GHOST (Devil's Disciples MC Book 3)

by Scott Hildreth

  I offered a crooked smile and a nod. “Yes.”

  “You’re one hundred percent sure?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Both eyebrows raised. “Abby?”

  I sighed. “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  “Pardon me?” I blinked a few times. “I thought you said I love you.”

  “I did,” he said. “When I admitted it to myself, I knew I had to tell you everything. Now that I have, it’s time for me to be honest. I love you, and I can’t imagine living a single day without you. I want you in my life, now and forever.”

  I covered my mouth with my hand to prevent hyperventilation. After a moment of heavy breathing, I lowered my hand. “I love you, too I really do I think I have for a long time but I was too afraid to admit it I’m glad you finally said something because it was eating me up inside I went to talk to George about it God I love you.”

  He stood and stretched his arms wide.

  I wanted to attack him like a rabid spider monkey.

  He swept me from my feet and spun me around, so my back was to the wall. Then, he kissed me like I’d never been kissed. I couldn’t remember if Disney princes and princesses kissed, but if they did, their kisses would have been like that kiss.

  It was the perfect kiss. From the perfect man. On the perfect night. After the perfect fight to preserve our perfect relationship. And then, the perfect revelation.

  He loved me.

  And, he told me so in the perfect place.

  My favorite ice cream parlor.

  When our mouths parted, I began to cry.

  He wiped my tears away and looked into my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Number two on my list,” I blubbered. “I did it.”

  “We did it,” he said.

  I couldn’t wait to tell my mother and George. My father would shit a complete brick, but I didn’t care. He’d have to find a way to get over it.

  “I can’t wait to tell George,” I blurted.

  “Can we tell him together?” he asked.

  As far as I was concerned, we needed to start doing everything together. Except for pooping. Pooping was an alone activity, even if I was in love.

  I nodded eagerly. “When do you want to?”

  He looked at his watch. “How about now?”

  “What time is it?”

  His mouth twisted into a smirk. “He closes in fifteen minutes.”

  It was twenty-five minutes away, maybe more, depending on traffic. “Guess it’s a good thing I fell in love with a getaway driver,” I said. “You want to show me how you earned that nickname, Ghost?”

  22

  Ghost

  Despite my triple-digit high-speed run to the diner, the door was locked when we arrived. By my watch, we were a few minutes early. Abby, as excited as a kid on Christmas day, pounded on the door as if she was trying to knock it down.

  “He’s in the back,” she said. “He always cleans the kitchen last.”

  George peered over the ledge of the pass-through opening. After recognizing us, he shook his head and turned away. A moment later, he burst through the swinging doors and into the dining area.

  With his arms swinging at his sides and his head held high, he marched to the front door and removed the keys from his pocket.

  After fumbling with the lock for a moment, he pushed the door open just wide enough to fit his head in the crack. He glared at Abby. “What in the name of fuck is going on?” He shifted his eyes to me and grinned. “Evening, Porter.”

  I gave a nod. “George.”

  Abby tossed her hands high in the air. “We’re in love.”

  He glanced at each of us and then fixed his eyes on Abby. “You two have been drooling over each other since the first day you brought him in here. I’m not dirtying up my kitchen to celebrate something that I’ve been knowing for the last month or so.”

  “Stop being so grumpy,” she said. “I’m excited.”

  “I’m excited, too.” He grinned a cheesy tooth-revealing grin. “See?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “We saw Luke Westham at the Mission Valley Theater. He grabbed my arm and called Porter an asshole. Porter knocked him out cold.”

  He looked at me and arched one of his oversized eyebrows. “The creepy running back for the Chargers?”

  “That’s the one,” I said.

  “I’d planned on kicking that dip-shit’s ass myself, but he never cashed in the free lunch vouchers I sent him on Facebook.” He pushed the door open. “Well, hell’s bells, get your asses in here. That’s cause for celebration.”

  Abby walked past him and turned around. “You sent him lunch vouchers?”

  “Four or five times after that last series of emails he sent you. Told him he was a random winner. Offered all you can eat pancakes and ham for free. Son-of-a-bitch never showed up. Figured Lawson and I would tune him up if he did.”

  I laughed. “Which one’s Lawson?”

  “Tall kid with the scar on his face.”

  That would have been a fight worth seeing. Lawson was at least six-feet-six, and weighed two fifty, easily. His hands came to rest right beside his knees, which would have given him a six-inch reach on the football player.

  I chuckled. “You could have sold tickets to that fight.”

  “If they would have sold tickets to yours, there’d be a bunch of people wanting refunds,” Abby said with a laugh.

  “Why’s that?” George asked.

  “He hit him five times in two seconds, and then Luke fell in a pile,” Abby said. “It was over before it started.”

  George offered his hand. “Good work, Porter.”

  I shook his hand. “He got what he deserved.”

  “So.” He looked at Abby. “What’ll it be?”

  “To celebrate the fight?”

  He smiled a genuine smile. “Wasn’t falling in love item number two on the list?”

  “It was.”

