Becks slammed her eyes closed. Jesus Christ! No, no! Bad uterus. Very, bad uterus. She wasnothaving thoughts about having another man’s babies the day before her wedding. She needed to… She didn’t know what. Call Ritchie? Pray? Have a hysterectomy? Maybe a lobotomy?
Once her mom was done at the stovetop, she moved the pancakes, bacon, sausage links, and fruit salad to the table. Liam and Libby hurried to help her. Becks stepped out of the way with the intent of going to the fridge to get the fixings she needed for her smoothie.
Ghost moved in front of the fridge. Becks froze, nearly dropping her coffee. Immediately, she was brought back to the porch the night before and her body instantly reacted as if he was once again boxing her up against the house.
He leaned down, getting right up in her face even though there was maybe a foot between them. “You either walk to the table or I carry you there.”
Becks’ cheeks flamed, but the threat was very clear. He did not approve of her smoothies for breakfast. Itshouldn’tmatter to him. What she ate was none of his fucking business—and yet… There was something so overwhelmingly comforting about having him care. And sure, he was demanding and rude, which she probably shouldn’t find flattering, but justwow. She could imagine being this man’s entire world. The way he gave her his full, undivided attention. Like they were the only two humans on the planet and no one else’s opinions mattered.
It was heady, and fuck her, because she craved more of it. Shewantedto be someone’s everything. She wanted a man who saw only her.
Which she had. Goddamn it. She had that with Ritchie.
Except… Did she? Whenever they went out, it was rarely just the two of them. And his work was always calling him away. Not to mention, she was the one always reaching out to him. It was something she’d talked to him about numerous times, and he always had some reason or another as to why he hadn’t talked to her that day.
Stop it!she scolded herself. What the hell was she doing? Why was shelookingfor fault in Ritchie? It was like she wastrying to compare the two men and was purposefully making Ritchie draw the short straw. Ritchie was a good man. It was cold feet. That’s all this was.
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You don’t control me. I can eat what I want for breakfast.”
He didn’t flinch, nor did he back down. “The point is, are you? Do you actually want that green shit that probably tastes like a football player’s jockstrap, or do you want the pancakes your mom so graciously made for all of us?”
Becks swallowed. Jockstrap comment aside, the shakes weren’tthatdelicious. She really did just want to drop a few pounds to look her best for her wedding. There wasn’t anything wrong with that.Butthose pancakes really did smell good. Her mom made them from scratch and always added extra vanilla extract. Plus fruit and maple syrup? And thiswasher wedding weekend as her mom had pointed out to her brother.
Shit. She scowled up at Ghost. “Just because I’m going to go sit at that table does not mean I’m doing it because you said so.”
His lips twisted, and for a moment, she thought he might actually smile. “Whatever you say, Rebel.”
“Oh, Taran.”
It took Ghost a second to realize Loretta was speaking to him. He was pretty sure she was the only person to call him that other than telemarketers. “Sorry,” he said, swallowing his bite of pancakes. “Yes, ma’am?”
She gave him an indulgent smile. “I have a favor to ask. I need Becks out of the house for a while so I can set up her surprise for today. I was going to send her to the airport to pickup her aunt, but it’s a three hour drive with city traffic. Would you mind going with her?”
Ghost didn’t know who looked more shocked at the table: Becks, Ranger, or himself. He didn’t have to think about his answer, though. “Yes, of course.” Three hours alone in the car with Becks and then another three hours with Becks and her aunt? Hell, he’d take the London Philharmonic in a clown car with them if it meant spending more time with her.
Because, apparently, he was a glutton for punishment.
“I’ll go,” Ranger snapped. He was sitting across the table from Ghost, and had been glaring daggers at him all morning.
Before Ghost could tell Ranger to shut the fuck up, Loretta spoke, “No. I need you here to help with set up. Taran is an unexpected helper and it’ll make me feel better about her driving into the city on her own.”
Becks rolled her eyebrows. “Ma, I go into the city all the time to see Ritchie. I can handle picking up Aunt Jean from the airport.”
Loretta still turned to Ghost. “You’ll go with her?”
“Absolutely,” he promised to both siblings’ ire.
Ranger stood up abruptly from the table. “Ghost, I need to speak to you.Alone.”
Ghost was tempted to ignore his best friend, but decided to keep the peace. He was obsessing over the man’s sister, after all. “Excuse us, ladies,” he said to the remaining inhabitants of the table.
Standing, he took his plate of pancakes with him. They were damn good pancakes.
The morning was warmingup quick. Ghost didn’t bother to put his boots on before following Ranger out the front door and down the porch steps. He stopped next to their hogs, and Ghost had to wonder if that was intentional. Neither of them were wearing their cuts, because it was disrespectful to do so out of their territory and they were not here on club business. Their bikes, though, were a symbol in and of themselves.
Ranger rounded on him. “I’d ask you what the fuck is going on, but we’re way past that.” He pointed to his bruised nose. It was barely a tap in Ghost’s opinion. If it weren’t for their years of friendship, Ghost wouldn’t have pulled his punch at the last second, and it would have been a lot worse. “So I am just going to say this, I don’t know what game you’re fucking playing at, and I don’t give a damn if you’re my brother and my president.” He got right up in Ghost’s face, completely ignoring the plate of pancakes Ghost was holding between them. “Hurt my sister, fuck this up for her with whatever the fuck is going on with you, and I will end you.”
Ghost used the side of his fork to cut into his stack of pancakes and then popped the pieces into his mouth. “Duly noted,” he quipped around the flat cakes.
