Page 6 of Love is Blind

Or six.

“If you’re refilling his glass, you better be filling mine too,” Birdie says.

Rolling her eyes, Emmy plucks my empty glass from the bar. She doesn’t make a grab for Birdie’s but as long as she’s filling mine, I don’t really give a damn. A moment later, Emmy sets my drink in front of me with a sigh and Birdie slumps back in her stool.

“I’m sorry, Ghost. I should’ve put her at the other end of the bar.”

I narrow my eyes, glancing between her and her cousin. It’s none of my business but referring to Birdie as a mundane object while she’s sitting right in front of her—well, that ain’t cool. I steal another glance at Birdie, anger flashing across her features.

“I’m blind, Emmy, not deaf. You don’t have to apologize for me, and you certainly don’t have toputme anywhere.” She turns and stares in my direction, not quite meeting my gaze. “What kind of name is Ghost anyway? Your mother didn’t like you very much, did she?”

She didn’t but that bitch ain’t responsible for my name. That honor goes to the Satan’s Knights.

You see, a ghost can be a lot of things.

Unseen. Uncaught. Untraceable.

A phantom criminal.

Everything I am and all I ever will be.

But a ghost can be a memory too.

It can be a secret.

Or in my case a menace of a man with a broken past, haunted by the grief of losing his infant daughter. I used to close my eyes and see the faces of all my victims, the enemies I eliminated for the sake of my patch. Most of them were vile pieces of shit that got what they deserved; some were just in my way. But now when I close my eyes, I see my baby Abigail floating facedown in the bathtub, her lips blue and her skin cold and gray. That sweet scent of a baby after she’s been bathed and swaddled was gone leaving the stale stench of death in its wake.

So, yeah, a ghost can be a lot of things.

I shake the image of Abigail from my head and turn my attention back to Emmy.

“Why don’t you just save us both the headache and pour the girl a drink and while you’re at it, leave the bottle of Jack with me.”

Emmy’s wary gaze travels from me to Birdie and back to me as I down the whiskey.

Yeah, I wouldn’t trust me either.

“You heard the man,” Birdie chirps, flashing her a smug grin.

Setting my empty glass back on top of the bar, my gaze settles on Birdie. I watch as she shucks the oversized jacket from her shoulders, revealing a pair of pink polka dot pajamas. Completing the look is a pair of rubber rainboots, which wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the bright yellow ducks printed all over them.

Rolling up her sleeves, she slaps both hands against the edge of the bar and starts to chant.

“Shots! Shots! Shots!”

I swipe a hand over my beard and drag my eyes back to Emmy who stares at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind.

I shrug. Maybe I have.

The words that come out of my mouth next would surely confirm the notion.

“Life is meant to be lived in color.”

Chapter Two

Birdie

If a person is bornblind or acquires profound blindness before the age of three, the brain rewires itself. It makes new connections that aren’t present in normal-sighted individuals and their other senses become enhanced. But the brain doesn’t rewire for people who become blind at the age of fourteen, for us poor unfortunate souls that whole heightened senses thing is a myth.

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