Ghost followed.
An impulse flashed through his mind and was rejected at once: catch up to her, grab her by the arm, swing her around. He’d never treated her that way, and wasn’t going to start. Even if he was an asshole, some things were just sacred, and his wife’s aura of respect was one of them.
She went into the dorm reserved for them and he half expected her to slam the door in his face. Instead, she walked to the middle of the room and came to a halt with her hands on her hips, back to him as he shut and locked the door behind them.
Then she turned. “I don’t understand, Ken. Help me to understand. Because right now, all I want to do is throw a pillow at you and tell you to sleep in the parking lot.”
He folded his arms. “There’s nothing to explain. It’s like I’ve said a hundred times. He needs to grow up, and I’m running out of ideas on how to make that happen.”
Maggie dropped her head into her hands and sighed. “Kenneth.”
“What?” he snapped.
Her head lifted. “Were you grown up? When I met you,” she pressed, “were you perfectly mature and grown up?”
“It’s not the–”
“It’s exactly the same thing!” she said. “You were lost. Aidan is lost. But Sam is good for him. Sam is smart, and thoughtful, and classy, and–”
“But he’s–”
“No different from you,” Maggie said, tears shining in her eyes. “He’s going to have a hell of a time convincing her that he’s serious, but he needs to convince her.” Her face softened. “He needs a mother for his child, and a keeper of his heart.”
“Well I don’t know anything about this chick–”
“Well I do,” Maggie said.
“Are you going to keep interrupting me?”
“Yeah, I am. Sam,” she pressed on, “is a nice girl. She’s not some groupie, or a harpy, or a spoiled brat. She’s in grad school with Ava; she’s a writer too, and she loves books, and wears glasses most of the time. She’s good for Aidan,” she repeated.
Good for Aidan. How many times had he hoped someone like that would come along? Someone who could tame that restless, useless energy in him, keep him happy at home so he could finally get his head out of his ass.
“I never lied to you, though,” he reminded. “I told you straight away that I had a kid.”
“It would’ve been a little hard to hide an eight-year-old.”
“Mags,” he snapped.
“Kenny,” she returned, voice gentling. She stepped up to him, hands landing on his chest. Damn it, he couldn’t deny her a thing when she did that, and she had to know it. “Don’t take this as an insult, baby, but you were real screwed up when we met.”
He felt a grin threaten. “Not an insult, huh?”
Her smile was sweet. “Nope.”
“I wasn’t the jailbait trolling for bikers outside the liquor store.”
“You really wanna compare sins side-by-side?” Her brows lifted.
“Nah.”
She smoothed her hands across his pecs, little mindless circles. “My point is,” she said, “that sometimes a man grows up all on his own. Like Mercy. But sometimes, he needs a reason to grow up. Aidan’s got a couple of reasons now, he’s just having a little trouble with the transition.”
She slapped her palms lightly on his shoulders. “And you shouldn’t set out to beat up your little boy. I don’t like it.”
“He’s not a little boy.”
“He will always be your little boy.” She kissed him, her lips as soft and coaxing as ever, but Ghost knew she hadn’t forgiven him yet. Maggie didn’t hold grudges, but she didn’t pretend things were fine, either.
~*~
Just before dawn, the hostage in the bike shop was cut loose and a cab was called for him. He left Dartmoor completely intact, carrying a message for his boss:
Last night had been a lesson for Don Ellison. Next time, bodies would hit the ground.
Twenty-One
Sam woke to a tickling sensation along her spine. A gentle, teasing touch, moving down to the small of her back. Lower…
She smiled against the pillows, stretched drowsily beneath the sheets. “That feels nice.”
Aidan’s voice was soft, but not sleepy; he’d been awake for a while. “The first hour’s free.”
They both laughed, quietly.
Sam rolled over onto her back and found him propped up on an elbow beside her. His hair was rumpled, jaw shadowed with stubble. The bruises from the sparring match were ugly and dark, but his eyes shone, coffee-colored in the faint light coming through the frosted window.
