Ghost took a sip of coffee to avoid responding. The liquid scalded his tongue, but he welcomed the burn. It gave him something to focus on besides the hollow feeling in his chest, the constant hum of vigilance that hadn’t left him since he’d found Naomi in that clearing.
“Boone mentioned you called Isolde,” Walker said, changing tack so abruptly that Ghost nearly choked on his coffee.
He set his mug down carefully, but didn’t comment.
“I get it. You thought she had Naomi,” Walker continued, “but now that we know she didn’t…” He trailed off and waited a beat. When Ghsot didn’t fill the silence, he finished, “I have concerns. Is she going to be a problem for the Ridge?”
“No.” Of that, at least, he was one-hundred percent certain.
Walker took a sip of his coffee. “What about you? Is she going to be a problem for you?”
“No.” Ghost kept his gaze steady, not breaking eye contact with Walker. Despite her threats, Isolde wouldn’t try anything. She knew he still had the intel that could nuke her career.
“You sure about that?” Walker’s voice held no judgment, just quiet concern. “Because last time she blew through here, you disappeared for three days and came back looking like you’d gone ten rounds with your own demons.”
Ghost’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like being reminded of that weakness. It had happened during his first month at Valor Ridge. She’d tracked him down and offered him his old life back. He hadn’t trusted her, but he also still hadn’t been sure he belonged at the Ridge, so he’d agreed.
Or at least that was the reason he’d told himself.
But the reality of it was he’d agreed because she’d had her claws so deep into him that even after her betrayal, even after losing eight years of his life, he’d been unable to tell her no.
And Walker knew that.
He shook his head. “It’s different now.”
“Because of Naomi?”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Walker had always been too perceptive for his own good, reading people like they were open books.
Most of the time, Ghost appreciated that quality. Right now, not so much.
Walker studied him over the rim of his mug. “She’s good for you.”
Ghost shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking. “She doesn’t need someone like me in her life.”
A slow smile spread across Walker’s face. “You know who else sat there just a few months ago and said the exact same thing? Jax. And I’ll tell you what I told him. I think that’s her decision to make, don’t you?”
The words hit too close to the truth, and Ghost looked away, focusing on the photographs lining the wall. Men with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Brothers in everything but blood. The kind of connections he’d spent years avoiding.
“You know what your problem is?” Walker asked after a beat.
Ghost snorted. “I only have one?”
“You’re waiting for someone to tell you you’ve earned your place here.”
His gaze shot to Walker as his stomach bungeed uncomfortably into his throat. “What?”
Walker nodded. “Yeah, that’s exactly it. And I’m not going to that, because I don’t think it needs to be said. But I will remind you—you wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy with words Ghost couldn’t bring himself to say. The weight of his past pressed down on him, the ghosts that had earned him his name following him even here, to this sanctuary Walker had built.
Then: “I used to think staying alive was enough. But now she’s here. And it’s not.”
Walker’s expression softened. “Good. That’s growth.”
“It’s vulnerability.”
Walker shrugged. “Same thing.”
