15. Angel
The door clicks shut behind the doctor, leaving a silence so heavy it feels like it’s pressing the very air out of my bruised lungs. The hospital room is a sterile box of white and grey, but all I can see is the man sitting beside me.
Ghost.
He looks ravaged. His eyes are bloodshot, his jaw is covered in a dark, jagged stubble, and his hand—the one still clutching mine—is trembling.
“Angel,” he whispers. The way he says my name… it isn’t a greeting. It’s a prayer. It’s the sound of a man who found something he thought was lost to the bottom of the ocean.
He reaches out with his free hand, his fingers hovering just inches from my face, as if he’s afraid I’ll shatter if he touches me. “Can I… can I hold you, baby?”
I look at him, my throat tight, the hoarseness making every breath a struggle.
I should say no. I should remember the way he pushed me off him at Onyx.
I should remember the last three months and the way I had to reinvent myself in a city that didn’t know my name.
But as I look into his eyes, all I see is a reflection of my own shattered soul.
I nod, just once.
He doesn’t hesitate. He moves with a grace that defies his size, sitting on the very edge of the hospital bed. He’s careful, so incredibly careful, as he slides his arms around me and pulls me into his chest.
The scent of him hits me like a physical blow—leather, old spice, and that faint, metallic scent of the road.
It’s the smell of my entire childhood. It’s the smell of home.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck, and for the first time since Brian’s hands closed around my throat, I feel like I can actually breathe.
Then, the dam breaks.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps, his voice breaking against my ear. He’s shaking now, his large frame vibrating with a grief so deep it feels tectonic. “I am so fucking sorry, Angel. I should have been here. I shouldn’t have driven you to get on that plane. I let my own fucked-up head drive you away.”
I feel his tears dampening my hair, and it’s the most surreal moment of my life. Ghost doesn’t cry.
“I’m going to kill him,” he growls, his arms tightening around me—not enough to hurt, but enough to let me know he’s never letting go.
“I’m going to find him, and I’m going to tear the life out of him for what he did to you. I’m going to burn this city down if I have to. You’re never going to be alone again. I’m never letting you go. Do you hear me? Never.”
I pull back just enough to look at him, my head spinning from the sudden rush of his words. “Why?” I croak, my voice sounding like broken glass. “Why are you here, Ghost? I get why Shade came… he’s my brother. But you? You made it so clear…”
Ghost cuts me off with a sad, crooked smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He leans down and presses a lingering kiss to my forehead, his lips warm against my skin.
“I came to take you home, Angel,” he says, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my heart stutter. “I came to bring you back to California, to the clubhouse, and to make you my Old Lady. My wife.”
For a heartbeat, bliss washes over me. It’s the dream I’ve nursed for ten years. It’s the farmhouse, the garden, the life I thought was impossible. It’s everything.
But then, the memory of that night at Onyx surges back. The feeling of his unyielding lips. The sound of him retching in the bathroom after I touched him. The cold, hard rejection that sent me screaming across the Atlantic.
I shake my head, the movement making the room tilt. I try to push against his chest. “No,” I whisper. “No, Ghost. That boat has sailed. You can’t just… you can’t show up after three months and act like that night didn’t happen. You were sick. You were disgusted by me.”
He lets out a soft, huffed laugh, but there’s no humor in it. He just pulls me tighter, anchoring me against him. “Disgusted? Baby, I have never wanted anything more in my life than I want you.”
“You threw up!” I cry out, the words tearing at my throat. “I kissed you, and you ran to the bathroom and threw up! You can’t erase that. You can’t just take it back because I’m in a hospital bed.”
He sighs, a long, weary sound, and rests his forehead against mine.
“I’m going to tell you everything,” he promises.
“When we get home, when you’re safe in OUR bed, I’m going to tell you why my body did that. It’s a long story, Angel, and it has everything to do with my past and absolutely nothing to do with you. It was never you.”
I look at him, searching for the lie, but his eyes are wide open, raw and bleeding with honesty.
“I’ll apologize for the rest of our lives if that’s what it takes,” he continues, his thumb stroking my cheek.
“I’ll spend every day proving to you that you’re the only thing that matters. But I’m not letting you go. You might as well get used to it, Angel. You’re coming home with me. We’re getting married the second we step on American soil. I’ll drag you to the town hall myself if I have to.”
“You’re crazy,” I whisper, but the fight is draining out of me. The warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart against mine—it’s a siren song I’ve always been destined to follow.
“Maybe. But I almost lost his soul,” he counters. “And I’m not making that mistake twice.”
He shifts, settling me back against the pillows but refusing to let go of my hand. He looks at me with a possessiveness that is terrifying and beautiful all at once. It’s the look of a man who has claimed his territory and will slaughter anyone who challenges him.
“Rest,” he commands, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that always made my knees weak. “Shade is outside. Oliver is getting some coffee. I’m staying right here. I’m not leaving your side for a second.”
I want to argue. I want to tell him I’m an adult now, that I’ve lived a life in London, that I don’t need a protector.
But as I look at the dark bruises on my arms and feel the ache in my body, I realize I’m lying to myself.
I’ve spent three months pretending I was fine, but I was just a ghost haunting my own life.
I melt into the mattress, my eyes fluttering shut as the exhaustion finally wins. The last thing I feel is Ghost’s hand squeezing mine, a silent, unbreakable vow.
“I’ve got you, Angel,” he whispers into the dark. “Always.”