Page 193 of American Hellhound
He made a face. Not one of his usual scowls or frowns, but an honest-to-goodnessface, like he was in his twenties again.
Maggie laughed. “You walked right into that one, baby. Sorry.”
He took a deep breath and let himself relax visibly when he exhaled, shoulders slumping. He got tension headaches sometimes from holding himself so stiff and upright, trying to look in-control and presidential at all times. She rubbed his neck and shoulders most nights, sometimes with him sitting at the kitchen table, elbows braced on its surface. She’d work at the knots with her fingers until she finally found theonethat unlocked all the rest, and he went limp as a rag doll, groaning, head falling forward into his hands.
She hadn’t done that in a while, not since this whole mess started.
So many things were falling by the wayside in the wake of club trouble. New baby included.
“Hey,” he said, voice low, unguarded. His at-home voice, reserved for dark nights and soft sheets. His eyes softened when he used that voice, became fresh coffee instead of onyx. “I keep asking if you’re okay. But…are you happy about this?” His hand moved to her belly, cupping an as-of-yet imaginary roundness there. “Do you want it?”
“Kenny,” she chastised.
“No, I mean it. Do you want this? Are you happy about it? We’re – shit, we’re not young anymore, Mags.” His smile was sideways, a little desperate. Scared. “I mean…diapers, and puke, and toys all over the house, and not getting any sleep…”
There was an ache starting up in her chest, a deep phantom pain that had nothing to do with sickness and everything to do with the terror in her man’s eyes. “Ghost.”
“This life? It doesn’t guarantee retirement. The only reason James got to step down is because he was a pussy who didn’t do any of the heavy lifting – no, he was. He was a figurehead. I’m grateful he was there, when I wasn’t ready to take the chair yet, but shit, you know me. You think I’m gonna get to be old and gray and have to hang up my cut ‘cause of, what, arthritis or some shit?”
“Fifty-two isn’told.”
“When this kid’s twenty, I’ll beseventy-two. Jesus Christ, Mags. And that’s if I live that long.”
“Stop.” Her heart fluttered. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down, told herself that just because he was panicking, didn’t mean she needed to as well. “You aren’t old.I’mnot old. Nobody’s dying early, alright? I forbid it.”
His head kicked back. “Youforbidit?”
“You’re damn right I do. This is our second baby. Yourthird. And we’ve got more money and a better house than we did last time around. Why should this be scary?”
The answer hung unsaid between them:because it just is.
Maggie sighed. “Guess you answered your own question.You’renot happy about it.”
“What? No. I am.”
“Sure.”
“Mags, Iam. I’m stressed out. Obviously.” He made a gesture that was somehow self-deprecating. “But.” He hooked two fingers in the front of her jeans and tugged her in close, so she had to tip her head back to look up at him, stomach flipping in a positive way this time. “Having a baby with you is always gonna make me happy.”
He still, after all these years, had the ability to make her melt. Not because he was a poetic man, if anything, because he wasn’t. Because, plainspoken and graceless as he was, when he told her sweet things, they carried weight, and she believed him.
He pressed his lips to her forehead. “You just gotta make sure I do a good job, okay?”
She slipped her arms around his waist. “Okay. I can do that.”
~*~
The call came in to the clubhouse landline. They were almost done with breakfast, the kids squirming to get down and play, conversation beginning to eclipse the scrape of cutlery on plates. On the first ring, everyone went silent, save Millie, who continued to fuss quietly in Ava’s arms. By the second ring, Ratchet was already halfway across the room, snatching the cordless handset up and answering with a polite, “Hello?”
They’d talked about this before; Ghost didn’t need to answer the phone himself. A subtle show of power.
Gazes darted around the table.
Ghost pushed his chair back.
“Yeah,” Ratchet said into the phone. “Yeah, hold on.”
Ghost met him part way and carried the phone back into the hallway. “Yeah?”