“You survived your first big club party,” he said.
“I take it they aren’t usually that crazy.”
“Nah. Usually just one stripper.”
She reached up and tweaked the end of his nose with thumb and forefinger, earning a low chuckle that made her toes flex. The orderly, professorial side of her wanted to ask a dozen questions. Where did they go from here? Was forever part of their vocabulary now? Ought she to tackle his disaster apartment with closet organizers and fresh paint?
But she pushed all her wonder back, deciding that she would only make herself anxious. She didn’t want to be the one to wreck this shiny warm thing they had.
Aidan pushed the sheets back and got out of bed. “Probably one of the girls is making breakfast. I’m gonna grab coffee; how many sugars?”
She sat up, pushed her hair back, enjoyed the view as he tugged on his jeans commando. “Three.”
“Be right back.”
He was at the door when a knot of words came unstuck in her throat and rolled off her tongue. She couldn’t prevent them, and didn’t want to. “Aidan?”
He paused and glanced back at her.
“I love you.”
Saying it released a tension inside her, one she hadn’t known she carried. They were just words, but for her, words were trade. Words were religion. Actions were well and good, but for her own part, she had to share the words, so there could be no mistaking her feelings.
Aidan went very still, eyes wide and full of wonder as he stared at her.
“You don’t have to say it back,” she said, softly. “I just wanted you to know.”
He nodded; his throat worked as he swallowed.
“Coffee, remember?” she prodded, smiling.
He nodded again, and even if his lips couldn’t form the syllables, she could read his eyes well enough.
She thought he loved her too.
~*~
The aftermath was always ugly; like a battlefield littered with post-party carnage. Cups, napkins, countless trod-upon tortilla chips, empty bottles. The jack-o-lanterns on the bar stared at him with soot-blackened eyes, all their charm gone. The club girls, likewise, would have lost their charm, nothing but regret and smudged mascara by this point.
Aidan was surprised to find Maggie at the helm in the kitchen, alone, putting together one of her fantastic breakfast casseroles. Wrapped in the sharp scent of coffee, she had showered, done her makeup, and proved exactly why she was the queen of this operation and not some hanger-on.
He propped a shoulder in the doorframe. “You shoulda had one of the girls do this.”
“Nah. They’re all hungover, and I can do it better myself anyway.” She was whisking the eggs together and turned to him. “Oh, speaking of the girls, apparently Jazz and Carter are a thing now. Did you know that was going on?”
“I didn’t know for sure, but I’m not surprised.” He twitched inwardly, not wanting to dwell on Carter or Jazz or that night in the dorm two months ago.
“Does Tango know?”
“Tango’s…a little out of it lately,” he said with a sigh.
Maggie nodded, her frown knowing. “Hmm.”
Remembering his errand, he pushed off the doorjamb and went to the coffee pot.
“How’s Sam this morning?” Maggie asked, all innocence.
A hot bursting of emotion in his chest, just under his ribs;
he envisioned it as golden, full of sparks. “She’s good.”
“Baby,” she said as he was leaving.
He paused.
“I like her.”
The heat doubled, pressing at his heart in the best way.
“And you need to tell her about the baby.”
“I know. I will.”
“Soon, Aidan.”
“I know.”
~*~
They were gathered in the chapel by ten, armed with plenty of coffee and cigarettes, the air thick with the scents of both. It took longer to fit all of them in a seat than it did to go over the morning’s plan.
Aidan had already asked Sam to wait for him, spend a few hours hanging out with the girls; he’d tried to keep the worry out of his voice, but she’d detected it, smooth gold brows drawing together. “I want you to be safe,” he finally said, and she hadn’t argued, had hugged him and said she wanted him to be safe too.
She loved him. She loved him and she wanted him safe.
He thought he might float cartoon-style.
As he left the clubhouse, he spotted her having breakfast with Emmie at one of the bar tables. She tossed him a smile and a wave.
