Ghost’s throat tightened. The image of a little Naomi darting through yards to avoid getting her hair braided hit him unexpectedly hard. He could almost see it—a miniature version of her zipping between houses, laughing, wild and free.
“Your family sounds... real,” he said, unsure how else to put it.
“Real messy, maybe,” she replied with a soft laugh. “But yeah. We’re loud and chaotic and drive each other crazy, butwe’re there when it counts. Most of us, anyway.” A pause. “You never had that, did you?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
The apology should have pissed him off. Coming from anyone else, he thought it probably would have.
But somehow, coming from Naomi, it felt genuine. Like she wasn’t just going through the motions of sympathy, but actually felt the absence in his life.
“Don’t need it,” he said, but without heat. “Can’t miss what you never had.”
“Bullshit,” she replied immediately. “Everyone needs connection. It’s hardwired into us.”
He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with how easily she cut through his defenses. “Speak for yourself.”
“I am. And for you too.” Her voice softened. “I’m not saying you need to suddenly become a social butterfly or start hugging strangers. But you called me, Ghost. At midnight. Because something broke, and it mattered, and you needed someone to hear that.”
She was right. He had called her. Without planning, without strategy. Just reached for the phone because, in that moment, her voice was the only thing that made sense.
“I shouldn’t have bothered you,” he said.
“You didn’t bother me.” A pause, then: “I’m glad you called.”
He closed his eyes, letting those words sink in, and they sat together in silence for several comfortable seconds.
“Hey, Owen?”
He blinked, startled by the use of his actual name. “Yeah?”
“I’m talking to Craig Foster first thing tomorrow morning. If you can get the time off from the ranch, I’d…” She hesitated. “I’d like for you to be there with me.”
For a moment, he couldn’t speak. She wanted him there. Not because she needed protection or because she was scared, but because she’d chosen him.
“What time?” he managed, his voice coming out rougher than he wanted.
“Eight. I want to catch him at his office before he starts his day.”
He nodded, forgetting for a second that she couldn’t see him. “I’ll be there.”
Another silence stretched.
He cleared his throat. “Guess I should let you sleep.”
“Not tired,” she said softly.
“Me neither.”
He didn’t want to hang up. Not yet.
But eventually, she said, “Good night, Ghost.”
He almost wished she’d said his real name again, but that was greedy. “Good night, Naomi.”
He waited until the line went dead, then kept holding the phone anyway.
