Ghost stared at her, this fierce, brilliant woman who’d crashed into his carefully constructed isolation and rearranged everything. Who’d seen his darkness and hadn’t flinched. Who’d whispered “I love you” when she thought he might die. They hadn’t spoken of it since—that confession hanging between them, acknowledged but undefined.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, its brass surface worn smooth from years of use. “Here,” he said, extending it toward her. “Take it. Keep it.”
“Ghost, I can’t just?—”
Jesue, when had she gone back to calling him by his nickname? And why did it fucking hurt so much?
“You can,” he interrupted, pressing the key into her palm. “It’s a key, Fury. Not a kidney.”
She looked down at the small piece of metal, then back at him, understanding dawning in her eyes. It wasn’t just access to a building he was offering—it was access to his space, his sanctuary, the place where he felt most himself. It was a door left open, a possibility.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, closing her fingers around the key. She hesitated a beat longer, like she wanted to say more, but then turned away without uttering a word.
He watched her go, the ache in his side suddenly insignificant compared to the one in his chest.
Then Cinder was there, pressing her warm weight against his leg, her eyes fixed on his face with quiet understanding.
Ghost reached down, burying his fingers in her thick fur, letting her solid presence anchor him in the moment.
Then River’s voice cut through the evening air, something about “mandatory shots,” which was ridiculous since half the men at the Ridge were sober.
Not that long ago, he would have retreated from the noise and chaos, sought the safety of solitude. Now, with Cinder leaning against him and the repaired mug in his hand, Ghost surprised himself by not minding the pull toward the strange, makeshift family they’d created in this corner of Montana.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, the thought of belonging didn’t feel like a trap.
He turned and walked toward his brothers with a grin.
“Oh, shit,” River said with a mock gasp of horror and glanced around frantically. “Casper’s smiling. Is it the end of the world? Did hell just freeze over?”
Ghost gave him both middle fingers.
forty-five
The cracklingof the dying fire accompanied the sound of boots on gravel as the others drifted toward the bunkhouse, their laughter and voices fading with distance.
Ghost remained seated by the fire pit and lit a cigar he absolutely wasn’t supposed to have as he watched the flames fade to glowing embers.
His repaired mug sat empty beside him, the gold-filled cracks catching the dying firelight. He traced one with his thumb, feeling the slight ridge beneath his calloused skin.
Naomi was at the Hub right now.
Packing.
Leaving.
The thought lodged in his chest like shrapnel, but he made no move to stop her. She’d been pulling away since the night he was shot, and he couldn’t blame her. The bullet had changed things between them—or perhaps just accelerated what was inevitable. People left. They always did.
The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks upward.
He reached for another log, then stopped himself. Let it die. There was a symmetry to it that suited his mood—light fading todarkness, warmth to cold, presence to absence. The story of his life, reduced to elemental transformation.
The night air sharpened as the temperature dropped, carrying the mingled scents of pine, stew smoke, and approaching winter. His breath fogged in front of his face, and the wound in his side throbbed with the cold, but still he didn’t move. As if by remaining perfectly still, he could somehow pause time itself, prevent the inevitable moment when Naomi would drive away from Valor Ridge, taking with her the strange, uncomfortable hope that had been growing in him like a weed through concrete.
A warm weight pressed against his leg. Cinder had settled beside him, her dark eyes reflecting the dying firelight as she rested her muzzle on his knee.
“Just you and me again, girl.”
The dog tilted her head, ears perked forward as if she disagreed with his assessment. She’d been doing that a lot lately—challenging him with looks that seemed too knowing for a canine.
