"I've become good at hiding and playing pretend" –Vorsa, runaway

********************************

"Four letters. A word that means uncontrollable," said Dana, to no one in particular.

"Four?" Cam asked. "You sure?"

"Third letter is 'l', if that helps."

"Wild," I muttered, focusing very intently on my murky cup of coffee.

I heard Dana place the newspaper down. "You're right! And...I'm done."

"You finished another crossword?" Eva sounded impressed.

"What's a crossword?" Leo wanted to know.

Yeah. I can't do this, I thought, getting to my feet.

I trudged out of the kitchen and went out onto the patio. The house was too suffocating, but so was this weird attempt at playing happy fucking families. We were pretending that my jailbird mother didn't have a bottle of meds that Camila dispensed to her every morning. We were pretending that Eve wasn't knocked up by her dead, abusive boyfriend. We were pretending that Camila wasn't still scared of her own shadow, on her bad days, at least. And now...well, now I was pretending that I hadn't fucked everything up for everyone.

"I know this is hard for you, Cat."

I turned towards the voice to see Camila standing in the doorway, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders before stepping outside.

"I just needed some air," I told her. It was the truth.

"Right," she said, her voice soft. "She's doing good. though, isn't she?"

By "good", Cam probably meant that Dana hadn't had an episode. Just because it hadn't happened yet, didn't mean that it wouldn't. Or couldn't. Fluphenazine wasn't a magical cure.

"Okay," Cam said after a moment of silence passed between us. "What's up with you?"

Other than the fact that Crow wants me to return you to him like he's a lost-and-found bin? Nothing.

I scrubbed a hand down my face. "Probably that time of the month."

Cam huffed out an audible breath. "Liar. We've synced."

I rolled my eyes at that. "That was one time, Camila."

"Liar."

I didn't say anything to her. Instead, I watched the driveway in anticipation. Of what? I didn't know. Maybe Crow and the rest of the Cursed riding up here to make good on his threats. But there was absolutely no way he could know where we were. Then again, I'd never expected him to clock me after only one meeting.

"I've been thinking," Camila said, slicing into the silence that stretched between us. "Maybe I could get a place? With Mama and Leo? Just for a while, until we figure out where we want to go."

Panic began to creep up, making my pulse erratic. "Move out?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know I don't have the money –"

"That...that's not it, Cam. You know I'll gladly give you half the money from the trust that Dad left me," I blurted out, realizing too late that I was giving her options. But our father had thought she was dead, so everything had been left to me. Half of it was rightfully hers, and I couldn't keep withholding it from her in a bid to keep her with me.

I took a deep breath, my mind racing. "I think Dana still needs a bigger support system. What happens when you have to leave the house for therapy? Who stays home with her?" I was grasping at straws here, but what else could I do? "And what if she has a breakdown and gets violent? How will you deal with that alone? With Leo?"

Camila bit her lower lip. "Well, she could come with me. That's not a big deal."

"I don't think it's a good idea."

I sounded rational to my own ears. I just hoped that my sister would see it that way. How could I tell her that she wasn't safe anymore? That this newfound strength of hers could be crushed at any second? Simple: I couldn't.

"You don't think it's a good idea," she echoed, her voice flat. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Cat, I would've thought you'd be happy to get us out of your hair. I mean, you never even wanted Mama to so much as set foot here. You've been like a dark cloud ever since she got here. I just...I understand, okay?"

"You understand?"

"Yes. Rome wasn't built in a day. I know asking you to forgive and forget everything she put us – put you – through isn't fair," she elaborated, hugging herself. "I get that, and that's why it wasn't fair of me to ask her to move in with us. Well, with you. I've thought about it. A lot, actually. You needed a paddling pool, and I came along and threw you into the deep end."

Despite everything, I felt myself smile. "That sounds a lot like some therapy shit."

"It is some therapy shit," Cam told me, grinning. "I catch myself parroting Dr. DuBois all the time. I should start a blog."

"I'm just glad she's helping," I said, meaning it. I looked my sister in the eye. "Cam, I'm not ready for you to go. Please."

I saw the moment her eyes began to glass over with unshed tears. "Oh, Catalina," she said softly. "You really can be all bark and no bite sometimes. Come here."

I allowed her to put her arms around me in a bear hug, allowed myself to put my head in the crook of her neck. Camila smelled of the banana pancakes she'd made for Leo. There was the faint scent of my coconut scrub. I didn't want her to let me go, but the loud rumble of a motorcycle coming up the driveway sent shivers up my spine, and I almost, almost shoved my sister back into the house. How funny was that? Months ago, the sound of a motorcycle would've sent her scrambling to safety, but now? Now, she released me and stood her ground beside me, unbothered. Oh, how the fucking tables had turned.

