“My name’s Scott, but everyone calls me ‘Scotty’. My daddy named me when I was a baby because I couldn’t name myself. His name is Russell, but everyone calls him ‘Lucky’. Well, except for me and my siblings. We call him ‘Daddy’. Is Uncle Ranger’s name ‘Liam’?”
Becks picked up her toast. “It is.”
“When I grow up and I join the club, I’m going to have a road name too! Mine’s going to be ‘Lucky Jr.’! And I’m going to have a motorcycle just like my daddy. I have one now, but it’s not very big, and I have to have an adult with me when I ride it.”
A glance over at Ghost filled her in that the motorcycle in question was a toy, not an actual motorcycle.
Becks waited to dig into her plate until Ghost brought over Scotty’s plate with breakfast that was more cheese than egg. Scotty paused his story about his club cousin and best friend, Lila, to give Ghost another nose-kiss. Becks blew Ghost a kiss of her own when he sat down across from her. He really was going to make a great father.
About forty-five minutes later, Scotty’s father came over. Becks learned that her new home was one of five in a communal backyard the club had dubbed The Pentagon. This gave the club kids free rein of the backyard, and subsequently, all the back doors of the houses. As it was Tuesday, Harper, Scotty’s mom, was at work while Scotty hung out with his dad or uncles all day, depending on their schedules.
Becks stood from the couch where she, Scotty, and Ghost had migrated after breakfast. Scotty put her at such ease thatshe forgot about her nerves completely as Lucky approached. He was tall, over six foot, heavily muscled under his leather cut with graying dirty-blonde hair. Other than the hair, Becks didn’t see a big resemblance between father and son, but the way the two of them gravitated to each other was special.
Like Lucky was Scotty’s favorite person in the whole world.
Lucky offered his hand to Becks. “It’s good to meet you.”
“You, too.” She shook his hand. “I apologize for the whiplash this weekend might have caused.”
“You don’t owe anyone an apology,” Ghost growled, wrapping an arm around Becks’ waist.
“Just because I apologize for the whiplash doesn’t mean I regret marrying you or am apologizing for marrying you,” she told him sternly. “Even you can’t deny that we threw a big wrench in the works.”
“I don’t give a damn?—”
“Swear jar!” Scotty interrupted, pointing a finger at his uncle.
Ghost’s jaw closed with an audiblesnap. Taking out his wallet, Ghost pulled a twenty from it, handed it to Scotty, and then looked back at Becks. “I don’t give a flying fart,” he paused to look at Scotty, who nodded his approval. “We make no apologies and we have no regrets. Got it?”
Becks smiled up at her husband. “Got it.”
CHAPTER 12
The prospects arrived with Becks’ things shortly after Lucky and Scotty left to head to Lucky’s art studio. They would also be stopping by Aunt Angel’s tattoo studio to drop off the money into the swear jar.
Ghost got pissed when Becks tried to help carry the boxes into the house, which in turn ended up pissing Becks off.
“Who do you think packed all my stuff upintothose boxes?” she shot at him, hands on her hips.
“You,” he answered, countering, “because I wasn’t around to do it for you.”
Becks’ eyes narrowed on him. “There’s a line in the sand between being chivalrous and being overbearing, and you’re toeing that line, Ghost. I won’t be some damsel in distress who needs her man’s help to do every little thing.”
The prospects dutifully carried in the boxes while simultaneously ignoring the argument going on in the living room. Most of her belongings were going upstairs to their bedroom anyway. She didn’t own furniture or kitchen supplies, because she’d lived with her mom. Boxes marked as picture frames or mementos were the ones she asked to be left downstairs.
Ranger had the first-floor bedroom, but there were two empty bedrooms upstairs. While talking with Scotty during breakfast, Becks explained how she made sound effects for movies as her job. Scotty thought that was incredible, and asked to see her studio, likely thinking she had one like Lucky did. It made Ghost think about the empty bedrooms, and wondered if perhaps it was time to do something with them. As miserable as the reality was, Melanie wasn’t coming back to reclaim her old bedroom. He should ask Cage if he could soundproof one of them to become a studio for Becks. Maybe then she wouldn’t need to quit her job completely and could work remotely part-time with the occasional commute.
Plus, it would give her an area to record her podcast, and Ghost was very pro any idea that kept her podcast going.
Ghost’s back stiffened. “You think I see you as helpless?” he asked, both angered and surprised by the accusation.
“Don’t open the door, don’t pay for anything, don’t lift a fricken box…” Becks listed off on her fingers. “I didn’t know marrying you would come with restrictions, Ghost.”
“Get out.”
Becks froze, the blood draining from her face. “What?”
The prospects stopped mid-step as Ghost panned slowly toward them. “Get. Out,” Ghost ordered again, louder this time.
