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White-hot flames licked at her insides, setting every inch of her skin on fire just at the memories. How was any man going to ever match up to Colonel Asher Stirling?
CHAPTER TEN
ASH STALLED AT the crematorium doors. For a moment he was seven again, and beyond the door wasn’t his foster mum Rosie, but his mum.
Part of him wanted to turn and run but that wasn’t in his nature. More concerning was the fact that another part of him wished that he hadn’t been too proud to accept Fliss’s offer to accompany him. If he had, she might be here now, standing right next to him.
But needing anyone wasn’t in his nature either.
His nature was to push people away. To keep them at arm’s length so they didn’t see that weak part of him he’d never been able to fully eradicate. And in protecting himself he often ended up hurting others. Just as he had hurt Rosie. And Wilf. He hadn’t intended to hurt them. And if he let Fliss in, he’d end up doing the same.
A hot pain stabbed through him at the idea of anyone ever hurting Fliss.
In one night she’d ignited such emotions in him. Passion, protectiveness, even possessiveness. He shook his head as if that would dislodge the memories of their night together. Memories which played on permanent loop in his brain.
Ironic, really.
He’d intended that night to be the distraction he needed from thinking about the funeral. Now he found he needed a distraction from thinking about that one night. Sex with Fliss was supposed to have been just sex. In the past it had always been just sex. Hot sex, wild sex, intense sex or lazy sex. It never mattered; the result had always been the same.
He’d tried to deny it but it had been different with Fliss, even from the start. And even when he’d walked out of the door, the memories had taken up residency in his head and refused to be evicted.
‘Going inside, mate?’
The unfamiliar voice caught him unawares, snapping him out of his thoughts and reminding Ash why he was here.
The funeral.
He turned with something approaching relief. The expression on the stranger’s face was instantly recognisable. A couple of years older than Ash but unmistakably another foster kid Rosie had helped. They nodded at each other in unspoken acknowledgement as Ash gestured for the other man to go ahead.
Stepping through the door, he stood just off to the side and straightened his service dress uniform and black arm band. The other man had made his way up the aisle to where Wilfred stood by the coffin.
Pain tightened Ash’s chest.
His foster father looked old. So much older than Ash remembered. Where was the man mountain of Ash’s childhood? It had only been, what? He calculated the last couple of tours. Four years. Four years since he’d last seen Wilf and Rosie—not that she’d recognised him—yet the frail old man in front of him could have been a decade and a half older. No doubt evidence of the toll Rosie’s illness had taken on him.
Wilf greeted the other man with a handshake and a brief embrace, exchanging a few words before the man went to sit down. Emotions rushed Ash. He doubted his foster father would be as pleased to see him. He should have come back years ago. But he couldn’t leave now, even if Wilf asked him to. He owed it to Rosie to be here.
Alone again, the old man resumed his stance, trying to straighten his back and steel himself against the emotions which were clearly flowing just beneath the surface. Typically stoic Wilfred. He would stay strong for everyone else even though Ash imagined he was crumbling inside.
Then there were no more excuses. Ash forced himself to take his first step to the aisle, placing one foot in front of the other, until his foster father finally looked up and saw him.
‘Asher.’
To Ash’s shock the old man practically stumbled down the aisle towards him, gratitude and fondness in the watery eyes which were paler than he remembered. He hauled Ash into the tightest bear hug before suddenly appearing to lose all strength, the thin body slumping against his own as Wilf clung on in silence, only his frail, shaking body, betraying himself to his former foster son. And then Ash finally allowed himself to feel. He wrapped his arms around the man who had helped to save his life and they hugged each other for several long moments.
By the time Wilf patted his arms, standing up again and looking him in the eye, the old man’s face was slightly wet.
‘Thank you. She’d be so happy you came.’ He exhaled deeply. ‘I’m so happy you came. And in your uniform. Rosie always loved to see you dressed like that. She was so proud of you. We both were.’
He stopped, choked up, filled with the love Ash recalled so well. Remorse flooded his entire body.
He’d been such a fool and now it was too late.
‘I’m sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘You have nothing to be sorry for, son. Nothing. You hear me?’
Something clogged in Ash’s throat and he swallowed painfully. ‘I should have come a long time ago.’
