Page 72 of Fearless

Ava lay on the sofa, asleep, propped on a pillow with her damp hair curling down her back. Without makeup, wearing one of Ghost’s t-shirts and sweatpants, she’d obviously showered not long before. The TV was on some MTV reality drivel.

As she progressed down the hall, Maggie heard the dryer tumbling something heavy. Across the hall, Ava’s bedroom door stood open, and Maggie shot a cursory glance – something askew. Something off.

The bed was missing its white comforter, stripped down to the pale yellow sheets and tattery old patchwork quilt.

Maggie poked her head into the laundry closet’s half-open doors. Caught a whiff of bleach.

Her stomach tightened as mother’s intuition began firing impossible theories through her mind.

No, she told herself.Don’t jump to crazy conclusions.

But her own life at Ava’s age had been too crazy to ever predict. She didn’t like the direction her thoughts went, but she liked the idea of giving voice to them even less.

Ava woke to the smell of baked chicken and mushroom wild rice pilaf. She drifted up from sleep and realized she was still on the couch, that she had a crick in her neck from sleeping funny, that her eyes were puffy and bruised from crying, and that her body ached and flamed in ways she’d never anticipated. Muscles unknown before today caught and yelped as she eased to a sitting position. And the throbbing between her legs had nothing to do with desire now.

“Shit,” she whispered between her teeth. “Oh, shit.”

“Ava, are you up?” Maggie called from the kitchen, and she wondered if maybe she’d misjudged her own whispering.

“Yeah,” she called back. “Coming.”

It was full dark now, the sky diamond-studded with stars through the windows. Someone – Dad, most like – had changed the channel to a documentary about the history of handguns, and then left the room. The kitchen was ablaze with light, and Ghost was already at his seat, Maggie bringing the last of the serving dishes to the table. Aidan, surprisingly, was in attendance, his nighttime riding goggles pushed up into his wild hair, the sleeves of his flannel shirt bunched up over his elbows.

“You’re here?” she asked as she took her place across from him.

“How ‘bout ‘ glad you’re here, Aidan,’ ‘so great to see you, bro,’ ‘ I miss you when I don’t get to see your beautiful face at the dinner table, best brother ever.’ ”

“How ‘bout you try being the best brother ever,” she returned, too tired to put any bite into her voice.

“How ‘bout you both eat and don’t act like little shits,” Ghost suggested as he accepted the green peas from Maggie and spooned up a portion.

Aidan made the stupidest face at her and she was forced to laugh.

“Mom, you should have gotten me up,” she said to Maggie as the rice was passed around. “I could have helped you with dinner.”

Maggie scooted her chair forward and gave her an elegant nose-wrinkling. “That’s okay, baby. You were tired.”

What was that? Flicker of question in the way Maggie blinked? Suspicion? Curiosity? Tired from what, Ava?Tired from what?

“Besides, you woulda burned the shit out of this.” Aidan forked two chicken thighs onto his plate.

“I can cook.”

“In your Fisher Price plastic kitchen.”

“Aidan,” Maggie said as Ghost began to reprimand both of them again. “Where’s Tango tonight? He knows he’s always welcome at the table.”

“Oh, he went to see his aunt…”

And on the story continued, the saga of Tango’s poor ailing aunt who’d been the only maternal figure in the guy’s life prior to joining the club. Now he had Mags and Ghost and the whole rest of the crew to love him, but his aunt had been his only salvation at one point, and he paid to keep her in the best nursing home he could afford, with a little financial help from his club brothers here and there.

Ava was sympathetic to the situation – she loved Tango like a brother (more than her actual brother, most of the time) – but her mind wandered. She’d half-expected a phone call from Mercy. Even a text. A simple:r u ok?But no, there’d been nothing. He’d fled the house before with shame and regret dogging his heels. He’d made it perfectly clear that she was too young, and he didn’t go for that sort of thing, and it would be a bad idea for them to cross those lines.

Well, okay, but now the lines were good and crossed. Was he going to pretend nothing had happened?Couldhe do that? Yeah, he could. He wasn’t like her. He wasn’t full to the brim with tears and longing and mashed feelings.

“You’re quiet,” Ghost said, and she jerked, realizing she must have zoned out for several minutes, because now Aidan was talking about an annoying customer who’d come into the shop that day.

Her face heated. “Just tired,” she muttered, dropping her head over her plate.

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