Page 42 of Ghost Hunted

“Okay, well, I guess you’ll have to,” says Piper. “It’s our only solution.”

“There’s another solution.” Quill presses her to him. “The other solution is ditching your parents.”

“That’s not going to happen!”

“It’ll happen if it needs to, cricket.” He kisses the top of her head. “I’m going to keep you safe no matter what.”

“He doesn’t mean that,” says Piper quickly. “We won’t abandon you. Mama… are you okay?”

I blink fast, trying to follow along. I don’t know which parts of my brain are foggy and which ones are simply struggling to get used to my daughter’s fast talking, after having spent so long locked up in a house with my quiet mother.

“I’m… fine.”

Quill. Piper. Logan. I stare at each in turn, committing their faces and their names to memory. I can feel my mind slipping.

“It’s okay, mama.” Piper sidles up to me, running her hand up and down my arm. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll go to Belfast, Logan will see a doctor, and…”

“It’s strange, hearing you call him Logan instead of papa, Jane.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I was—what did you call me?”

She looks surprised, and more than a little worried.

“What do you mean?” I ask. “I called you Piper. Or Aurora. Didn’t I? Sorry, I know you’re Piper now. I’ll keep calling you Piper. Sorry about that, baby.”

Piper stares at me, alarm taking the place of worry.

“It doesn’t matter,” says Quill. “Let’s go, cricket. Or we’re going to have a fuckload of bikers on our asses. Hey, Lia!” He snaps his fingers at me.

I’m losing it. Fuck, I’m losing it. And Piper and Quill’s reactions are making me realize just how bad it is.

“Let’s go,” insists Quill.

He grabs a still-unconscious Logan, toppling him over his shoulder without any ceremony.

“Please be gentle with him, Quill,” begs Piper. “He’s my dad.”

“Sure, cricket.”

The way Quill throws Logan down over the seat of the bike is the opposite of gentle. But I’m too nervous, right now, to protest.

How the hell am I supposed to drive this massive thing?

“How far are we from Belfast anyway?” asks Piper.

“Far enough that it doesn’t have to be a quickie. Not so far that it can be a… long-ie.”

“Quill!”

“Go in front, Lia,” suggests Quill. “That way I can shield you if we get chased by more bikers.”

“Right,” grumbles Piper, sitting down where Quill pats the seat. “That’s why you want us to go behind Lia.”

“Enough with the filthy mind, cricket. Okay, Lia?”

“Uhm…”

I stare at the bike, feeling overwhelmed. I guess it should be simple enough. There are the handlebars, the accelerator grip, the brakes. I know how to drive. I don’t remember ever driving a motorbike, but it feels familiar.