Part III: All-American Monsters
Copyright © 2014 by Lauren Gilley
Her smile was thin, but she couldn’t seem to help it. “You wanted me to be different.” From the rest of you, she left unsaid.
“I wanted you to be better,” Ghost corrected. “And you are.”
The backs of her eyes burned. She blinked and stared at her hands.
“I just…” Ghost took a troubled breath. “I wanted you to know that. That you’re doing a good job and I’m proud.”
That was probably her cue to leave, because she wasn’t going to get bigger praise than that. But she felt unsteady. It had been a very long time, she suddenly realized, since she’d sought shelter in the arms and leather-covered chests of any of the Lean Dogs in her life. She missed that. She was rabidly nostalgic for that, and wanted to dive across the table and into her father’s lap so he could tuck her under his chin and promise to put bullets in all her fears.But she wasn’t a little girl anymore – not that club-attached girl she’d been growing up – and he was proud of that.