Page 39

Ghost

M y hands fumble with the buttons on my fancy jacket.

The fabric is still stiff, tailored a little too tight for my liking.

This suit’s the same one I wore to that fancy gala.

Memories of that night rise in my mind. That was the night everything shifted.

It was the night she clung to me, terrified, when she caught sight of her ex.

When the brazen fucker thought no one would recognize him if he shaved his fucking beard.

God, that seems like so long ago, but it was only a few months ago. Now, the man stalking her is long dead and my old lady is safe at long last. She doesn’t have to look over her shoulder, worried and waiting for that fucker to snatch her back from me.

I smooth my palms over the lapels, then stand back from the mirror.

Black-on-black is supposed to be sophisticated, but it makes me feel a bit like an undertaker.

The place we’re going is tie-optional, but I put one on anyway because I want Heather to think back on this night as something special.

I polish my boots just enough to look respectful.

I pull my hair back and knot it tight at the base of my neck.

My beard got a good trim earlier. Truth be told, I look like a version of myself I barely recognize.

But this version is ready to do something permanent. I’m about to change both our lives, hopefully for the better. The ring sits snugly in my left side pocket, over my heart. Feeling more sentimental than ever before, I’ve touched it multiple times today just to make sure it was still there.

The simple velvet box is worn at the corners but inside is a square-cut diamond set in soft, pale gold. An old family heirloom passed down from my grandmother’s side of the family. My mom gave it to me and said, “Don’t use it, unless you’re sure.”

To be honest, I didn’t think I fucking ever would use it. But things are different now. When it comes to Heather, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

It’s been two months since I kicked in that warehouse door and gathered Heather up into my arms. Two months since Grime turned on Carnage, shot him in the gut, and bought us all an out we didn’t expect.

Grime and the others were exiled from California, never to return to Salinas County again.

They agreed to no return under pain of death.

Siege made the deal. They all shook on it. What’s done is done. I have no regrets.

For the first time in years, there’s no enemy on the horizon. No knives in the dark. Just me, Heather, and our own lush, green property under our feet. And in five weeks or so, we’re gonna have a baby.

We’ve also got a little person on the way who didn’t ask for any of our blood-soaked emotional baggage, and who deserves to be born into a stable home with a loving mother and father.

That’s what tonight’s about. This isn’t just about me asking her to marry me.

I’m asking her to let me give our kid a family.

My club brothers, Tusk, Siege, even Zen, they’ve all figured it out. They’ve got homes, routines, old ladies who look at them like they’re not broken, even when they are. They’ve got kids counting on them to be a better man than they were before.

It’s pretty awesome to have that kind of daily challenge in your life. I see it on a daily basis when my club brothers bring their families around. I want that for myself, and I want to give myself to Heather and our kid. It’s real circle-of-life type shit.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that I want Heather in my bed, my name on her state-issued ID, and my last name on our baby’s birth certificate.

I want to be hers in every way I can be, and for her to be mine.

I hope she doesn’t think I’m rushing it.

Truth be told, that’s my only fear. Not so much that she’ll turn me down.

But that she’ll say yes with an expression that tells me she has to go along with what I want because I’ve done too much for her to say no.

I don’t want that. I want her to say yes enthusiastically, because she wants me to be her husband.

I check my pocket one last time before heading out the door.

The ring is still there. Still waiting. Still burning a hole through my pocket.

I glance at myself one more time in the hallway mirror and huff out a nervous breath.

Heather loves me. She’s gonna say yes. Just pop the fucking question, I tell myself.

I’ve faced down men with knives and guns and beady, dead eyes. But I’ve never felt pressure like this.

Because this ain’t just about getting it right. It’s about it being right for her. For the family we’re building. I begin pacing downstairs because what I really want is to be upstairs watching my beautiful old lady making herself even more beautiful for our special date night.

Footsteps on the stairs draw my attention.

I turn around and my world comes to a complete stop.

My breath is stuck in my chest as she walks down the steps.