  “Technically, we’re closed,” he said. “As long as no money changes hands, we can have a glass of champagne.”

  “You’ve got champagne?” Abby asked excitedly.

  “Got a couple of bottles in the back for such an occasion,” he said.

  Abby looked at me.

  I shrugged. “I’ve never been in love with anyone. It’s a pretty big deal for me.”

  “Big deal for me, too,” George said, shifting his eyes from Abby to me as he spoke. “Be right back.”

  In a few minutes, we were seated in Abby’s favorite booth, right next to the kitchen. Each of us had a ruby red plastic tumbler filled with champagne. George raised his over the center of the table.

  “Raise your glass for these two lost souls, for they’ve finally found their fate. May this toast keep them as one, ‘till they reunite at heaven’s gate.”

  We clanked our glasses together and took a drink.

  Abby lowered her glass. “I like that. Where’d it come from?”

  “I made it up,” George said.

  “Just now?” she asked.

  “Just now.”

  I liked what he said, short of the heaven’s gate thing. Nonetheless, I offered a smile and a nod. “That was nice.”

  “I’m about two percent Irish, according to that ancestry DNA thing,” he said. “The Irish always give witty toasts. I thought I’d make something up. Rolled off the tongue pretty easily.”

  “I liked it,” Abby said.

  “I hope this lasts forever,” George said. “If anyone deserves it, it’s the two of you.”

  Forever ended when either of our clocks stopped ticking. Although we were the same age, my forever and Abby’s forever weren’t the same. Since meeting Abby, I’d avoided questions about my condition, all but lying to her – and to myself – about the cancer that ate away at my chance of having a meaningful forever with her.

  Admitting that I loved her opened a floodgate of emotion, and of possibilities. I could see my future with her, and I liked what I saw. It was time for
me to cast my insecurities aside, become a responsible lover, and seek treatment for my cancer. I owed it to her, and to myself, to take care of my health the best that I was able.

  I took a silent sip of what remained of my champagne, hoping my decision wasn’t made too late.

  23

  Abby

  I sat in the waiting room of the cancer center with my purse in my lap and my heart in my throat. I’d give any amount of money to fix Porter’s condition, but I had no idea what it was or what he needed. He never spoke of the doctor, of his appointments, or of his recovery. He hated going to the meetings, and over the course of the time that we’d been together, had only gone to two.

  During a visit to his doctor two days prior, they scheduled another appointment at once. I was all too familiar with the research center, and knew if his appointment was there, that his condition wasn’t as good as I hoped it would be.

  Over the last seven weeks I’d told myself he was getting better. I convinced myself of it. In my mind, if he said nothing, it meant things were improving. I now felt like an ostrich that had buried its head in the sand.

  The unique smell of the research center brought back memories of my frequent visits. With them came a flood of recollections from my lengthy recovery. Losing weight until I weighed eighty-five pounds. Being covered in bruises. Vomiting day in, day out. Losing my hair. Praying. Losing my faith. Praying some more.

  Flushing the toilet twice became a habit that was difficult to break. I feared the chemicals would remain in my body forever. Then, after deciding I couldn’t go another round of therapy, I was told I had beaten the dreaded disease.

  I was a true survivor.

  My father said it’s not the dog in the fight, it’s the fight in the dog. My mother agreed, telling stories of how I was stubborn, even as a toddler.

  Now worried sick, I clutched my stomach and waited for Porter to return. I decided no matter what, he was going to have to start confiding in me exactly what his condition was. I was not going to allow him to shelter me from the truth any longer. We were a team, and we were going to get through the treatments together, regardless of the outcome of each visit.

  Just like George said, deception was the same as a lie. Porter not telling me about his doctor visits was the same as telling me an untruth. If he loved me – and I was sure that he did – he could tell me everything. He needed to tell me everything. If he did, as a team, we could get through anything.

  I clutched my purse, closed my eyes, and drew a deep breath.

  It’s me again, the girl with the potty mouth. I need another favor. I don’t ask for much. In fact, I’ve asked for nothing since I was in this room last. Considering what you did for me, I need to ask that you consider doing something for the man I love.

  He’s not close to you, and I know he won’t ask for anything. That doesn’t prevent me from asking that you bless him. I’d give anything to have you place your healing hand on his shoulder.

  Anything.

  If you’re able, and if you see him as fit for a better life on earth than in heaven, please consider blessing him with the power of healing. Despite some of the choices he’s made in life, he’s a good man.

  If you choose to answer this prayer, I reserve hope that it gives him the faith he needs to become closer to you.

  In your name I pray.

  Amen.

  I opened my eyes.

  I watched the minutes on my cell phone’s clock tick past, until another hour had passed. I checked the status of the purse I’d ordered online. I scrolled through my recent Instagram posts. I Googled brain tumors and read data until I was sick. I looked on Amazon for a new bicycle. I picked the sand out of the split soles of my beloved Converse. I twirled my hair. Just when I was on the verge of breaking down, the door beside me creaked open.

  I looked up. Porter stepped through the threshold and into the room. Glassy-eyed and expressionless, he pulled the door closed behind him. His eyes met mine.