My heart started beating normally once I saw that it was only Ghost, but then, my heart began to gallop all over again when I realized that shit, it's Ghost.

"I'll leave you two to it," said Camila, smiling knowingly at me. She patted me on the shoulder. "Maybe he can get you out of this mood."

I sincerely doubt it, I thought, watching them wave at each other before Camila went back inside, closing the door behind her.

"You lost your phone, or something?" was Ghost's greeting as he approached me.

Guilt bit at me. Four missed calls in three days was a lot when it came to Ghost. "I've been busy," I told him.

"Busy," he repeated, like he didn't buy it. He crossed his big arms over his chest. "Doesn't look like it."

"I'm sorry," I said, meaning it. "But you know how things are going over here – with Dana, with Eve. Camila, too."

I'm such a shitty person, I thought as I watched Ghost's face visibly soften.

He closed the gap between us and wrapped his arms around me, squeezing my shoulders. I felt as if I were encased in a cocoon. So much different from Camila's bear hug. This was a real, all-encompassing hug. Unlike my sister, he didn't smell of food, but oh, how he still smelled edible.

Pull yourself together.

"Wanna get out of here?" Ghost asked, his mouth pressed into my hair.

I sighed. "Yeah. I do."

***

I would never get over how sexy Ghost was when he rode his motorcycle – powerful thighs wrapped around the growling machine, the muscles of his back flexing and relaxing with every twist of the road,

We didn't go to the clubhouse.

Instead, Ghost took me to old Mrs. Wilson's farm. It was a beautiful place, truly. The sprawling property offered a blanket of vibrant, green grass and tall trees, and a huge barn just a stone's throw away from the split-level house. I'd only come here to pick Fish up one or two times in the past.

"Why are we here?" I asked, taking off the helmet and getting off Ghost's bike.

"I bought the place," he said casually. Somewhere, in the distance, a cow mooed.

I raised my brows. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Come inside."

I followed him into the farmhouse on autopilot. Why hadn't Fish told me that Mrs. Wilson had sold her house to Ghost? Where were she and the old woman living now? I really was a shitty person because I realized that I didn't know much about what was going on in my friends' lives, beyond Eve's. I made a mental note to give Fish a call once I was home, whenever that would be.

"Why would you buy a farm?" I asked, following Ghost into the kitchen. It still screamed of old-lady décor, which made me believe that this sale was very recent.

"Always wanted one," he said, giving me his back as he opened one of the cupboards above the kitchen counter. "You gonna sit down anytime soon?"

I never knew that, I thought, pulling out a chair at the scarred, wooden table. There was an honest-to-God tea cozy covering the ceramic teapot that made up the centerpiece. It was like being at my abuela's house – spice racks on the counter, knick-knacks on the table. This house had definitely belonged to an old woman.

"I know you've been ignoring me," Ghost said, firing up the stove, "and that's cool. I get it. Our last conversation was...well, there's a shit-ton of things to unpack there."

"That's not..." I cleared my throat, watching him open the fridge. "That's not why I wasn't picking up."

"There are two things that scare you the most in this world, Catalina," Ghost said matter-of-factly, glancing at me with his steely eyes. "Being like your mother, and your feelings for me."

I felt my mouth go dry. Why hadn't he offered me something to drink, damn it? What kind of hospitality was this?

Before I knew it, Ghost had placed a cheese omelet – my favorite – in front of me. A glass of apple juice – his favorite – was put beside it. Ghost sat in the chair opposite mine, pinning me with his eyes. Daring me to say something.

"Eat," he finally said.

I felt like a dog. Sit... Eat... What was next? Walkies?

"You didn't have to," I told him, picking up the fork, "but thank you."

He shook his head, one side of his mouth pulling up into a half-smile. "When will you get it through your thick fucking skull, Catalina? I don't have to. I want to. All the fucking time."

"We're not talking about omelets, are we?" I asked, my voice guarded.

"No. We're not talking about omelets," Ghost said impatiently. He scrubbed a hand down his face, looking apologetic afterwards. "A couple weeks ago, I bump into Mrs. Wilson all by herself in town. I'm thinking, poor woman has dementia, or something, and I call Fish, who tells me how rude it is to assume. Mrs. Wilson does not, in fact, suffer from dementia." He seemed to chuckle at the memory. "Wilson's listening to our phone call this whole time with a smirk on her face. Tells me I owe her lunch for dragging her out of the store where I'd found her. Perfect. End up taking her to some bistro on Howell Street. I've got a guy waiting for me to start on his sleeve at Zen, and I'm having lunch with some old lady, but you know what? That woman's good company. We end up staying for three courses."

I was struggling to picture Ghost on a date with little old Mrs. Wilson. The mental image wasn't appearing. At all.