He felt so domestic.
It was a cold, drizzly morning, their breath pluming in the damp air. Aidan zipped his cut and caught up to Tango as they headed for the bikes. He bumped the guy in the ribs with an elbow. “You alright?”
Tango walked with his head down, long hank of pale hair flapping against his forehead. “Yeah.”
“Jazz and Carter, huh?”
“I guess so.”
“Dude, if you have a problem with it–”
“I don’t.”
“Kev.”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Aidan glanced toward Carter, ten yards away, face flushed in a mature, self-satisfied way that was uncharacteristic. He felt on top of the world, and thanks to a club groupie who’d done every unspeakable thing with almost every member of the club.
“You could–”
“No.”
Aidan shrugged. “Whatever.” It wasn’t like he didn’t have his own problems, not the least of which was telling that beautiful, smiling girl inside that he was having a baby with another woman.
~*~
“I want my coke back.” Don Ellison had a bad case of aging-footballer-face, and his heavy brow creased as he scowled at them. He could buy an expensive suit – and he had – but he couldn’t disguise the fact that he was an ex-con thug with bad breeding.
Not an altogether scary picture, in Aidan’s opinion.
And not too impressive a turnout, Ellison and his four thugs, when the Dogs were rolling twenty-something deep.
Their meeting place was an empty weed-choked lot between a closed-up restaurant and a struggling laundromat at the outskirts of town. A row of bikes faced off from an Escalade, and the two warring factions stood on either side of the invisible fuse running between them.
“You’ll get your coke back,” Ghost said, “minus the cut I take as repayment for what you stole from me. Minus a little bit more because you killed my dealers.”
Phillip stood beside Ghost, the two presidents shoulder-to-shoulder. “You’ll notice we didn’t kill any of your boys,” he said, flicking ash off his cigarette with a bored expression. “We didn’t even rough ‘em up too bad. And we sent the one back.”
“He’s got a real pretty singing voice, by the way,” Ghost said with a grin. “You might wanna put him in your thug choir.”
Ellison made a face. There was no doubt what would happened to the squealer.
“So, like I said,” Ghost continued. “You’ll get your coke back, but it’ll be on our terms, and our timetable. If you think you can come into Dog territory and do whatever the fuck you want, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Ellison’s thick jaw tightened. “You think I’m going to recognize your territory?”
“I do, yeah, because let’s face facts, Don. You are one guy, in one state, with a big head. Me? I’m a part of an international organization that makes you and your boys look like kids playing mob boss at recess.”
“You mess with one chapter, you mess with every chapter, mate,” Phillip said. “So if you want to keep breathing, you’ll go away and be very quiet.”
“Why not just kill me? Wipe me out?” Ellison asked. “That’s what you did last night, yeah? Sent me the message that you can take me out whenever you want.” It should have been said with embarrassment, but somehow sounded like a taunt to Aidan’s ears.
“Because I’m a reasonable man,” Ghost said, which was a damn joke. “And because it’d be stupid to have another war. Knoxville doesn’t need it, and I don’t want it. We’re grownups, Don, let’s handle this as such.”
Don Ellison’s face slowly began to purple, even though he nodded stiffly and stepped forward to talk things over one-on-one with Ghost.
Aidan felt a quick twist in his gut. This meeting had gone well – too well, in his opinion. And he well knew the look of a man who was burning with hatred on the inside, boiling with barely checked violence. In this scenario, that man was Ellison, and he wondered if his father saw that.
~*~
The next day, Ellison’s coke was returned, minus what he owed the Dogs, and a tentative peace was set up. Handshakes were swapped. The world took a deep breath and settled. And the citizens of Knoxville had no idea they had been at the edge of another war, the Lean Dogs held in their usual awe-inspiring contempt as the cowboys of the city.
Everything was fine.
Until it wasn’t.
