Page 151 of American Hellhound
“Oh.” He sat up straighter, like he’d been caught off guard. “Hello.” His gaze shifted from Maggie to Ghost, and back again with a snap, like he didn’t want to be caught staring. He cleared his throat, a somehow delicate sound. “I didn’t know you were bringing your friend,” he said to Maggie, offering a small half-smile that said he was trying, trying really hard, and he didn’t want to hurt her.
Ghost felt his jumpy stomach settle. He figured this guy, no matter how polite and well-bread, would cheerfully murder him if given the chance, but he was going to be kind and polite for Maggie’s sake. Ghost could handle murderous fathers; what he cared about was Mags getting the respect she deserved.
“He’s the reason I made the appointment,” Maggie said, voice oddly gentle, like she was speaking to a child. It was the voice she used on Aidan when he was reluctant to go to bed at night. She settled into one of the two leather chairs across from the desk. “I –wehave a favor to ask.”
Ghost sat down next to her; he imagined the chair protested, not wanting his ratty Levi’s to touch its butter-soft leather.
“What sort of favor?” her father asked, brow furrowing. In the slant of incoming sunlight, Ghost could see a fine sheen of sweat gathering at his temples.
Maggie started to respond, but Ghost beat her to it. He couldn’t sit here like a putz and let her make his case for him. Not to start with, at least. “I wanna open a garage,” he said, almost not recognizing his own voice, the low, deferential tone of it. “A legitimate one.” Shit, that made him sound like he didillegitimatethings. Which he did. “For the club.”
Arthur stared at him, worry in his eyes.
Ghost wanted the fancy carpet to roll back and swallow him up.
“He’s got some really great ideas,” Maggie said, “and a business plan all worked out. It’ll be a great place – less expensive, and better expertise than the other places in town.”
“I need a loan,” Ghost said. “Please. Sir. I…” He felt like a moron. A low rent, no account idiot who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as the classy girl beside him.
“Can you help us with the paperwork, Dad?” Maggie asked.
“I…” Arthur’s gaze pinged between them, stricken. “I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than paperwork.”
“Whatever you can do, then,” she amended. “Please, Dad, it’s…it would mean a lot.”
He stared down at his hands a moment, thumbs fidgeting. “Can…” he started, and trailed off.
Ghost felt Maggie’s hand on his arm. “Can you give us a minute?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he was out in the hall and the door had clicked shut. Then he sucked in a deep, desperate breath, dizzy suddenly.
There was a window at the end of the hall, framed by potted palms, a bench with a velvet seat set beneath. He walked down to it on unsteady legs and flopped down sideways on the bench, glanced out through the window at the parking lot, the orange and yellow leaves collecting in the gutters, the steakhouse next door hosting a late lunch crowd. He could almost imagine he smelled beef on the grill, and swallowed, the phantom scent making him nauseous.
He hadn’t anticipated having a physical reaction like this. He felt sixteen himself, that nervous, sweaty-palmed kid who’d been nothing but “yes, sir” and “no, sir” to Duane, his new cut shiny and flawless. The last few years, the people around him inspired humor, revulsion, sometimes affection. But this kind of nervousness had become foreign. He felt like a green colt, wobbly in the knees and short of breath. He might have given Maggie’s parents the figurative finger, might have stolen her away, ruined her, and deepened the rift in the family. All of that he’d done without undue regret.
But here in this bank, sitting across from her father – asking him for a favor – he was painfully aware that he’d stolen the innocence of someone’s little girl. That man in there had changed her diapers, had walked her to school, had bought the dress she was wearing, and in waltzed Ghost, degenerate outlaw, deadbeat dad, asking for money.
The worst part was, the part that made his nausea spike, was the knowledge that he wasn’t going to do the right thing and take a step back. Wasn’t going to let her go. Wasn’t going to apologize to her dad and say he wished things had gone differently – because he didn’t wish that. He was a bastard, and he had her, and he loved her, and he wouldn’t trade her for a damn thing, no matter how much he’d damaged her.
He could sit on a fancy bench and sweat, though, so that’s what he did, right up until the office door opened and Maggie waved him toward her.
She was smiling when he reached her, though her eyes looked damp. “You’ve got the loan,” she whispered, and ushered him inside.
~*~
Maggie waited to tell him. Until after every last bit of paperwork had been signed, and Ghost and her dad had shared an uneasy handshake and Ghost had said “thank you” like he had something lodged in his throat. Until they’d left the bank and Ghost, grinning like it was Christmas, offered to buy her lunch at the steakhouse next door. She would have waited until they were at a table, but she didn’t have the heart to do it in front of a dining room full of steak-eaters.
“Wait,” she said, as they were standing beside her car, catching at his sleeve.
“What?” His grin, when he turned to her, was wide, true. It was beautiful, and it pained her to watch it dim as he took in her expression. “What?” he repeated, concerned now. “You okay?”
“Maybe we should sit down,” she suggested.
“Mags,” he said, sharply.
“I’m fine. Come on, let’s get in the car.”
