Chapter 57
The house had gone quiet.
Ghost stood in the hallway, listening to the sounds of his team packing up. Boots on hardwood. The zip of gear bags. Low voices saying goodnight. The front door opened and closed three times, the whole team left.
The house settled into silence.
Ghost stood outside his bedroom door, hand resting on the frame. He could hear the shower running. Had been running for a while now, fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. Long enough that the mirror would be completely fogged, the air thick with steam.
Then he heard it.
A sound that stopped him cold.
Crying. Muffled by the water and the closed bathroom door, but unmistakable.
Rachel.
Something tightened in Ghost’s chest. His hand was already on the bedroom door handle before he'd made a conscious decision to join her.
He pushed the door open quietly, crossed the room in four strides, then opened the bathroom door.
Steam hit him immediately, warm and thick, curling out into the cooler bedroom air.
Through the glass shower door, he could see her.
Hands braced against the tile wall, head down, shoulders shaking.
Water pounding down on her back. The sound of her crying, hitching breaths and quiet sobs, louder now without the door between them.
Ghost didn't hesitate.
He opened the shower door and stepped in.
Fully clothed. Tactical pants still on from the rescue, boots and all. The water hit him immediately, soaking through his pants in seconds, plastering the fabric to his thighs. His boots filled with water, but he didn't care.
Rachel's head snapped up. Her eyes went wide when she saw him, standing there, water streaming down his face and chest.
"Logan—" Her voice broke on his name.
He didn't say anything. Just reached for her and pulled her in.
She came apart against his chest. Her hands fisted on his chest, her face pressed into his shoulder, and she cried. Hard, shaking sobs that wracked her whole body. He wrapped his arms around her and held on, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressed flat against her spine.
"I've got you," he murmured against her hair. "I've got you, baby."
She cried harder.
Ghost held her through it. Let her shake and sob and fall apart while water pounded down on both of them.
Eventually, the sobs started to ease. Her breathing evened out slightly and the tremors in her shoulders slowed.
Then she pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes red and swollen, tracking down his body. She blinked. Looked down at his legs. At his boots.
"You're—" She stared at him. "You're still wearing your pants."
Ghost looked down. Water was streaming off the cargo pockets, pooling around his boots on the shower floor. "Yeah."
"And your boots."
"Yeah."
She just stared at him for a long moment, her mouth opening and closing like she couldn't find words. "Logan, you're in the shower. In full gear."
He cupped her face in both hands, thumbs brushing away the tears still streaking her cheeks. "Doesn't matter."
"Doesn't—" She shook her head slightly. "You're soaking wet. In tactical pants."
"You matter," he said simply. "The pants don't."
Rachel's mouth twitched. A small, wet laugh escaped, half sob, half genuine amusement. "You're in the shower with clothes on."
Ghost's lips curved slightly. "Noticed that, did you?"
She laughed again, a real one this time. It broke some of the tension sitting heavy in the air. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, the tightness in her face easing. "You're ridiculous."
"Maybe." He brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. "But I'm here."
"In boots."
"In boots," he confirmed.
She laughed again, her forehead dropping to his chest. He felt her shake, not from crying this time, but from laughter. It was a good sound. A better sound.
Ghost reached for the shampoo on the shelf. "Come here."
Rachel lifted her head, watching as he squeezed shampoo into his palm. He worked it through her hair gently, his fingers massaging her scalp. Her eyes drifted closed as she leaned into his touch.
He washed her hair slowly, carefully, tilting her head back under the spray to rinse out the suds, then grabbed the body wash and a washcloth, soaping it up before running it gently over her shoulders, down her arms, across her back.
Avoiding the worst of the bruises. Being careful with the raw skin at her wrists.
Rachel didn't say anything. She stood there and let him take care of her.
When he finished, he shut off the water. The sudden silence felt loud.
Ghost stepped out first, his boots squelching on the bathroom tile, and grabbed a towel from the rack. He wrapped it around Rachel's shoulders and pulled her close, using a second towel to gently dry her hair.
She stood still, eyes half-closed, exhaustion written across every line of her face.
When she was mostly dry, Ghost bent and scooped her up. One arm under her knees, the other around her back. She made a small sound of protest but didn't fight it. Just wrapped her arms around his neck and let him carry her.
He walked into the bedroom, still dripping water across the carpet with every step. His boots left wet prints on the floor. Water ran down his arms, his chest, soaking into the towel wrapped around Rachel.
He set her on the edge of the bed gently, then moved to the dresser. Pulled open her drawer and grabbed a pair of underwear. Opened his own drawer and pulled out one of his t-shirts, soft and worn, the fabric thin from years of washing.
He turned back to her and held them out.
Rachel took them, looking up at him, then down at the growing puddle of water forming around his boots. Her mouth twitched. "Logan."
"What?"
"You're soaking the carpet."
Ghost looked down. Water was indeed dripping steadily from his pants, and his boots, pooling on the hardwood where it met the carpet. "Huh."
Rachel laughed, a real, genuine laugh that lit up her tired face. "You're standing there in soaking wet tactical gear dripping all over the floor."
He raised an eyebrow. "If you want me naked, baby, just ask."
She laughed harder, shaking her head. "Oh my god."
Ghost grinned. He reached down and unlaced his boots, toeing them off one at a time with wet thuds, peeled off his soaked socks, then his hands went to his belt.
Rachel watched, still smiling, as he stripped out of the tactical pants. They hit the floor with a heavy, wet slap.
He grabbed a pair of boxer briefs from his drawer and pulled them on, then turned back to her.
She was still sitting on the edge of the bed, towel wrapped around her, his t-shirt and her underwear in her lap. Watching him with an expression that was softer now. Lighter.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much better." She stood slowly, letting the towel drop. Ghost turned around to give her privacy while she dressed, listening to the soft rustle of fabric.
"Okay," she said quietly.
He turned back. She was wearing his shirt and her underwear, the hem of the shirt hitting mid-thigh. She looked small in it. Fragile. But the smile on her face was real.
Ghost pulled back the covers and gestured to the bed. "Come on."
Rachel climbed in, moving carefully. He followed, sliding in beside her and pulling the covers up over both of them.
She turned into him immediately, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder, her hand resting flat against his bare chest. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close.
"Thank you," she whispered against his skin.
Ghost pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Always."
They lay like that in the dark, her breathing gradually evening out, her body going loose and heavy against his. His hand moved in slow circles on her back, the same rhythm from before. Grounding. Soothing.
Within minutes, she was asleep.
Ghost stayed awake a while longer, staring at the ceiling, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing against his side.
Eventually, his eyes drifted closed, and he followed her into sleep.