She lifted her head, and in the dawn gloom, there was Ghost, one arm hooked casually over the driver side mirror of her truck.
Ava ground to a halt.
Mercy propelled her forward, hand at her back, and her feet were forced to move; even without trying, he could have pushed her over onto her face, and she didn’t want to add a skinned nose to her morning’s list of problems. Her steps were heavy. She knew her face was stricken, behind the glasses.
Ghost watched their approach with a flat, unreadable gaze. “You’ve got class today?” he asked as she drew up in front of him.
She pulled her purse across her body in an unconscious shielding maneuver. She wasn’t afraid of her father, but she didn’t want to hear the yelling. She was never going to understand why, after having been raised by this club, he’d resent her for falling for one of its members.
“Yes,” she said, and added a “sir” for good measure.
He nodded. “Prospect,” he called, and Littlejohn appeared from behind the other side of the truck, stocking cap pulled low on his forehead, little curls of chestnut hair licking from beneath the edge. “Ava’s got school today,” Ghost told him.
“Right. Yes, I knew that, sir.”
Then his gaze moved up over her head to Mercy. “Chapel in ten,” he said, and shoved away from the truck, heading for the clubhouse front door.
When he was safely away, Ava whirled. “Did that just happen?”
Mercy looked satisfied. “I told you, things are different now.”
“Different how?”
“You’re not seventeen, for starters.” He reached around her for the door handle. “Where’s your keys? Unlock this.”
She found the fob in her pocket and the locks disengaged with a muted thump. “He didn’t yell,” she said, amazed. “He didn’t…Dad.”
Mercy tossed her bag into the backseat and laid a hand on top of her hooded head. “I know. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“But…”
He kissed her. “Go to school. Be safe. Check in with me later.”
One last bit of protest rallied in her. She didn’t want to allow herself to trust him completely, not like she had the last time around.
“What if I didn’t break up with Ronnie?” she asked.
He smiled and tousled her hair through the hood. “Call me.” He whistled at Littlejohn, snapped his fingers, and headed back for the clubhouse.
“You don’t know that I did!” she called to his back.
He tossed her a wave over his head. “Yeah, I do.”
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered. She turned, and saw Littlejohn staring at her. “Oh, like you weren’t thinking it.”
**
Stella’s didn’t open until eight, so she stopped in at Leah’s father’s shop, Cook’s Coffee (not-so-creatively named by the owner). She could have run through a drive-through, but by the time she’d pulled off the Dartmoor lot, last night’s drinking was beginning to catch up to her. She needed to sit down for a second, get some coffee in her, see if she could chase away the approaching hypoglycemic attack.
She parked in one of the slanted spots to the side, and walked in to find Leah frantically popping tops on to-go cups.
“Oh, gosh.” Leah flipped her pink-streaked ponytail behind her back with a fast head-sling and started slotting the cups into takeout holders. “You must be psychic. I need to talk to you.”
Ava pulled off her sunglasses and folded them up in her purse. “I need to get some protein in me. Can I come around there?”
“Please.”
Behind the counter, Ava pulled a package of peanut butter crackers from her purse and then stowed the bag under the register. She popped a cracker in her mouth as she accepted mugs and directions from Leah, going to the steaming silver bank of brewers along the back wall. She fixed herself a mug of black, forced down the cracker with a few swallows, and said, “What’s up?”
