"This morning?" She frowned, not sure what he was referring to.

He turned back to her, his brows raised. "You. Slapping Blood."

She bit her lip. "Oh. That."

"Yeah. Oh, that."

"Well, he deserved it."

"Ain't sayin' he didn't. But, brat, you have to understand, shit like that is not tolerated. No woman disrespects a brother like that. Ever. We clear?"

"Whatever."

"No, babe. Not whatever. You need to understand that. Down to your bones. I'm lucky Blood was in a good mood this morning, or he and I would've been punching it out in the street over you."

"Good mood? You're joking, right?"

"Nope."

She raised her brows.

Ghost continued on. "So, next time you feel the need to react or feel an impulse like that, you better squash it down. It's shit like that that'll force me to cut you loose."

"Maybe I am impulsive. I suppose I get it from my mother."

"You definitely are impulsive. I'll testify to that. Not always the best trait to have, though, babe."

"Like mother, like daughter, huh?"

"Don't talk bad about your mom, Jess. She did the best she could by you. And she tried with me, she really did. Hell, I'm sure I was a handful. But she did try. Much as I didn't like her, I have to give her that."

"Do you know why she moved us out?"

Ghost stared at Jessie wondering where she was going with this, and how their conversation had taken such a turn. But he also felt she had the need to talk. One thing Ghost knew about women, when they needed to talk, you'd best let them. Otherwise they bottled that shit up, and it was bound to explode all over you when you least expected it.

He shook his head, watching her closely.

"Because she read my diary."

"And?" Why did his chest suddenly feel tight?

"And she found out about...you know...us."

"Us? There was no 'us', Jess," he stated emphatically. Jesus Christ what the hell was in that diary?

"There was that kiss."

His brows rose. "You wrote about that in your diary?"

"Of course."

"What exactly did you write?"

She flushed.

Fuck, that wasn't good. "Jess?"

She shrugged. "Just that we kissed."

"And?"

"She blew up at your father. Told him to keep you away from me."

"I'd already moved out by then."

"I know. But sometimes you still came around."

"She didn't have anything to worry about. I told her that."

It was her turn to frown. "You did? When?"

"She confronted me. Did you really think she wouldn't?" He watched her jaw tighten at that.

"I hated her for moving us out."

"Don't be like that."

"I wish they hadn't divorced."

"It must have been hard on her. Losing Tommy, then the split with my dad, and you running off." When he saw her blanch at his words, he closed his eyes. Fuck. He shook his head, running a hand over the back of his neck. "I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it was your fault. You were grieving, too."

"I know. It's okay."

"She reached out to me. Did you know that?"

She shook her head, frowning. "No, I didn't."

"I just couldn't be there for her, you know? Couldn't be what she needed. Couldn't be Tommy for her."

"I'm sure that's not what she wanted."

"Maybe not. But I let her down, just the same."

"Why do you say that?"

He shook his head. Christ, he needed to shut up before he said too much. "Never mind."

At his curt words, she let it drop, and he was thankful for that. He was beat from the ride, and put his palm on his back, stretching and groaning as his tight muscles flared in pain.

"Long trip, huh?" she asked.

"Yeah," he gritted out, trying to smile. "Don't get me wrong, I love to ride, but fucking hell, this trip is motherfucking long."

"What a mouth you have on you now," she teased.

"Lotta shit about me has changed. Not the boy you used to know," he bit out a little harsher than he intended, his exhaustion stringing his nerves out.

"Yes you are," she countered quietly.

"No, I'm not. And you need to understand that, babe, right now." Perhaps his exhaustion was putting him in a mood. Didn't excuse him taking that shit out on her. He knew she didn't deserve to have him snap at her. Still he couldn't seem to stop. Shit just spilled out of his mouth, shit he hadn't intended to say.

"Ghost-"

"I've done a lot of shit, Jess. Things you'd never understand. Things you'd never get past if you knew. Maybe I'll tell you one day. And when I do, you'll walk out that door, sure as shit."

"That's not true."

"Yeah, it is, Jess."

"Ghost-"

"You lookin' to start a fight? That's where we're goin' with this. So just drop it."

"Okay, fine. It's dropped." She raised her hands.

He ran a frustrated hand down his face. "Sorry, brat. Didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just tired." He sat on the end of the bed. "Fuck, my back hurts."

She moved to sit on the side, facing his back.

"Maybe I can help you feel better."

"Don't think so."

She slid her hands on his shoulders, squeezing the muscles. Fuck, that felt good. His eyes slid closed and he moaned, rolling with her motions, allowing her to manipulate some of the tightness out.

"Well, it is what I do for a living." What the fuck? He was off the bed like a shot, spinning to look down at her. She stared up at him, confusion written on her face. "What's wrong?"

"You make men feel good for a living?"

"What? No! Jesus, Ghost, get your head out of the gutter!"

"What the hell did you just mean?"

"Are you saying you think I'm a...a...streetwalker or prostitute or...whatever?" She was at a loss for words.

"What are you saying?" he snapped right back. "You get paid to do what exactly?"

She surged to her feet. "I'm a massage therapist, you moron!"

His chin pulled back. "Massage therapist?"

"Yes. Trained and everything."

He frowned, wondering when the hell that had happened. "Seriously?"

Her hands landed on her hips. "Yes, Ghost. Seriously. And I'm good at it. I could work the tightness out of your back if you'd let me. But after that remark, I'm not so sure I want to anymore."

"Brat, you gotta see where I was confused. When you said..."

"Just shut up before you dig a deeper hole."

Good fucking advice. He knew enough to know when a woman told you to shut up, you best shut up. So he nodded and shut up.

She huffed out a breath. "Fine. Lay back down."

He eyed the bed. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

"Your back hurts, doesn't it? Or don't you think I know what I'm doing?"

Okay, now she was getting offended again. Fuck.

"Take off your shirt. I'll get my oil."

"You're oil?"

"Yes, massage oil."

"Oh." He watched as she crossed the room to the dresser and dug through her cross-bag, coming back with a small bottle. He hadn't moved, so she lifted her brows.

"Well?"

He found his hands going to his shirt and yanking it over his head, and then he moved to lie down on his stomach.

"Other way."

He looked at her.

"With your head at the foot. Makes it easier to reach your neck and shoulders."

He complied, and she moved to stand over him at the foot. Then she uncapped the bottle and poured a small amount of oil in her hand. He watched as she rubbed them together to warm the oil before she touched him. A moment later, he felt her small hands settle on his shoulders. She smoothed the oil over his skin with long gliding strokes. And, God, it felt wonderful.

"Take slow, even breaths and try to relax," she ordered, and he found himself complying willingly as she began working the tension out of his muscles. "It helps if you visualize something calming and soothing."

"Got any suggestions?" he asked, not sure how relaxed he was going to be able to stay with her hands on him.

"I use the ocean. I imagine myself lying on the beach just in the surf line, feeling the waves wash over me, gently lifting me, the warmth of the sand and the sun, the sensation of floating in the water."