Micah had a brush with a predator but saved himself before anything happened. I couldn’t save myself. Neither could Jade. And Micah, sweet Micah who thinks the world can be fixed with vigilante hacking and charity work, has no idea what that means.
“I need to bail,” I announce, grabbing my gym bag. “Rain check on coffee?”
Concern flashes across Micah’s face. “Sure, but?—”
“Later,” I cut him off, needing space before the walls close in. “I’ll text you.”
I push through the locker room door withoutwaiting for a response, stride through the gym where the class continues without us, and burst into the morning heat.
The sunlight blinds me, and I blink to clear my vision, heart racing. My motorcycle waits in the parking lot, a ready escape from my demons. But the leather case in my bag calls to me.
If I go home now, I’ll end up using it.
I need a different kind of refuge. Somewhere darker than my apartment but lighter than my head.
The Blue Note will be empty this early, but the door is always unlocked. Ghost will be there, cleaning glasses and keeping score of favors owed. He won’t ask questions or expect answers.
I secure my gym bag, swing my leg over the motorcycle, kick it to life, and let the engine’s rumble drown out the echoes of Micah’s innocent question.
We’re safe now, right?
None of us are, I think as I pull into traffic.Some of us just hide it better than others.
The Blue Note doesn’t open until noon, but the door yields to my push. A rectangle of harsh sunlight follows me inside before the heavy door swings shut,sealing me in darkness steeped in aged tobacco and lemon polish. My boots stick to the floor with each step, the residue of last night’s spilled drinks not quite cleaned away.
The dim lighting comes as a balm after the scorching heat outside, and soft jazz floats through hidden speakers.
Ghost stands behind the bar, a lean figure in a black turtleneck and slacks, his movements economical as he polishes a glass. He’s always here, no matter when I show up, never taking vacations or days off. His scent barely shifts, muted and flat.
The man must live on suppressants, which can’t be healthy for an Omega. Micah always preached about how the tiny blue and red pills were dangerous when used too often.
But I won’t be the one questioning how Ghost handles his health. That would be like the pot preaching to the kettle.
His eyes, one brown and one pale blue, take in my arrival without changing expression. Nothing surprises Ghost. Nothing rattles him. It’s why everyone calls him Ghost instead of his given name, Eli.
Places like this didn’t used to exist for me. Before Rowan dragged me into his orbit, my world wasMicah and the cracked walls of the small apartment we shared.
Rowan was the first face from juvie to find me on the outside, older, meaner, and already halfway built for the kind of work nobody admits exists.
He tracked me down within a week of getting released and said I’d fought too hard to survive inside to waste it on loading docks or minimum wage. He introduced me to the Blue Note, to Ghost, to a different kind of family built out of favors and violence.
This bar became the only place besides Micah’s where I could function without my own body turning against me.
My breathing comes easier with each step toward the bar, my lungs expanding as the walls of the Blue Note replace the phantom concrete of my memories. The leather strap of my gym bag digs into my shoulder, and I drop it onto an empty stool before sliding onto another.
The polished wood of the bar cools my forearms through my long-sleeved shirt as I let my head hang forward for a moment. The tremor in my hands hasn’t disappeared, but it’s fading.
A glass of water appears before me, ice cubes clinking together. Ghost sets it down without aword, his fingers leaving no prints on the spotless surface.
“Thanks.”
Ghost’s mouth quirks up at one corner.
The cold water washes away the sour tang of panic that had coated my tongue since the gym, and I drain half the glass in long swallows, the cold shocking my system.
“Early,” Ghost says over the music.
It isn’t a question, so I don’t answer. Ghost never expects me to.