Heather is radiant. She has her hair pinned up, with soft curls falling down the back, barely brushing her neck.

That emerald green dress she wore to the gala now hugs every inch of her swollen belly like it was designed to show off her large baby bump.

She’s got a soft smile and glowing skin.

And when her eyes lock onto mine, I can see the depth of her affection for me.

“Hey,” she says, breathlessly. It makes me wonder if she’s been anxious too.

I swallow the lump in my throat, before stepping forward. “You look fuckin’ amazing,” I tell her before offering her my arm.

She takes it without hesitation, smiling happily just to be going out to dinner with me. And that is the moment I know, no matter whatever else happens tonight, I’m already the luckiest bastard alive.

***

By the time we pull up to the restaurant, I’m half out of my mind trying not to kiss her senseless right there in the parking lot.

We’re shown to a quiet booth with low lighting, white linens, and sparkling flatware. This is the kind of place I used to consider pretentious and overpriced. That is, until I started wanting to spoil the woman I love.

We joke about the menu because even with the ingredients noted, we can’t visualize most of them in our mind’s eye.

Heather takes a shot in the dark and orders something with a French name we can barely fucking pronounce.

Sure, we could have asked the waiter for a suggestion, but where’s the fun in that?

Being with Heather makes me feel like a teenager in love for the first time.

We talk and are all smiles with one another.

Sorting out her ex has enabled us to be carefree again.

Our lives can be whatever we want them to be moving forward.

She’s a joy to be with. My chest is full of fear and love and hope.

I want her with a burning passion, but sometimes I question if I really deserve her.

After so many disappointments with women ghosting me, I thought I’d buried the part of me that wanted a happily ever after. Somehow this woman dug it up, dusted it off, and made me crave it again.

The mystery meal turned out to be fancy lemon chicken in a delicious sauce. When the waiter comes to collect our empty plates, I give him a nod.

He sees it but doesn’t react. He just turns and disappears like we planned.

I stopped by this place two days ago and tipped the waiter way too much money to make sure everything went smoothly.

The dessert, the timing, the ring, everything.

Now that my plan is in motion, I’m feeling excited and anxious.

And I’m sweating under my collar just a bit.

Across from me, Heather’s laughing about something Brittany texted—something about Queenie trying to rehome a rooster with emotional issues. Queenie is a trip, and I should be laughing too. But my fingers are tapping against my thigh.

My jaw’s tight. I’m nodding, but I’m not really in the chicken loop right now. I’m stuck inside the moment that hasn’t happened yet.

Then her eyes narrow on me, and her head tilts slightly. Her expression turns from amused to assessing. “Okay. What’s going on?”

Panic surges through my brain and I croak out, “Whatever do you mean, my sweet?”

“You’re acting weird and twitchy.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

“You didn’t even laugh about Queenie’s therapy rooster.”

“It isn’t all that funny, ya know?”

She puts down her phone onto the table and says, “What are you talking about? It’s objectively hilarious.”

She leans forward a little, fingers brushing the stem of her wine glass. “What aren’t you telling me?”

I want to blurt out my proposal right then and there, but I don’t.

I’m bad for crowding her, sticking to close and wanting too much too soon.

She’s always been a good sport about it, but I promised myself I’d do this right.

The way she deserves. My lady deserves something classy, thoughtful, and executed with care.

I don’t want to do this fast. I want to do this right.

She’s earned every goddamn minute of being shown how important she is to me. So, I breathe through it. And lie through my teeth.

“Just hungry, I guess.”

She snorts a laugh. “You just ate, remember?”

Damn. I did just eat. I stare at her and try to look innocent, praying that damn waiter comes back soon. Suddenly, the lights dim just a little. Soft music hums under the clatter of silverware and low conversation. The server returns, moving like a man with a mission, which he is.

He sets down a small white plate in front of Heather. On it is a delicate glass dome, and under that is a beautiful spun-glass rose, pale pink and gold. Nestled in the center of the petals is my grandmother’s ring. I knew my lady wouldn’t want it plopped in the middle of a sticky dessert.