She let Ronnie help her around the side of the building, halfway toward the parking lot in rear, and then she shook him off and pressed her back to the brick façade of the bar, sighing deeply, and drawing back in the river-smell.
“Is the world spinning?” he asked, softly.
She closed her eyes. “Yeah.”
She felt him move in close to her, that shift in the air, the subtle brush of warmth down the length of her as he pressed her back against the wall and kissed her.
Ava kept her eyes shut, clutched at his shoulders, and pretended he was someone else.
**
A few hours and a hot shower cleared the fuzziness from her head, leaving her just tired, her muscles loose and relaxed, her heart heavy. It was almost midnight when she left the bathroom in her pajamas, shaking out her hair and working her sore scalp with her fingertips, on her way to check that Ronnie was all set on the sofa.
He was already passed out, curled on his side in a way that made him look about twelve, face pressed deep in the pillow.
The lights were on in the kitchen, she saw, and then she heard the distinct crackle of paper.
Go to bed, her common sense told her, but she went into the kitchen instead.
Ghost sat at the table, what looked like a map spread before him. He held a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, and made notations on a notepad with the other, frowning to himself, lips moving as he held up his end of some silent argument.
Ava tried to back away silently, but his head snapped up, dark eyes fixing her in place.
“I thought you were in bed.”
Her stomach squeezed in that old unpleasant way. She kept waiting for that magic age after which he’d stop being an indifferent drill sergeant. Twenty-two wasn’t it. “On my way there,” she said, and started to turn.
“Ava.” To her surprise, his expression went through a strange sequence of twitches, like he was trying to soften it and wasn’t quite sure how. Unless he was giving her that proud papa grin, he was either blank or stern in front of her. It was Maggie who got the softer side – sometimes. Nevertheless, Ava saw a struggle in him, a hilarious effort toward kindness. “Sit down a sec.”
She pulled out the chair across from him and glanced at the map, briefly, before giving him her full attention. The simple, single-bulb chandelier painted dark valleys in his sun-battered face, drawing lines and cracks, shining against the worn leather along his cheekbones. They were not smooth men, the bikers in her life, not fine, or well-loved by Mother Nature. The life – the wind, the sun, the drink, the sin, the violence – it took their soft layers away like sandpaper, over time, until there was a certain stark pride in their wrinkles and dark patches. Ghost was still wickedly handsome, but he looked his fifty years, and projected it with vicious grace.
Ava folded her arms against the edge of the map on the table. And waited.
He cleared his throat and looked downright awkward. “You went by the school today?”
She nodded. “I got my schedule for the semester all finalized.”
“Good.” He looked down at the map; there were locations circled in red, places marked with black stars. “That’s good.”
“I think so.”
“Yeah.”
Ava let a beat pass, then said, “Dad–”
Just as Ghost said, “Look.”
They paused a moment, staring at one another, feeling out the energy. Ava tipped her head a fraction in deference, because she did, under the low-level hurt, respect the hell out of the man.
“Look,” he repeated, sighing. “I know I’ve given you hassle about bringing your little…boyfriend” – he pronounced the word as if it was a variety of toenail fungus – “home with you. But I am glad you’re home.” He offered a smile. “Your mother’s not the only one who misses you, you know.”
“I know.” She smiled back, surprised and glad to hear it.
“And it’s good you’re…” It looked like he blushed, a suspicious heightening of color in his cheeks. “Moving forward,” he said, glancing away over her shoulder. “With school and…that boy…or whatever the hell.”
“You mean, you’re glad I’m not pregnant or miscarrying or depressed.”
His eyes widened in surprise.
