“That tone sounds patronizing as fuck,” he murmurs, suspicion heavy in his tone. Then his voice lowers, deep anddangerous and so fucking enticing. “I really am the best, aren’t I? I can remind you right now if you’ve forgotten.”
I burst into laughter. “Hold your hormonal horses, mister. You can barely move.”
A slow, lazy smile curves his mouth. “The important part of me has no problem moving.”
“Ghost—” I start.
“Don’t,” he interrupts, his smile disappearing. His voice is barely above a whisper now. He takes a slow, shaky breath before speaking again. “I heard you. On that pavement. Before I blacked out.”
My stomach flips, then drops.
“You were screaming my name.”
That burning memory comes at me from all sides. I can still feel his blood coating my hands, the weight of him crushing my body. The fear that I’ve lost every possible outcome for our future together except one.
“Every time you call me Ghost, it feels like I’m getting sucker-punched in the ribs.” His throat works as he swallows. “When I heard you call me by my real name again, all the pain stopped.”
My chest squeezes so hard it steals my breath.
“So if I can get one thing,” he continues quietly, eyes locked on mine, “one term, one condition. You can even call it a wish, but this is the one I want.” A faint, tired smirk touches his mouth. “You can torture me with stories about all the asshole dickheads you want for the rest of my life. Every day. I’ll survive it.”
His voice cracks slightly.
“But just… please. Say my name.”
The room feels unbearably still.
“Okay,” I whisper, my voice scraped raw. “I’ll grant you your wish, Dominic.”
The name feels fragile on my tongue, but not foreign anymore. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve been using it all these weeks, calling him back to me. I’m already used to it again.
His eyes close, like something heavy has finally slid off his shoulders. His entire body seems to settle deeper into the mattress.
For a moment, he just breathes. Then he opens his eyes again, staring up at the ceiling.
“You know,” he murmurs, words slower now, “I wasn’t supposed to give you my real name when we first met. It used to be one of the club rules Pops had. No outsider was allowed to know it.” His gaze drifts to me. “Definitely not a beautiful girl you’re meeting for the first time.”
I trace my thumb gently over his knuckles, careful of the IV taped to his skin, sinking briefly back into the memory.
“I stunned you,” I tease lightly, squeezing his hand.
A tired huff escapes him.
“Yeah… you really fucking did.”
His eyelids droop. The effort of talking is clearly catching up to him. He turns his head slightly toward me, movements laden with exhaustion.
“I think…” he mumbles, voice fading, “I think you should kiss me now…”
His fingers tighten around mine, weak but stubborn. His eyes close. He’s already asleep before my lips even touch his.
38. Pomegranate
Adora
My sheets are too cold. Or too hot. I don’t know. All I know is they’re malfunctioning and pissing me off. That’s the only reasonable explanation for why I can’t sleep and keep tossing in bed.
Poor Gary left me hours ago, thoroughly offended by my refusal to stay still and let him sprawl across my shoulder.
