Page 21 of Ghost
“Ghost…” Whispering my name, she tilts back to look at me. “Even if we have to stay on this mountain for an eternity, I’d be okay with it if you were there with me.”
Her voice wobbles with the uncertainty of the future. Ripper’s findings must be resting in her thoughts, too, but she has to know that she doesn’t need to be concerned about herself anymore. She has me.
There’s only one thing that comes to mind to help reassure her.
Nuzzling her close, I inhale the distant scent of soap from her hair. “Marry me, Eliza. Don’t just wear my cut. Let me put a ring on your finger that’s worthy of the hand that holds mine. Take my last name. Let it be your shield, your fresh start.” I hold her tighter. “I don’t care if it’s crazy. I don’t care if it’s impulsive. Say yes.”
I am offering her a piece of me I’ve spent years trying to forget, because she is the only one who has ever made me want to remember.
A soft, sharp gasp is muffled against my chest. She tries to wiggle back, to see my face, but I can’t let her go. Not now, when I feel more exposed than I have in years, my soul raw and offered up in my hands.
Her answer is a choked, breathless sound.
“Yes,” she wheezes, giggling when I roll her back on top of me. Needing all the contact I can get, I pull her into the start of an endless amount of kisses to start something newtogether.
* * *
Epilogue
The usual club ruckus is what wakes us—the thud of a bass guitar being tested downstairs, followed by a roar of laughter and the clatter of a toolbox hitting the concrete floor. It’s barely past noon. I crack an eye open, the sunlight slicing through a gap in the curtains. Eliza stirs against my chest, her hand fisting in my shirt with a soft, disgruntled murmur.
“The guys are here,” she mumbles into my skin, her voice thick with sleep.
“Sounds like it,” I rasp, my own voice rough. I press a kiss into her hair, the familiar scent of her shampoo—something with vanilla—filling my senses. It’s our sanctuary, this room, butthe club is a living, breathing entity that doesn’t respect walls. Especially not today.
Her birthday. Twenty-five years old now.
I slide out from the tangle of sheets and her limbs, the cool air a shock against my skin. She makes a small sound of protest, burrowing deeper into the warmth I left behind. I let my gaze linger for a long moment—the spill of blonde hair across my pillow, the smooth line of her shoulder, the way my old t-shirt swims on her frame. Three years since I brought her here, terrified and defiant, and the sight of her in my space still hits me with the force of a physical blow.
The duffel bag is already half-packed in the closet. I finish the job, folding a barely used swimsuit I know she loves beside my own jeans and a couple of clean shirts. The simple, domestic act of packing for her still feels novel, a privilege I’ll never take for granted.
“Come on, El,” I say, my voice softer now. I sit on the edge of the bed and run a hand down her arm. “Time to get up. We’ve got a reservation.”
She rolls onto her back, blinking blearily up at me. “Reservation? What did you do?”
“A surprise. Now move, or we’ll never get out of here.” Giving her a cocky grin, I jerk my chin to get her going, already offering up her cut with my name patched on.
The moment we step out of our room, the bombardment begins. The hallway is a river of prospects and patch-holders, and Eliza is the sun they all orbit as they each wish her the same happy birthday over and over.
She laughs, waving, her sleepiness replaced by a bright, flustered joy. Stacks intercepts us at the opening of one of the open doors filled with the scent of old paper, a ledger in his hand, and a familiar, focused look in his eyes.
“Ghost, you got a sec? I need you to look into—”
“Can it wait?” I cut him off, my hand finding the small of Eliza’s back. “I’ve got to get my girl to her special place.”
Stacks’s serious expression cracks into a knowing grin. He snaps the ledger shut. “Wouldn’t want to get in the way of that. Go on. Happy Birthday, trouble.” He winks at Eliza, who just shakes her head, smiling.
We push through the double doors into the main bar. It’s a little calmer here; the daytime crowd is a different breed.
Penelope is behind the bar, but she’s not pouring drinks. She’s deep in conversation with Judge, hugging a bottle of whiskey to her chest like a teddy bear instead of serving it. Judge is listening, his usual scowl softened into something resembling patience.
On the other end of the bar, Raven is scowling at Jinx, jabbing a finger into his chest as she scolds him for what looks like a dent in one of the beer taps.
“—and if you think for one second you’re not paying for that, you’ve got another thing coming, you walking disaster!” Raven’s voice carries. “How many times have I told you not to self-serve?”
Jinx just grins, watching her with amusement, just letting her rage on like it’s the best view in the bar, almost like he enjoys causing trouble.
Eliza squeezes my hand, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. We weave through the tables, more birthday wishes trailing in our wake, until we finally burst out into the cool afternoon air.
