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He jumps like I electrocuted him, raising his hands up by his head in a futile attempt to be playful. I don’t cling to him or force the contact, but I do hang on long enough to say, “Thank you. For everything.”
Murder’s eyes are saucers, like he thinks Mayhem might go off and bite me at any moment. But the look on his face is anything but aggressive.
He looks like his heart got ripped out.
“Nothing to thank me for,” he says, stepping back carefully. “I didn’t do shit. Hug Murder. He’s softer than me, anyway, y’know. Dad bod or whatever.”
Murder is a brick wall, and the huff he lets out makes me think it’s an inside joke. But I don’t go for it.
“I’ll hug him, too,” I say. “But you did. You got the sign, and you saved my life yesterday.”
Mayhem crosses his arms. “The sign is the worst damn thing on the market.”
“It’s still a sign,” I say. “Still something you went out for. And I bet you got the streamers, too, right? The effort is there. And I see it, and I appreciate it. And… I appreciate you both. And I’m sorry I haven’t been very friendly with either of you yet, and the stress I put you through.” I meet Ghost’s tender gaze and tip my head forward. “All of you.”
He retakes my side, and while his hands are possessive and loving, Mayhem’s short scoff is nothing short of disgusted.
“I… You—you know what?” He hisses, then thinks better of whatever came to mind. He gulps and lets out a short, deranged laugh, looking at Ghost. “Well, this was fun. A great time. We should do this every year. I’m gonna get some air. And some alcohol.”
To my surprise, Ghost doesn’t say anything, just lets Mayhem nearly run out the door.
“Well, then.” Murder shakes his head. “He’s always like that. Thank you, Luce, that was…very nicely put. We’re just glad you’re home.”
My stomach hurts, but I make myself smile at him, looking up at Ghost for guidance.
He kisses me quick, nodding toward the door. “Give us the room.”
Eustice pats my shoulder as she and Murder exit, the doors swinging shut loudly behind them.
“Don’t—”
“Is Mayhem okay?” I ask at the same time Ghost starts talking, but my words come out in a rush and cut him off. “Should someone go find him? I know he’s not mad at me, I mean, I think I know that, but he looked so sad and—and I, should someone…”
“Lucy,” Ghost says firmly, pressing his thumb to my mouth and tipping my head back. “Breathe.”
I do.
“Good,” he says. “No, I’m sure he’s not alright. No, he’s not mad at you. He has his own demons to fight, and he likes to fight them alone most days.” My distress must still be evident, because he kisses me and adds, “I’ll have Murder tail him.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
He shoots off a text to his brother and then turns his phone off, pocketing it and gesturing up to the stage. “Suits you, don’t you think?”
“Me?” I balk. “I—oh, gosh. It’s stunning, Ghost, but, sheesh.”
He takes my hand and leads me up the stairs, escorting me to center stage, right behind the microphone. I give it a cursory tap, smiling to myself as I look out at the endless rows of seats. It seems a lot bigger from this side.
Ghost descends the stairs alone, making his way back to the center seat in the front row. He crosses his ankles and leans back, that hooded, fiery look on his face from when he had me bent over in front of the mirror.
“Yes,” he says, “you were made for a stage.”
A blush takes my whole face, and I grab the microphone playfully. Anxiety rolls off me in waves, leaving me feeling cold and hoping I’ll sink into the floor.
“Do you not agree?”
I shrug, trying not to let him see my discomfort. I don’t want him to think I’m insulting him again. It’s not his fault I’m a mess. “I, um… I’m not sure?” I say, gesturing beside him. “I think I’d look better out there, with you.”
My lack of exuberance confuses him, and I make myself smile, fidgeting with the mic stand. I don’t dare look away from him, though, knowing he’ll see right through me.
