to hear her quick, shaky breath before he kissed her.
The way he figured it, he was bound to go to hell anyway. Might as well take joy where he could.
~*~
She’d forgotten what it felt like, kissing him. Then again, this kiss was different. Before, outside Hiram’s, he’d been aggressive, trying to teach her a lesson. But here, now, he was gentle. Slanting his mouth over hers with warm, careful insistence.
She hadn’t come here for this – God knew she didn’t want him to get in trouble – but in the moment, it felt like the thing she needed. The clever flick of his tongue along her bottom lip, the way it slid into her mouth when she opened for him. She felt her knees give out and he let go of her hair so he could catch her around the waist, managing to deepen the kiss in the process.
He’d removed his cut before dinner, so it was only the soft cotton of his t-shirt against her hands as she clung to him. In the moment, breathless and reeling, he wasn’t a Lean Dog, or a sad single father who made poor life choices; he was the boy she wanted to kiss, and keep kissing more than anything.
He pulled back, suddenly, with a ragged sound. “Shit. Ah, damn.” He was panting, and his eyes were dilated. He thumbed her jaw, his calluses rough, his touch gentle. “We can’t,” he said, voice full of regret.
Maggie took a deep breath and stepped back. Her skin was cold in the absence of his touch, the places his arms and hands had been as vulnerable as fresh wounds. She suppressed a shiver. “Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry.”
Her legs were l
ike jelly; she caught herself against the counter. Her body hummed, a closed circuit of energy suddenly broken open too soon.
Ghost turned his back to her and got another beer out of the fridge.
She stared at the defeated set of his shoulders, aching. She hated her own birthday in that moment, wished she was eighteen. Or maybe wished he didn’t care so much. He wanted, needed this as badly as she did, but he wouldn’t let it happen.
“Okay.” He still faced away, and his voice was still shot. “I think we’ve gotta set some…some rules or something, for while you’re here.”
“Rules.” She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t crushed. “Okay. Sure.” Even though he’d kissed her.
“Damn it.” He set the beer down and turned to face her, expression dark with some emotion she couldn’t decipher. “That’s not what I meant. I just.” He blew out a breath and managed to look chastened with his hands on his hips and his face flushed from kissing. “I just don’t want to ruin your life, kid. Have you even…Are you a…” He winced.
“A virgin? Yeah.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. “I am so going to hell.”
“Thanks for making me feel so good about it.”
“No, no, that’s not what I – Look, I know you think you like me…”
She gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look.
“I mean,” he continued, “that you’re the kind of kid–”
“Stop calling me a kid.”
“–who could do a lot of things with your life. Don’t make big decisions now.”
“I didn’t hear you proposing to me. What kind of big decision is sleeping with you?”
He looked pained. “Maybe bigger than you think.”
~*~
Why did he keep saying stupid shit? Pulling her in when the urge became too great, pushing her away when his conscience reared its ill-timed head. Revealing the sorts of things he had no right to. Could she guess, he wondered, the sort of effect she had on him?
As he watched her, hoping she wasn’t wise to his pathetic feelings, she glanced down at the toes of her little brown shoes. “Forget it. Whatever.” Her voice was heavy. Flavored with…embarrassment. Shame. Two emotions he understood well, but which Maggie never should have felt. He wanted to put his arms around her again.
“Hey.” He closed the distance between them, close enough to touch. The curled ends of her hair brushed his shirt. “Being a…” He still couldn’t make himself say the V-word. “That’s a good thing.”
She lifted her head, eyes cloudy with emotion. She attempted a smile. “Just not to you. You like your women experienced, right? What does an outlaw want with a virgin idiot, huh?”
He took her face in his hands, careful like she might break, stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “Baby, knowing you haven’t been with anyone makes me want you more, if that’s even possible. I want to eat you alive.”
Her eyes widened.
“But I’m trying to protect you, sweetheart. Why won’t you let me?”
She softened, some of the tension bleeding out of her. “My whole life’s been about protection. I want to live.”
He sighed and kissed her forehead. “Don’t tempt me, okay?”
He felt her breath against his throat as she laughed quietly. “You kissed me.”
“I know. I’m a bad person.”
~*~
His kitchen was a sad, dimly-lit space, but it seemed a little brighter when they were sitting across the table from one another. He’d poured her a finger of Jack and added half a can of Coke. It didn’t taste good, but it was more palatable than the straight whiskey he drank, and it warmed her insides pleasantly, calmed her raging nerves. It was getting late, but she didn’t think either of them were sleepy.
“What’s the plan?” Ghost asked.
Maggie took a bracing sip of her drink and let out a deep breath. “I don’t think there is one.”
He reached for the pack of Marlboros and lighter on the table. “You mind?”
She shook her head, eyes going to the practiced movements of his fingers as he lit up a smoke. “I knew I couldn’t stay. And I wouldn’t change leaving. My mom’s not reasonable. I won’t–” She felt her anger spike again. “Maybe it’s childish, or ungrateful, but I won’t be punished for things I didn’t do. That’s not fair.”
“It’s not,” he agreed, exhaling a long plume of smoke.
“But,” she continued, “the fact that I left means I can’t go back. She’ll never forgive me for this.”
“So you’re homeless.”
“More or less. I have an aunt and uncle in Ohio.”
He frowned.
“But I’m in school, and I…” She bit her lip.
“Knoxville’s home,” he said, voice softening. “I never could leave it either.”
Maggie slumped down in her chair, chin cupped in her hand. “I’m not old enough to get my own place. And I don’t have the money besides.”
He studied her a moment, smoke curling off the end of his cigarette. He took a deep, unsteady breath, and she didn’t think the little hitch had anything to do with smoking. “Okay, how ‘bout this? You stay here, and I’ll pay you to help out with Aidan, and we’ll go from there.”
Her stomach – a hard knot since she’d walked into her mom’s kitchen hours ago – finally unclenched. She wanted to kiss him again, but she settled for saying, “That sounds like a plan.”
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 o
beyed 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.
American Hellhound Page 18
