Page 90 of Hauling Ashe

It wasn’t until after I boarded the plane that a text came through with minimal details. We use wooden pallets on cinder blocks to hold up the plants, like bookshelves. Wyatt went to lift the corner of one pallet where the cinder blocks were precariously leaning due to excessive rain. His foot slipped in the loose gravel under the pallet. The cinder blocks tumbled over, and he lost his grip. He was nearly in the splits when the pallet came down on his upper thigh. The pressure of pounds of plants, along with the angle of the fallen pallet, chopped at his bone. I wouldn’t have expected Wyatt to be so brittle, but an accident is an accident and a break a break.

“We need to get you out of this bed and back on the ice. You’re missing valuable training time,” my son’s father says from the other side of Wyatt’s hospital bed.

The insensitivity of my ex-husband should not astonish me, but it does. I shake my head at him.

“What?” he drones. “I’m just saying—"

“Adam, stop talking.”

He shakes his head at me.

“Where were you?” I ask.

“I was out.” As if that explains his absence. It’s late Sunday and he’s finally shown up.

I’ve been at the hospital for hours. I made an overnight flight to Chicago and caught a second flight to my small-town airport in the morning. Jacob Vincentia, Pam’s husband, was kind enough to meet me at Cherry Capitol in Traverse City and drive me to the hospital. I haven’t slept. I’m still wearing the dress from the wedding although I dug flip-flops out of my suitcase to replace the wedges I’d had on.

I’d give anything to have Tucker here with me. When I arrived at the local airport this morning, I sent him a text. With the time difference, I expected he’d still be sleeping. My hope was he had an amazing night with his old friends and his daughter’s new family. He needed to reconnect with those people. I also hoped he’d let me explain myself and then want to reconnect with me. The reminder that I’ve left him once more is a struggle. But he needed to stay behind for his daughter. I needed to be here for my son.

“You should have been here,” I say.

“Oh yeah, and where were you?” His gaze roams my dress.

I don’t want to fight with Adam, but his explanation isn’t good enough. I left my boys to be with their dad for two weeks. Two weeks out of fifty-two, and this is what happens.

“I’m not doing this with you,” I mutter, turning back to our son, hating that he’s a witness to another fight between his parents. He looks like hell although the pain is subdued by meds. He has a long recovery ahead of him and hockey may not be in his future. In a snap, his dreams might be shattered, and I’m reminded of Tucker again. How he had plans and hopes, and his path was cut short. We can never predict where we will go. We can’t assume the final destination exists. We can only make the best of every trip.

Briefly, I wonder if that’s what Tucker did with me. I can’t seem to shake his son’s words. Does Tucker think he was a means to an end? Does he believe that he paid for a service? What about the extra between us? Our connection felt so real. I want to refuse negative thoughts of him taking advantage of me, but standing across from my ex-husband, old doubts return. I hate that Adam has that power over me.

“You look different.” My ex-husband’s eyes shift to me once more.

“I am different,” I say, defensively. Dammit, Adam should have no power over me. That was the point of my spirit trip. To find myself. To restore myself. To rev my engine. I almost chuckle at the notion. Tucker definitely started the ignition and accelerated all my sexual energy. He took me on the best ride of my life.

“What’s different?” Adam asks, eyeing me as if he can visibly see on the outside the changes that have occurred within.

“I’m different,” I say again.

I can’t go back to being complacent about Adam’s lack as a father or the fact he had two affairs and we ended in divorce. I also can’t define myself by Adam’s actions. I’ve learned better. I’ve had better, and it was in Tucker Ashford. Ashe. He made me feel alive. He also made me feel special. And even if it was a lie—and I haven’t accepted that it was—it was real to me. Our road trip changed everything.

“You said that,” Adam comments. He tips up his chin, eyes still leering at me. “We should grab a drink sometime.”

He can’t be serious. I stare back at my ex-husband. I don’t need to explain myself to him. I couldn’t, even as I accept I shouldn’t. He’d never understand this feeling inside me. This new energy burning within. Despite Adam, I’ve learned I can love again. I love Tucker and I desperately want to tell him.

“Never gonna happen, Adam. Save that line for someone else.”

“When can I go home?” Wyatt groans on the bed between Adam and me.

“Soon, baby,” I say swiping at his hair. He needs a shower, but he’ll only be allowed baths for a bit. He’s a big kid and I could use Adam’s help maneuvering my son, but like everything else surrounding my ex-husband, I’ll need to fend for myself. I can do this. I’ll figure it out as I always do.

“You’re coddling him,” Adams says.

“I’m comforting him, Adam. There’s a difference.”

“Stop fighting,” Wyatt groans and I’m chagrined by my child. We shouldn’t be literally arguing over him like this. Our son needs either a united front between his parents or two separate camps under a cease fire, not Adam and I at war.

“Where’s the Prius?” Adam suddenly asks.

“I sold it.”