Page 49 of Hauling Ashe

“You’re so full of surprises.” Her brows sternly pinch, or maybe that crease is because she’s confused. “How many more secrets do you have?” Her voice lowers, the tone hurt. I’m not holding out on her, it’s just that I’ve already shared so much.

“That might be my last one.” I’m so bare to her, raw even. The only thing left is telling her more about the band, but I’m not certain those details are necessary. I failed as a rock star.

Mae shakes her head. “So what? You’re the heir or something.”

“Jude is the heir. He’s the CEO with forty-nine percent in the only store.” The original flagship store is the only location that remains as the place where it all began. A buyout happened with another department store chain, converting most locations to their brand. Jude wasn’t happy to see his inheritance chipped away and it’s another grievance he wants to lay on me. However, the decision to sell came from his great-grandfather and the board of directors. Maybe Grandfather wanted Jude to start from scratch. Maybe he wanted Jude to rebuild. Or maybe he wanted Jude to stop acting like a spoiled brat. I was just like Jude as a kid.

“It’s another reason I started Impact. I needed something that was mine. Not Rochelle’s. Not my son’s. Not the family’s.”

Despite all I’d done, Grandfather left that one store to Jude in his will. He liked to tell me I’d always been able to forge my own path, which was such bullshit. I’d given in to his, married a woman to save a business agreement and the family name. Grandfather didn’t live to see the day when things began to sour with my wife or how much my son would come to despise me.

“What is love, son? We come from families that merge.” My grandfather held such an antiquated philosophy, but twenty-seven years ago what could I do? Like Mae said about her sperm-donor husband, she wouldn’t trade her kids. I wouldn’t give up Jude even though we disagree on almost everything.

“So, you are an Ashford, as in Ashford’s department store. You were in a band. You were married to Rochelle Ashe, influencer phenom, and you now own your own media company specializing in influencer branding and social media marketing. Do I have that right?”

“Sounds about right,” I say. Rather than sounding impressed, though, Mae looks upset. Her hand tugs free of mine again and she begins walking.

“Mae?” I follow her, my stride lengthening as her pace quickens.

“What the hell are you doing with me?” she barks, waving out her arms and turning on me. “You could afford a private jet. You could cross the country in your own fancy vehicle. You could have found another driver and paid them triple.”

“Please don’t make this about money and you know why I don’t have a private jet.”

Mae huffs and turns her back on me once more. Her sandals flap on the cement sidewalk and her ass sways as she stalks off. I race after her again, catching her arm and gently forcing her to stop.

“Mae. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing and it has nothing to do with money. Why are you keeping so much from me?”

Why would I open up? The words tingle the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say them because I have already told her so much. She knows my secret about Jude. She knows the reason behind my grandfather’s request. She knows I quit a band. She knows I wanted a divorce from Rochelle.

“I’m not. Mae, I’ve told you more than I’ve told any single other person ever. Even Mach. And I’m happy I’m on this trip with you.”

“You are not,” she scoffs.

“Don’t say that.” My voice turns harsher. My tone serious. I’ve enjoyed our time. It’s been a rollercoaster ride, but I’m glad to be on this trip with her. I’m excited to share this experience with her. In fact, I might be happier than I’ve ever been. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather cross the country with.”

“Taking other people’s journeys,” she mocks of words I tossed at her only yesterday.

“No, Mae. Taking our journey. Making this ours. Yours and mine.” I point between us. “We’re making a new history here.”

Mae turns her head, then lowers it. She shakes it side to side and blinks.

“Sunshine?” I reach for her chin and tip her face up. Her eyes close.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” Her lids lift and liquid fills them.

“You can be kind of sweet sometimes,” she says, so softly, so quietly, and once more I want to kiss her. I’d longed to put my mouth against hers and kiss her with everything I had as we stood on the side of the highway. Now we are standing on a sidewalk, and if my mouth presses hers, I don’t think I can stop there. I want to brush my lips over every inch of her. I want to run my tongue over her skin. I want to savor her, devour her, and then I want to enter her, joining us as only two people can. I want to make history, as I said. Hers and mine, together.

“Let’s get some lunch,” I say instead before I kiss her along this route we’re traveling. I’d press her up against a building just as easily as her car, but I want us to be alone when I do. I want to take my time with her because like that song I sang last night, she’s grains of sand, and she’ll slip through my heart if I don’t hold on tighter.

+ + +

With the setback of a flat tire, we delay even longer when we experience The Big Texan, a touristy restaurant in Amarillo known for a seventy-two-ounce steak. A giant bull statue stands outside the place and Mae has her obligatory photo taken, commemorating one more stop along our travels. I can’t tackle a seventy-two-ounce steak, but I’m ready to eat hardy. I’m starving as the adrenaline rush of nearly losing Mae settles down.

Eventually leaving Amarillo, I’m so protein full, I need a nap. Mae asks me to drive, and I wonder if she’s still shaken from earlier. Outside Amarillo, we find Cadillac Ranch, an iconic stop on a frontage road. Ten Cadillacs dating from 1949 to 1963 stand half buried in a field with their tailfins upright, or what would have been tailfins if they hadn’t been removed as souvenirs over the years. The draw to this location is the fact you can deface the vehicles, which have been here since 1974. Mae tells me all this as we near what is considered roadside art.

“Graffiti is encouraged, I don’t have spray paint,” she explains. “But I have a permanent marker.”