Page 217 of American Hellhound
He ached when he thought of that. She deserved better than that. So much better.
His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Kris made an exasperated sound. “I was telling the truth before. I get paid to tend bar and clean up. I’m not a slut, Roman.”
The swelling around his eye tugged when he frowned. Impatient, he swatted the ice pack away. “I didn’t say you were a slut. You’renot.”
“And you’re not hearing me.” She leaned in close, her breath clean and minty across his face. She hadn’t been drinking or smoking tonight; she didn’tdovices as a rule. “I’m not sleeping with any of them.”
His muddled, concussed brain struggled to keep up. “But…”
“I’m not.” He’d never seen her face so set, firm and implacable.
“You’re…not?”
“That’s what I just said!”
“Okay, okay. But…”
“What?”
“I thought…”
She sighed. “I know. But you were wrong. No offense.” She pressed the ice to his eye again.
Every second that he was conscious, he grew more alert, his vision cleared a little more. Which meant he was aware of his headache; it felt like a living thing behind his eyes, pounding in his temples. He wanted to shut his eyes and go to sleep.
A knock sounded at the door. It cracked open a moment later and Roman was convinced his concussion had launched him back in time, because it was the old Ghost, young and curly-headed, who stepped into the dorm, the pale-haired boy, Tango, on his heels. His stomach lurched – but then he blinked and realized it wasn’t Ghost, but Ghost’s kid. What was his name? Aidan. He was the spitting image, straight down to the scowl.
“Give us a minute?” he asked Kris, and she stood, nodding.
Roman wanted to ask her to stay…but she wasn’t his old lady. Wasn’t his anything, really. So he watched her go, hand curling around the ice pack where she’d left it on top of the covers. And then he was alone with the little prince and his sidekick.
Aidan folded his arms and propped a shoulder against the side of the room’s dresser. “Dude.” His brows went up. “You knew my dad in his heyday and you still thought it’d be a good idea to take him on?”
“I’m a little bit drunk.”
“Yeah, I figured.” Aidan’s face, in this light, looked eerily like his father’s. The slanted eyebrows, the smirk, the shadow of bristle on his chin. He didn’t have the same edge of cruelty, though. There was a hard-to-pin-down softness about his expression. Traces of forgiveness. “You get that no one’s messing with your girl, right? Nobody’s touched her.”
“She’s not my girl.”
“Uh-huh. Right.”
“She’s–” He tried to sit up and the room tilted sharply.
“You should sit still,” the friend suggested. What was his name? Samba? Some kind of dance. Cha-cha…Tango. It was Tango. Roman had no idea where Ghost had foundthatone: he looked like he belonged on a runway in Milan modeling androgynous leather jumpsuits. When he came forward to steady Roman with a hand on his shoulder, Roman noted that one of his ears was pink and ragged at the edge with scar tissue, and the other boasted a half-dozen shiny piercings, all the way up to the top of the cartilage.
“I’m fine,” Roman said, waving him off, though he was anything but. He felt like he was coming unglued, like the binding of an old book that had been dropped in a puddle, all his important hinges gummy and pulling apart.
Aidan studied him a long moment, until he wanted to squirm under the scrutiny. Finally, he said, “I wanted to make sure you’re not dead. You’re not. So.” He shifted toward the door, then pulled up. “You can stay here tonight, ‘til you feel good enough to ride.”
Thanksgot caught in Roman’s throat, and he didn’t voice it.
“Most people,” Aidan went on, “wouldn’t give you a second chance. Dad is. Don’t be a dick about it.”
~*~
Ghost woke the next morning with his face buried in Maggie’s soft, floral-smelling hair, pale stripes of early sunlight teasing at his closed eyes, heat humming through the vents. He woke to the knowledge that his family was under this roof, that in just another couple hours they’d all be awake and bustling about, pouring coffee, telling the new hangarounds to clean the place up, sipping spiked coffee to take the edge off their hangovers.
He smoothed his hand across the gentle swell of Maggie’s belly and smiled against the back of her neck. She murmured something in her sleep, but didn’t wake.
