Chapter 26 Ghost
GHOST
ABBY.
Fuck me.
I knew Geneva would bring her up at some point. Geneva’s like a fucking scalpel, carving her way through me, peeling me open, exposing nerves I didn’t even know were still raw.
I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders as I walk toward the window, my hands fisting at my sides.
The city sprawls out beneath me, shining in the dark, but I don’t see it.
All I see is a different night. A different house.
A different version of me that’s smaller, weaker, and too fucking late to stop what happened.
I don’t want to go there.
But my mind does anyway.
Abby. Three years old. Blond hair so light, it looked white in the moonlight. Brown eyes too big for her tiny face. A giggle that cut through the darkest corners of our house like it had any business existing there.
And my father. A demon whose fists were my burden to bear, my cross to carry, because as long as it was me, it wasn’t her.
But then one night, it was.
I swallow, rubbing my jaw, trying to chase away the memory. It doesn’t work. It never fucking works.
Behind me, Geneva shifts. She’s still watching me. I can feel it. The way her gaze crawls over my back, searching, waiting, wanting something from me that I can’t give.
I shake my head. “It’s late. Go to sleep, Geneva.”
A pause. A quiet breath.
“Ghost—”
“I said, go to sleep.”
“Fine, but come with me.”
She reaches out to graze my shoulder, her touch barely there, yet I feel it deep in my soul. That’s how it always is with her.
Geneva doesn’t break me with force. She doesn’t even try to. She’s just herself. And that’s enough to destroy me.
I let out a slow, controlled breath before finally turning to face her.
Her eyes are tired but determined, darkened by everything she’s feeling.
I see it. The horror of having witnessed the brutality of her parents’ murders.
I don’t know how she’s carried this for so long and remained sane.
Because the night Abby was killed, I was submerged in insanity.
And I’m still drowning.
Without a word, I take her hand in mine.
The warmth of her touch immediately grounds me in a way I still don’t understand.
I allow her to guide me, let her lace her fingers through mine even though my skin is stretched too tight, and my bones are vibrating with the weight of everything she’s just told me.
I run my free hand down my face, trying to ease the tension gathered in my skull. Geneva watches me, her gaze tender. She looks at me like I’m something worth understanding, something worth keeping. Fuck, I’ll do anything to keep that expression on her face.
She’s mine.
It’s a stronger declaration than any wedding vow. Although the “till death us do part” is implied. And not meant figuratively.
She brushes her thumb against my knuckles, tracing slow, absentminded circles. “You can talk to me about her, you know.”
I shake my head. “Not tonight.”
“Someday?” she asks, unable to hide the hopeful tone in her voice.
I close my eyes, my chest tightening. I don’t know if I’ll have “someday.” People like me live with the urgency of “now.” We have brief moments of satisfaction between bloodshed. We comprehend need. We understand and expect consequences.
I don’t know how to do relationships; I know how to dominate.
I don’t know how to be normal; I know how to create chaos.
But she’s still looking at me like she expects more. Like I can be more.
For her I’ll try.
“Yeah.” My voice is rough. “Someday.”
Geneva exhales in relief. She shifts closer, pressing her forehead against my shoulder, her breath warm through my shirt. I curl my fingers around her wrist, tightening my grip, holding her there. Needing her there.
“There are a lot of things we still need to talk about,” she says.
“Geneva, you have to be up for work in a couple hours.”
“I’m aware, but I just wanted you to know that I’m not done with this conversation. Or the subjects we haven’t even touched on yet.”
I grin in the dark. “Of course not. Have I ever told you how tenacious you are, Doc?”
She idly traces the ink along my forearm with her free hand. “Once or twice,” she murmurs. “Usually right before you try to distract me with sex.”
I chuckle. “If it works, why change my method?”
She lets out a soft laugh. “It’s not going to work tonight.”
“No?” I angle my head, pressing my lips against her hair, breathing her in. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“It’s not. I just… There’s so much about you that I don’t understand. Things I still don’t know. If we’re going to be… together, then I need you to be honest with me.” She pauses, flicking her gaze to mine. “About everything.”
I smirk, tilting my head. “Together, huh? That’s a bold assumption, Doc. I don’t remember agreeing to be your boyfriend.”
Geneva doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t even roll her eyes. Instead, she just looks at me—really looks at me—her fingers still curled around my forearm like she’s trying to stay connected to me.
The humor fades from my face. I swallow, my throat suddenly tight, and I shift my gaze to the ceiling, exhaling slowly. “Geneva…”
“Ghost, please. I don’t even know your real name. Don’t you see how hard this is for me?”
Her words settle between us, heavy and inevitable. I knew this was coming. Geneva is the type of person who digs until she gets to the truth, no matter how deep it’s buried. The problem is that the deeper she goes, the more painful it’ll become for me.
She shifts slightly. “You don’t have to tell me everything tonight. But I need to know you will someday.”
I exhale slowly, watching the way the dim light catches the strands of her hair. “You really think you want that, Doc? The truth?”
Her eyes flick to mine. “Yes.”
“Even if it changes the way you look at me?”
“I don’t think anything could surprise me when it comes to you.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s because you’re still thinking of me as the man who protects you.”
She brings her face closer to mine. “I know what you are, Ghost. I just don’t know why.”
“Some things just are.”
“Maybe. But let me be the judge of that.”
Geneva doesn’t want me in pieces. She wants all of me. The jagged edges. The sharp, ugly truths. And I don’t know whether to admire her for that or hate her for making me expose everything to her.
“Fine. I’ll give you ‘someday,’” I mutter.
Geneva studies me, searching my face for a lie. Satisfied with whatever she sees, she relaxes, a hint of a smile appearing.
“Someday… soon.”
I reach up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, trailing my fingers against her skin. “Soon.”