Page 38 of Earning Her Trust
He dropped the shards into the trash. “Not a big deal,” he said, and meant it. But his skin crawled, his pulse spiking hard and ugly.
He needed air. Space.
He left the kitchen without another word. Out the door, across the gravel lot, into the dark.
At the kennel, Cinder waited right where he’d left her. He let her out, and the dog fell into step beside him as they cut through the moonless night to the security hub.
He didn’t look back at the bunkhouse. He didn’t need to.
The blue mug was gone, and that was that. End of story.
twelve
Nobody spoke.
Not at first. The only sound was the faint rattle of the back door as it swung shut behind Ghost. Cinder’s dark shape followed him into the cold, swallowed by the dark yard beyond the porch light.
Anson stayed where he was, crouched beside Bramble under the table, one hand smoothing the dog’s trembling flank. He could still feel the echo of the crash—the ceramic mug shattering against tile, the coffee bleeding across the floor like a wound. Now, the house held its breath.
River, of course, broke first. “You see the look on his face? For a second, I thought he was about to shiv somebody.”
“Ghost doesn’t shiv,” Jonah said. “He just… disappears and then you hear about the body two counties over.” It should’ve been a joke, but it landed with a real weight. “He’s not okay.”
Jax rose from the couch. He had Oliver’s jacket in one hand, and the kid hovered close. The little squirt’s eyes were big as saucers.
“What’s wrong?” Oliver asked. “Why do your faces all look all pinched like when I dared Tate to try a lemon?”
Jax relaxed slightly and ruffled Oliver’s hair. “Grown-up stuff, buddy. Go pick up your stuff. We have to head home. It’s bedtime.” He waited until Oliver was occupied with packing up his art supplies, then turned back. “Someone should talk to him.”
“I nominate Jax,” River said, then held up his hands with Jax scowled at him. “What, you’re already our resident Ghost-whisperer. Just make sure you wear something stab-proof, yeah?”
Jax gave him the middle finger, being careful to keep it low so Oliver wouldn’t see.
“Can’t believe I’m saying this,” Jonah muttered, dragging a hand over his face, “but River has a point. He’s talked to Jax more in the last six months than the rest of us combined over the last three years. He’s not going to want company, but… I don’t know. He seems off.”
“He’s always off,” X pointed out.
Anson stayed silent, his palm still resting on Bramble’s soft flank. The wolfhound had stopped trembling, but remained pressed against his leg, sensing the tension in the room. He’d never seen Ghost react like that—or rather, not react. The man had just stared at those broken pieces like they were foreign objects. Then that blank mask had slipped into place, the one Ghost wore when he was shutting everything down.
Bear grunted. “Not like this. A broken mug shouldn’t have set him off.”
Anson eased out from under the table, giving Bramble a final reassuring pat. The room had gone uncomfortably quiet, the earlier laughter sucked out like air from a vacuum. He glanced at the trash can where Ghost had dropped the broken pieces, something twisting in his gut at the sight of that blue ceramic peeking through coffee grounds and paper towels.
Anson pushed himself up from the floor, watching his bunkmates’ eyes shift uncomfortably around the room. None of them wanted to acknowledge what they’d just witnessed—Ghost breaking, even if it was just for a split second.
“He’s not mad about the mug,” he said and crossed to the trash can, staring down at the ceramic pieces among the remnants of dinner. He’s mad about the… about being seen.”
Jonah nodded. “None of us like being in the spotlight.”
“Speak for yourself.” X scoffed and reached for one of the candy bars. “Some of us are born for the spotlight.”
River snorted a laugh. “Yeah, we know. Cartier Cowboy couldn’t survive five minutes without an audience.”
Oliver returned with his backpack and Echo trailing at his heels.
“All right, I’ll talk to him,” Jax said and bundled the kid into his coat. “Can’t guarantee he’ll talk back, but I’ll try.” He zipped up Oliver’s jacket and pulled the hood over the kid’s head. “C’mon, bud. Let’s get you home before your mom sends out a search party.”
“But I’m not tired,” Oliver protested even as a yawn threatened and his eyes drooped.
