Chapter 29
T he more Mila came back to reality, the more her ankle throbbed. She sat in the back of a truck with Ghost. Rami drove and Zain rode in the front seat. Ghost had given her a hoodie, but she’d probably never get rid of the chill wrapped around her bones.
“Zain, do you have an ibuprofen for her ankle?” Ghost asked, breaking the silence.
Her foot was propped on the seat, and she leaned against Ghost, who sat to her left. She hadn’t realized how swollen it was until now. The angry bruising promised weeks in a cast.
But she was alive.
Thanks to Ghost.
“Should be in my bag,” Zain said.
Ghost reached into the backpack at his feet and pulled out the medicine and a bottle of water. He shook out two capsules. “Here.”
She accepted the pills and tossed them back with a gulp of water. Then she took a few more big sips.
Ghost screwed the cap back on and set it in the cupholder beside him. “You doing okay?” he asked.
She rested her head against his shoulder. “I think so. Just processing everything.”
He caressed his knuckles down her arm, and she snuggled closer.
Her mind churned. She’d murdered many people, but killing Irinia had been different.
She’d held a gun to her head and fired point-blank. And there was now a barn full of dead bodies and her DNA.
“What about the police?” Mila’s voice quaked.
Ghost’s hand covered her knee. “What about them?”
“We killed a lot of people. Won’t we have to give statements and speak with them?”
He grunted. “That’s not for you to worry about. Backcountry will handle it. We have a top-notch cleanup crew—”
“On their way there now,” Rami said.
“There won’t be a trace anyone was there.”
“One thing,” Zain said, spinning in his seat to face Ghost. “That place was a rental. The owner might have questions about who was paying the bill.”
“Toth’s got it covered,” Rami said. “Pretty sure he said he’d pay twice the amount in the rental agreement.”
Mila raised her eyebrows. “And if someone comes looking for Boris and Irinia?”
His thumb caught her chin. “Then we’ll handle it. I don’t want you to stress about this anymore, all right?”
She swallowed hard. How could she simply let go of a lifetime of worry? How did one move on from so much torment and abuse?
Resting her head back on Ghost, she tried to set aside all of her uncertainties. Right now, all she could do was be grateful she was back in Ghost’s arms.
She wouldn’t take it for granted, even for a minute.
***
Ghost held Mila while she slept. An X-ray at the hospital had confirmed she had a broken fibula and a mild concussion. Thankfully, the doctor had given her a walking boot that would allow for more freedom than a cast and crutches.
At home, he’d helped her bathe and then got into bed with her. She’d rested most of the day. It was now just after 7:00p.m.
She’d slept fitfully, murmuring periodically and waking often to make sure he was there. He hadn’t slept, had just lain there waiting for the last several days to stop flashing through his mind.
The same questions continued to come up.
Where the hell did he and Mila go from here? Did she want more between them?
To him, one thing was as obvious as the back of his fucking hand: he couldn’t live without her. Didn’t want to even try.
How he’d make her happy was a completely different story. He’d never had to think about anyone else’s happiness—hell, hadn’t even worked on his own.
His mind went back to the cabin. After they’d discovered they were on the same side, he’d seen facets of her that’d moved him.
How quiet she’d become when he’d asked her about Christmas.
How she’d shared the memories that were haunting more than comforting.
At Dana’s, he’d witnessed the wonder on her face as she took in the festive lights and decorations.
Sliding from the bed, he snatched his phone from the nightstand and then covered Mila with the duvet. She lay on her back, her cheek turned slightly, her foot in the damn walking boot propped up on a pillow. Her brow was creased, her lips full and pouty.
He could never give back the childhood she’d been robbed of, but he’d damn well make her happy now.
***
Mila woke with a start. A gasp caught in her throat as she blinked in the darkness. A rush of pain in her foot and leg made her hiss, but she calmed as the springlike scent of Ghost’s sheets enfolded her.
She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock. God, she’d slept all day. It was 10:43p.m. She’d probably be up all night now.
She winced as she sat up and placed her boot on the floor. She was grateful to have dodged a cast, but this tight, bulky thing would grow old real fast.
She wore Ghost’s shirt and sweatpants. The wide leg fit easily over her boot. He was about to lose a lot of his wardrobe, even though the garments hung off her.
Mila stood. The room tilted and her vision flickered as blood rushed to her head. When the dizziness settled, she hobbled to the bedroom door. The hall light was on, and the glow from the stairwell told her Ghost was downstairs.
She hadn’t attempted the stairs in the boot yet. Earlier, Ghost had carried her. She’d have to learn quickly because she couldn’t rely on him to tote her around for the next six weeks.
Just as she reached the top of the stairs, Ghost started climbing them. A corner of his mouth lifted when he saw her. His happiness was subtle, but it was there. Butterflies danced in her belly.
“You’re up,” he said.
