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“He’s my brother.”
In a way, he is. I can’t suppress a smile at that thought. My family’s gotten so much bigger.
The nurse looks to Ghost for confirmation, and he gives a single curt nod. Thankfully, the nurse, whether she actually accepts the story, knows it wouldn’t be a good idea to get in Ghost’s way, so she hurries out the door. “The doctor will be with you shortly,” she says over her shoulder before closing the door behind her.
Ghosts pulls up a chair next to the examination table. “How you doing?”
“I’m bloody, everything’s bruised, my dad tried to murder me, and I stabbed my childhood best friend. But I’m alive. Dixon is, too.” I pause for a moment, exhale. “I think I’m going to be OK.”
“I’m glad he came to you,” Ghost says. “Did he, did you two…”
“I love him. He loves me.”
Ghost grins. “Love wins.”
Just saying those words puts a big smile on his face, like he’s happy to have a reason to say them.
What a strange man.
There’s a commotion in the hallway, and I hear another nurse raising their voice. “They can’t be back here.”
Five voices answer in unison. “She’s our sister.”
Then there’s a knock at the door.
Ghost answers, and everyone from the MC — Hawk, Striker, Bullet, Thunder, and Rook — and immediately, Ghost’s face loses its sentimental look, his smile replaced instead by the look of a soulless killer.
“How you holding up?” Bullet says.
“This hospital is trash. As soon as he’s stable, I’m having Smokey moved to Costa Oscura General so Eliza can watch over him… and keep him out of trouble,” Rook says.
“I’m doing fine. I hurt, but I’ll heal,” I say to Bullet. To Rook, I say, “that sounds like a great idea. But if you touch my man before he’s ready to be moved, you’ll have me to deal with.”
Rook snorts. Then he smiles. “Maybe you’re not so bad.”
“Maybe you aren’t either,” I say. “Maybe, as much as you try to hide it, you care about these people.”
“Is that true?” Thunder says. “Do I mean something to you, Rook?”
“Yeah. You mean I’m going to have a fucking headache later,” he retorts.
Another knock, and a man in a doctor’s coat stands in the doorway.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he says. “But if I am, it doesn’t matter. Because that woman is covered in blood, needs my attention, and you all need to get out of here while I take care of her.”
No one protests. They all leave, but not quietly. Each one wishes me a quick recovery, and I hear more than a couple, “Take care, sister,” which I know is mostly for the doctor and nurses’ benefit, but which still brings tears to my eyes thinking about the fact that, though I have lost my biological family, I’ve found another.
And that family has not only seen me at my worst, but chooses me time and again despite it.
“You certainly have an interesting family,” the doctor remarks as he stands beside me and begins checking me over.
“I do. And I love them all to death.”
* * * * *
“Heavens above, I’m so excited that I’m jiggling like a June bug,” Moose exclaims beside me as he pushes a wheelchair through the lobby of Our Lady of the Parish hospital in Sacramento, where Dixon has been a patient for the last three days.
But not anymore.