  A tear rolled down his cheek.

  I stood and turned to face him.

  His upper body fell against the wall. He began to cry. “I can’t get my legs to work.”

  I joined him, blubbering for what I knew not. I knew, however, that I must remain strong for him. I somehow managed to walk the few steps that separated us. With tears rolling down both cheeks, Porter fell into my arms.

  While I held the man I so dearly loved against my chest, I said one more prayer. Not for healing, or for a miracle, but for strength.

  Strength that I knew he’d require to do something as simple as take a single step.

  After the quick prayer, I motioned toward the door. “Come on, sweetheart. We’re going home.”

  24

  Ghost

  I was in shock. I took two steps, stumbled, and braced myself against the wall. “Give me a minute. I can’t get my legs to work.”

  “Come on, sweetheart,” she said. “We’re going home.”

  I wanted to run all the way back to her house, screaming the entire way. Hand in hand, we’d run up the stairs – two at a time – and out onto the deck. We’d watch the sunset while we kissed and sipped champagne.

  But I couldn’t take one single step. Since seeing the results of the scan, my legs were made of rubber.

  I loved her with every ounce of my being. Her forever had somehow managed to grab ahold of my forever and take it with it, whisking it past the one obstacle that prevented us from having a future together.

  My outlook now included a long, prosperous life of loving one another.

  “Do I need to get a wheelchair?” she asked.

  “Just…” I paused and drew a breath. “Look at me.”

  She turned to face me. Tears streamed down her face. I wondered what she must be thinking, and realized she feared the worst.

  “The scan. They did two of them,” I said, my voice cracking from emotion. “Three, actually.”

  She bit against her lower lip and nodded. “We’ll get another opinion. We can fly you to Houston. Come on, let’s go. I hate this place. It stinks in here. The doctors are stupid, too. They don’t know shit.”

  “The tumor,” I muttered. “It’s…it’s gone.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “Gone?” Her eyes shot wide. “As in gone?”

  “Gone. Completely.” I pressed my palms to my thighs and struggled to catch my breath. “After the third test…they said what they believed was cancer was nothing but…an odd brain swelling. It was brought on from hitting my head…too many times. I’ve got a free bill of health. Well, kind of.”

  She raised both fists, looked at the ceiling, and shouted thank you.

  “Holy shit.” I drew a long breath and then shook my head. “I can’t believe this is over.”

  “You don’t have to come back?” she asked. “No more tests? They’re sure?”

  “That’s what took so long. They couldn’t believe it, either.”

  “It’s a miracle,” she said. “An answered prayer. Let’s celebrate.”

  She could believe what she wanted to believe. I knew it was nothing more than a misdiagnosis. A doctor pressed for time, attempting to make as much money as he could from HMO payments, scouring a series of images and making a rash judgement.

  Prayer, or no prayer, the outcome would be the same. It wasn’t close to a miracle. It was simple science. I hit my head, my brain swelled. According to the doctor, the three concussions I’d suffered hadn’t left me with much room for any more.

  “I can’t hit my head again,” I said. “They said it could cause severe damage. Brain damage.”

  “There’ll be no more fights with football players.” She adjusted her purse and gestured toward the door. “I can tell you that much.”

  I drew one last breath of the medicinal air, took her hand in mine, and smiled. “Let’s go plan our life together.”

  25

  Abby

  I’d spent nearly two months acting as if Porter’s condition wasn’t an issue, w
hile in the back of my mind the possibility of him truly being sick festered like an infectious wound. Now that the nightmare was over, it was time, as Porter said, to plan our life together.

  With Porter dressed in a new pair of swim shorts and me in a two-piece bikini, we sat on the deck and talked about renting surfboards.

  “I’m still processing it,” he said. “It’s crazy. After a scare like that, you look at life completely different. Completely.”

  Following my successful cancer treatment, the sky was bluer, trees were greener, and the air smelled fresher. I couldn’t spend enough time outdoors enjoying all of God’s offerings. I bought a bicycle, a pair of running shoes, and a shopping cart filled with running outfits.

  Within six months, I was running three days a week and riding my bicycle more than I drove. I focused on my YouTube channel, doing one high-quality video a week. I watched as my followers increased from two hundred thousand to over twenty million.

  Everything changed following my recovery.

  Everything.

  “I know exactly what you’re talking about,” I said. “After my tests came back clean, I kept waiting for the other foot to drop, but it never did. After that, I looked at life as a true gift. My to-do list grew from fifty things to two hundred in about a month.”

  “What’s left on it?”

  “Two things,” I responded. “There were three the other day, but I think we got one of them resolved.”

  “What’s that?” he asked. “I don’t remember you saying anything.”

  “One hundred and eighty-four. Rid myself of Luke Westham for good. At one point, I thought I was going to have to move to the Atlantic coast and change my name to Jennifer.”

  Porter let out a laugh. “We’ve seen the last of him, believe me. He got embarrassed in front of a room full of people that recognized him. He won’t show his face again. He’s too fucking embarrassed.”