She placed her hand on the banister. “I slept the day away. Sorry.”
He stopped on the top stair and feathered his knuckles over her cheek where Paul had struck her. She’d spotted the ugly purple bruise after her bath.
“Don’t be sorry. Rest will help you heal faster.” He tilted his head. “Hungry?”
As if on cue, her stomach growled. “Starving, apparently.”
He chuckled and bent to catch her around the back and knees.
“Hold on.” She placed her hand on his shoulder to stop him. “I need to learn the stairs at some point.”
He snorted and shook off her hand. “Not today, babe.” He picked her up and moved easily down the stairs.
Her body relaxed in his hold. She let her head rest on his chest and sighed. “I could get used to this.” The traitorous words fled from her lips before she could retract them.
Nice way to play hard to get, Mila.
She closed her eyes, hating how hopeful and vulnerable she’d sounded. Ghost didn’t say anything, which only tripled her anxiety. They reached the bottom of the steps and she opened her eyes as he lowered her to the ground.
Garland twinkling with Christmas lights circled the lower part of the railing, and a festive stuffed snowman and reindeer sat on the bottom step. She blinked, stunned.
“What’s this?”
Ghost placed an arm around her waist and led her into the living room.
There was a poinsettia on the island in the kitchen, and in the living room, the lights were dim.
A large artificial tree stood in the corner of the room next to the blazing gas fireplace.
Two red stockings hung above the fire, and there was more garland strung on the mantel.
Tears collected on her lashes. She moved across the area rug to the Christmas tree. She could barely see the ornaments through the moisture blurring her vision. Emotion choked her.
“I called in a favor. Rami, Ivy, and August came over while you were sleeping and brought the decorations. Gigi had an extra tree.”
Mila swallowed as memories washed over her. Christmas had meant everything to her family. She’d loved making ornaments with her brother, baking sugar cookies with her mom, and snuggling into bed on Christmas Eve terrified to make a peep and scare Santa away.
“I haven’t celebrated Christmas since Evie.” Ghost’s voice was thick behind her.
She didn’t turn for fear she’d dissolve into a puddle.
“After you told me about your Christmases as a kid, I figured you should have one now. You deserve it.”
She reached out to touch a glass bulb, then a glittery candy cane, and the tears rolled down her cheeks, hot and unabashedly. Finally turning, she sniffed and wiped her knuckle beneath her eye. “I can’t believe you did this,” she whispered.
He stepped closer, catching her hands. “Mila, I haven’t felt this way about anyone before. When you were taken last night, it nearly fucking broke me.” His voice was as rough as stone. “I can’t feel that way again.”
She rested her hand on his bristly cheek, touching his bottom lip with the tip of her thumb. “Are you saying you care about me, Atticus?”
His cheeks darkened and his throat moved on a swallow.
He caught her face in his palms. Heat emanated from his chest. Terror crept in through the back door of her mind and mocked her for putting her heart on the line.
For risking what little hope she had left on this ruthless man who could break her heart if he wanted.
He brought his face inches from hers and inhaled, long and slow. She held her breath, expecting a gentle letdown. She was stupid for trying. For thinking he could—
“I fucking love you, Mila.” Each word came out slow and weighed, as if he wanted to feel each one touch her soul. “I haven’t known love for a long time. Haven’t even wanted it. Now, I can’t live without it. Without you.”
His thumbs caught her tears.
She let out a loose, nervous laugh. “I love you, too.”
He brushed his lips over hers, a gentle tease before pulling away. Her mouth craving his, she lifted her chin higher, willing him to kiss her.
“Too bad there’s no mistletoe.” He grinned mischievously.
The smirk was so playful and so unlike him that she giggled. Catching the back of his neck, she pulled his lips to hers. “Won’t be the first time I overpower you.”
He laughed, then kissed her. Need traveled from her tongue to her toes, and goosebumps spread over her skin. His tongue stroked hers, gentle and giving. He pulled away, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “No sex until that leg feels better.”
She pouted, though the idea of getting frisky and jostling her leg was enough to make her cringe. “Fine. But I’m going to need some Christmas music to cheer me up.”
Ghost groaned and dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling before meeting her gaze. “Not a fucking chance.”
“Come on, hand over your phone. I know you’ve got a Bing Crosby playlist.”
He shook his head and delved into his pocket. “You’re going to screw up my algorithm.”
“Or make you the cheeriest elf there is,” she said. She found “White Christmas” and hit play.
“You’re diabolical.”
“And you love it.” She gripped his shirt. “Someone mentioned food...”
He chuckled. “Frozen pizza or takeout?”
“Pizza.”
He eased her onto the couch, then went to the kitchen. As the song played, she picked up the remote from the coffee table and found Home Alone on his streaming service.
Twenty minutes later, they were cuddled on the couch with bubbling cheesy pepperoni pizza.
She’d never been happier.