"Anyway, she mentions that she's selling this place, and do you know what? All I can think about is being out here, almost in the middle of nowhere, away from everyone and everything. With you," he said, his voice raspy.

"Okay, Old MacDonald," I said with a nervous chuckle. I reached out for the glass of juice and gulped it down, choosing my words carefully. "You're asking me to move in with you? Here?"

His eyes drilled into mine. "Yeah, Catalina. I am."

"Ah," I said. I stood up, shuffling to the window over the sink. It looked out onto the lush, green expanse of grass and the pigpen. I shivered, thinking about those pigs. Thinking about what Fish had once fed to those pigs.

But it was beautiful. So beautiful. It was a different kind of isolation, unlike the safe-house. This place was alive. With animals. With the earth. It felt like being on another planet somehow.

I felt, not heard, Ghost come up behind me. I turned around, facing him.

He caged me between the sink and himself, our thighs almost touching. "I don't just love you, Catalina. I care about you," he said, his voice soft. "And I am fucking tired of you pretending that you don't feel the same way about me."

On a good day, I might've had a million comebacks. This was not a good day. I realized that I'd been tensing my shoulders, and I relaxed them on an exhale. I dragged my eyes from him. "I'm tired, too," I told him.

And I was. Not just of holding myself from Ghost. I was tired of every-fucking-thing. Of trying to be in control all the damn time. Of trying to be the strongest, sturdiest shoulder to cry on. Of trying to fucking save everyone and feeling like there was no one to save me. Maybe it was that intense, almost strangling moment of fear that I'd felt in Crow's truck a few nights ago. But I'd seen my life flash in front of my eyes and I'd had nothing to show for it. It was so fucking tragic to think that my life could've ended at that psycho's whim, and I would've accomplished absolutely nothing. I would've died never knowing what it felt to just surrender. Let shit go. Live in the fucking moment, as cliché as that sounded.

Ghost brushed his thumb across my cheek, and I looked up at him in surprise, startled. But he was blurry.

"You're beautiful when you cry," he said to me, "but I don't want you to cry, Catalina."

I let out a short laugh, wiping my eyes. "You're such a sappy little shit."

Ghost leaned down and pressed his lips against mine, a hand cupping the back of my neck. My eyes slid shut as his fingers slid into my hair. This was what I had been missing. Just...this. Ghost's tongue swept over my lips, and they parted, allowing him to slip inside and taste me. My hands were on his hips, my fingers tugging on the waistband of his jeans, pulling him closer.

He pulled away slightly, his breath fanning me. "I want you, Catalina," he said, his voice throaty. "Not just your body. Not just for now. All of you. Forever."

I closed my eyes. I didn't want the tears to escape again. This wasn't how I'd seen this miserable morning going.

I felt his lips moving against my cheek, and then the side of my neck, and then there was nothing but air. My eyes snapped open when I felt his hands undoing my jeans. My breathing quickened as he lowered himself down to his knees, taking my jeans down with him.

"Ghost..." My voice trailed off when he pressed his mouth against the center of my lace panties, warm and wet against me. I gripped the sink, trying to steady myself when he pulled the thin fabric aside and flicked his tongue over my clit.

Fuck, I thought, my hips jerking.

He made a sound in his throat, and yanked my underwear down to my ankles, as if frustrated. His hands were grabbing my ass, pulling me to him, while his tongue stroked my clit, up and down, up and down... I was shaking, and I knew he was really the only thing holding me upright in that moment. His hands moved to my thighs, spreading me further apart, and he nuzzled his nose against me.

I heard a sound, and realized that it was me releasing those disgustingly loud moans and curses to the sky. Ghost was devouring me. I almost came when he curled a finger inside me, pumping it inside me. He slipped another finger inside, pulling my clit into his mouth and sucking on it, groaning as if it were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

I fell into the waiting arms of my orgasm, breathing his name out again and again. Marlon.

I was boneless, holding myself up against the sink behind me. Ghost was still on his knees, and he slowly, carefully removed my boots and helped me step out of the puddle of clothing at my feet. He rose, picking me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck as he took me upstairs.

I love you, I thought, and it wasn't just because of a mind-blowing orgasm.

"I love you, too, babe," said Ghost, and he squeezed my ass.

"I want you," I told him, lifting my head so I could look at him. I wanted him to know that I didn't just mean for now.

We were in what had to be the master bedroom, and I was glad that he'd at least gotten around to redecorating this room.

"Yeah?" he said, his lips lifting in a smile.

He put me down on my own feet, and I took my T-shirt off, now completely naked. His eyes had darkened, and he was biting his bottom lip, looking every bit the predator that I knew he was.

"You gonna make me undress myself?" he wanted to know, the dirty look on his face shifting to something playful.