Page 120 of American Hellhound
He noted the dark circles under her eyes, the way her lids twitched. The days were wearing her down –hewas, this stupid biker life of his.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, and her eyes snapped open. “Shit, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“I wasn’t asleep.” She pushed up on an elbow, concerned gaze flicking across his face, darting to the bandages that peeked from beneath his t-shirt. “How are you feeling?”
“What time is it?” he countered. The inside of his mouth felt and tasted like cotton. “Is there any water?”
“Yeah.” She rolled over and plucked a half-full glass off the nightstand. “How are you feeling?” she repeated when she rolled back, and attempted to press the glass to his lips.
He reached to take it from her, hissing as his side grabbed. “Worse off for the oxy, I think. I’ll be alright.”
She raked her nails through his hair as he drank, a gentle smile in her voice. “Not what I asked, but okay.” Answering his question: “It’s a little after nine.”
“Did…did James carry me out to the truck?”
“No, you woke up for that. Sort of. You walked and we steered you.”
He snorted. “Jesus.” He didn’t want to know how they’d gotten him up the stairs and into his own bed.
“Bonita gave me another pill if you need it.”
“Nah, I hate the way that shit makes me feel. I’ll just drink.”
“Yeah, that’s doctor recommended,” she said with an eye roll. Then she sobered. “Do you need to go to the ER? We could tell them it was a shop accident or something.”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Ghost.”
“You’re gonna wake up the kid.” He was being an asshole, but didn’t seem able to stop. He ground his jaw and realized that hurt too. “Why’s he in here anyway?” He could count on one hand the number of times Aidan had climbed into bed with him. Before Olivia left, the bedroom was a place of angry shouts and resentment. And after, of quiet misery. Aidan hadn’t sought comfort with his father through any of it.
“He was worried about you.” Maggie pinned him to the bed with a stern look. “We both were.”
He looked away from her, and the unrelentingcarein her gaze. The kind of care that gave his stubborn man-pride the finger. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled.
“Ghost,” she said, low. When he looked at her, his breath hitched. “What happened last night?”
He stared at her – her eyes looked green in the morning light – and he couldn’t give her a bullshit story. Some lie that he could take care of himself and that she shouldn’t worry.
It hurt to swallow. “I think Duane tried to have one of us killed.”
“Shit,” she breathed.
“And I think it was me.”
~*~
Aidan woke up after that, asking about breakfast, and they had to drop it for the time being. Maggie sent him out to watch TV – damn, the kid watched so much TV, as a means of distracting him from Serious Adult Topics, it was a miracle his brain wasn’t leaking out his ears – and she cleaned his wound and changed his bandages with brisk, but gentle, efficiency. She left him to get dressed and went to start breakfast.
It was a Tuesday, and he didn’t ask her why she was staying home – he knew he was the reason. Just like he didn’t insist on Aidan going.
His girlfriend and his son were both in school.Jesus. His poor mother was rolling in her grave.
After toast and bacon, Maggie gave him a careful scrutiny and said, “You doing alright?”
“Fine.”
They walked down to the parking lot and Aidan took off on his skateboard, back and forth tirelessly across the pavement, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration as he attempted, and failed over and over, to jump a stick he’d found earlier in the week.
