Page 4 of Ghost's Revenge
"No problem. I just wanted to check in. See how you're feeling about everything."
Everything. Such a small word for the complete destruction of the life I thought I was building. Everything encompasses fleeing in the middle of the night with nothing but the clothes on our backs and the money I'd been secretly saving for months. Everything includes the bruises on my ribs that are finally starting to fade and the way I still reach for my wedding ring before remembering I threw it in a gas station trash can somewhere outside Bakersfield.
"I'm grateful to be here," I say. "But I know this is temporary. I need to find a job, save up enough for our own place. I don't want to take advantage of—"
"Debbie." Sarah's voice is gentle but firm. "You're not taking advantage of anything. This is what the shelter is for. And there's no rush. You and Tyler are safe here, and that's what matters right now."
Safe. The word should comfort me, but it doesn't. Safety feels like something that can be taken away without warning, like something I don't deserve to want.
"There is one thing I wanted to discuss with you," Sarah continues. "We've had some... security concerns lately. Nothing that directly affects us, but people have suggested we might benefit from some additional protection."
My blood turns to ice. "What kind of security concerns?"
"There was some trouble in town with a biker club a few days ago. It's been resolved, but as a precaution, we're going to have someone keeping an eye on the shelter. Someone who can make sure we stay safe."
"Someone like who?" But even as I ask the question, I already know the answer.
"The Outlaw Order MC has volunteered to help with security. I know how that might sound, but they've been nothing but supportive of what we do here. They've donated money, helped with repairs, even provided transportation for women who needed to get to court hearings."
The biker. The man who's been watching the shelter, watching me. My hands clench in my lap as panic starts to build in my chest.
"I don't... I'm not comfortable with that."
Sarah leans forward, her expression understanding. "I know it's not ideal. But Debbie, these men aren't like the ones we're hiding from. They've helped other women in situations just like yours. They understand what you've been through."
"No one understands what I've been through." The words come out harsher than I intended, and I immediately regret them. Sarah has been nothing but kind to us. "I'm sorry. I just... I don't trust easily anymore."
"You don't have to trust them right away. But I need you to trust me. I would never put you or Tyler in danger. If I thought for one second that having them around would make things worse for any of you, I wouldn't allow it."
I want to argue, want to grab Tyler and run again, but where would we go? I have forty-three dollars to my name and a four-year-old who needs stability more than he needs another hotel room with broken air conditioning and neighbors who party until three AM.
"When does this... arrangement start?"
"Officially? Tomorrow. And Debbie? The man they're assigning is their vice president. Derek Sullivan. Ghost, they call him. He might look intimidating, but Annie says he's the one who saved her from her ex when he tried to drag her out of the grocery store. He never said a word to her, never asked for thanks. Just made sure she got home safe."
Ghost. Even his name sounds dangerous.
But Sarah's eyes are steady and sure, and I've learned to read people pretty well over the past year. She believes what she's telling me. She trusts this man to keep us safe.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "But if I say he needs to go—"
"Then he goes. No questions asked." Sarah smiles. "You have more power here than you think, honey. Don't forget that."
I nod and stand to leave, but her voice stops me at the door.
"Debbie? He's already watched the shelter a few times before. If he meant to hurt anyone, he would have done it by now."
The realization that my instincts were right, that he has been watching us, should terrify me. Instead, I find myself remembering the way he sat on his motorcycle. Alert but not aggressive. Watchful but not predatory. Like a guard dog rather than a wolf.
I find Tyler in the living room, crashed out on the couch with his toy cars scattered around him like fallen soldiers. He's exhausted. We both are. Running for your life is harder than they make it look in movies, especially when you're responsible for someone smaller than yourself.
I gather up his toys quietly, not wanting to wake him yet. He's been having nightmares since we left. Dreams where his daddy finds us and takes him away from me. The child psychologist Sarah arranged for us to see says it's normal, that kids Tyler's age often blame themselves when their parents split up. She says it will get better with time and consistency.
I hope she's right. I hope a lot of things will get better with time.
Through the window, I can see the street where the biker—Ghost—was parked earlier. It's empty now, but I have the strangest feeling that he's still out there somewhere. Still watching. Still making sure we're safe, even though we're strangers to him.
It's been so long since anyone tried to protect me that I've forgotten what it feels like. David used to say he was protecting me, but his protection always came with conditions, with rules about what I could wear and who I could talk to and how Ishould spend every minute of my day. His protection was a cage disguised as concern.
