“I know what the doctor said.” She cut him off, pushing herself to her feet with a grimace she tried to hide. “Rest. Hydrate. Don’t lift anything heavy. I’ve been following orders.”
“You’re pushing too hard.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m getting dressed. That’s hardly running a marathon.”
He knew she was right. Knew he was being unreasonable, overprotective to the point of smothering her.
She combed her fingers through her damp hair, wincing slightly when she hit a tangle. He took a step forward, but she threw out a hand, stopping him.
“Owen.” She waited until he met her gaze. “I need you to back off. And you need to go do whatever it is you do around here when you’re not playing nursemaid.”
He had been neglecting his responsibilities at the Ridge for days, but Walker hadn’t said a word about it—just nodded in that quiet way of his when Ghost had called to say he’d be staying with Naomi until she recovered.
But the thought of walking away, even for a few hours, made his chest tighten. “What if?—”
“Greta is coming over, so I won’t be alone.” She took his face between her hands and very lightly kissed his lips before pushing him toward the door. “Now go do your chores before I commit a felony. Like second-degree murder. I don’t want to see that scowl again until sundown, got it?”
He’d been about to remind her that she’d woken up screaming last night, but the look in her eyes had stopped him cold.
Fury.
Hence the nickname that fit her so well.
So that was how he found himself standing on his own front porch, the cabin door still vibrating from Naomi slamming it in his face. He couldn’t remember the last time someone hadthrown him out of a room. Probably never. Most people were too intimidated to try, and those who weren’t usually ended up regretting it.
The worst part was that Jax, River, and Bear were right there in Jax’s yard, witnessing his unceremonious ejection. Oliver Harmon ran wild circles around the adults, trailed by Echo and King. Cinder sat in her bed on the Hub’s porch, right where he’d left her hours ago, watching the chaos with a calm air of superiority, her front paws crossed. The regal tilt of her long nose said she’d never stoop to such antics.
Perfect. Just what he needed. Small talk.
For years, these old cabins had sat empty, windows blank and dark, nothing out here but foxes and wind and Ghost’s own restless brain. He’d liked it that way. Now there were people everywhere. Noise, mess, needs he wasn’t equipped to meet.
And Naomi, the one person he didn’t mind in his space. And she was shutting him out.
He scowled at the cabin door.
River didn’t even try to hide his smirk as he leaned against the split-rail fence, arms crossed over his chest. “Trouble in paradise?”
Ghost ignored him, jaw clenched as he descended the porch steps. He was wound tight after three days of barely sleeping, of watching Naomi for any sign of distress, of changing bandages and making sure she took her meds on time. Three days of keeping his hands to himself when all he wanted was to pull her close and make sure she was real, that she was safe, and that no one could take her from him again.
His fingers curled into his palms, the nails biting into his skin. The pain helped ground him. Centered him when everything inside felt like it was spinning out of control.
“Let me guess. She finally got tired of you hovering like a helicopter parent?”
Ghost shot him a look that would have silenced most men. But not River fucking Beckett. The man had no sense of self-preservation. “I wasn’t hovering.”
“Right,” River drawled. “And I don’t have a criminal record.”
River snorted.
“I don’t hover.”
“Riiight,” River drawled and started toward the barn as Boone shouted his name. “And I don’t have a criminal record.”
Ghost turned away, intending to stalk off to wherever River wasn’t going to be, but a small voice called out, and he froze mid-stride. Of course, it had to be the one person in the world he couldn’t ignore.
Oliver.
“Ghost! Ghost!”