November
Twenty-Two
Two days after the big party, Emmie came downstairs as dawn was breaking, surprised to find her house full of male voices. Worry grabbed at her for a second – some new club drama? – but they didn’t sound concerned. Quite the opposite: someone laughed, and she thought it was Shane.
She hit the kitchen first and found Bea at the island pulling muffins from a baking tin with aid of a butter knife.
“Good morning, dear!” she said brightly. “I’m just getting ready to take this in to the dining room. Will you fetch me the butter?”
“Sure.” She did so, bemused, accepting the kiss her mother-in-law pressed to her cheek. “What’s going on?”
Bea was glowing, her smile bending her eyes to tiny crescents. “It’s wonderful. They’re having a brother breakfast.”
“All of them?”
“All that are here, darling.”
Emmie nodded. “That’s good.”
“Isn’t it? I keep trying to get them all together, but King won’t listen to me about it. It’s important, I think, to spend time with your brothers and sisters. If you have them, that is,” she said in deference to Emmie’s only child status. “I never had any myself, but I always wanted a few. How fun it would have been to have a brother. Girls need brothers, I think, just as much as boys do.”
Bea could get wound up and chatter on for hours if left to her own devices. Curious, Emmie said, “Have you met King’s sisters?”
“Oh yes. Lovely girls. There’s Raven, who’s just a few months younger than Shane. Her mother’s a model,” she said in a confidential tone. “Willowy thing, all legs. Eccentric name, you know.”
Emmie nodded with pretend graveness.
“And then there’s Cassandra, who’s the youngest of the nine. Just turned sixteen.”
Emmie tried not to show how staggering that was to hear. Walsh was forty, and he’d said his oldest brother, Phillip, had just turned fifty-three. She didn’t want to do the math.
“Will you help me carry these in?” Bea asked of the two heaping baskets of cinnamon muffins.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Walsh was sitting at the head of the dining room table; it was his house, after all. To his right was Phillip, on his left Shane. Fox sat beside Phillip, and there were no traces of tension.
Emmie set the muffins down on the table, snagged o
ne, and went to kiss Walsh. His smile was easy, relaxed, and her chest swelled with gladness. He’d been edgy and nervous lately, and it was good to see him like this.
“Busy day?” he asked when she pulled back.
“Yeah. I’ve got Sam bringing her sister in for a lesson this afternoon.”
He frowned. “Sam?”
“Samantha. Aidan’s girlfriend.”
“Yeah, love, I know who she is. I also know his last girlfriend keeps her horse here. You really want them running into each other?”
“Tonya hasn’t been around much lately.”
He stared at her.
“What? Am I supposed to tell her she can’t come because things might get awkward? She’s not some flighty airhead. And God knows she has to be aware of his history. If Tonya shows up, I’ll keep them apart. It’ll be fine.”
“Famous last words.”
“What?”
“Nothing, darling.”
~*~
At Emmie’s suggestion, Sam bought her sister a pair of cheap paddock boots, a helmet, and drove her out to Briar Hall for her very first riding lesson one cool, bright Saturday afternoon. At the Halloween party, Sam had admitted her struggles with Erin to Walsh’s old lady, and Emmie had immediately suggested lessons. “It can’t hurt,” she said. “And who knows, she might take to it.” Given that jazz, tap, chorus, gymnastics, piano, ballet and cheerleading had all failed to hold Erin’s interest, no, throwing horses on top of the pile couldn’t make her aimlessness any worse.
Erin stared out the car window, arms folded, frowning like a child during the drive. But when she climbed out of the car and saw Emmie coming toward them with a tacked-up chestnut gelding in tow, some of her belligerence melted.
Now, perched unsteadily up on Sherman’s broad back, Erin’s brow was crimped in concentration, listening intently to Emmie’s instructions as the horse plodded along at the end of a longe line.
“Good job,” Emmie said. “Thumbs up on top of the reins – there, there you go. Bring your shoulders back a little. Chin up. Good.”
Secondhand Smoke (Dartmoor Book 4) Page 25