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I inhale and hold the air in my lungs for several seconds before I let it out slowly.
I need to regain control. Difficult, now that my emotions—which I’ve held captive inside me for so long—are running rampant, as if they’re whooshing through my veins along with my blood.
I know my father. He won’t leave me until he’s convinced he knows what’s going on and that I’m okay.
Which means I need to focus.
Focus, so I can pretend.
I’m not a good actor. I never have been. But I’ve never had to be, as long as the feelings stayed buried deep inside my soul.
I inhale and exhale several more times.
“You okay?” Dad asks.
I nod.
It’s a lie, but I nod.
“Good. We’re going to go upstairs and sit down. Then you’re going to tell me what the hell just happened here.”
I nod again.
Another lie. But at least I have a few minutes to compose a viable story.
I rise, wearing only my jeans and boots. I follow my father up the basement stairs, through the hallway, and into the kitchen.
“Drink?” he asks.
“Sure.” It’ll give me more time.
He heads to the bar in the adjacent room and returns a few minutes later with two bourbons. He sits down at the kitchen table and gestures me to sit next to him. I plunk down in the chair, and he slides a lowball glass of amber liquid toward me.
“Drink,” he says.
Reluctantly, I pick up the glass and watch the bourbon swirl.
What sounds does this color conjure up in Ashley’s mind? I bring the glass to my lips and take a small sip, letting it sit on my tongue for a moment as if I’m tasting wine.
So different from wine, yet no less alluring. This, my father’s favorite bourbon, is smooth as silk and smoky as a forest fire.
Delicious all around.
I swallow. It doesn’t burn. It simply melts my throat with its heat.
Finally, I meet my father’s gaze. I haven’t come up with an alibi, so I’m going to have to go with my gut. He’ll ask me something, and I’ll answer.
Dad takes a drink and sets his glass down. “I’m ready.”
“For what?”
“For your explanation of why you did this.” He points to his cheek and eye.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are. What I want to know is what precipitated it.”
“I was working out.” I pick up my glass. “I guess I lost control. I’m sorry.”
“That’s twice now. You don’t have to say you’re sorry again. What’s going on, Dale?”
A loaded question if ever one existed.
A loaded question my father doesn’t actually want the answer to.
“I haven’t worked out in a while. I decided to today, and I lost control.”
“That was more than losing control. You weren’t punching and kicking that bag. You were punching and kicking a person.”
I say nothing. I can’t deny his words, so I don’t even try.
So much for pretending.
“I understand,” he says.
Does he? Does he really?
I shake my head. “You can’t.”
He stays silent for a moment. A moment that seems like an hour or two while I wait for the Talon Steel wisdom to cross his lips.
My father always has wisdom on occasions like these.
“As a matter of fact,” he finally says, “I can.”
Chapter Fifteen
Ashley
Brendan hands me the bottle of Latour. “Would you like to do the honors?”
I smile. “That’s kind of you, but being an almost doctor of wine doesn’t give me any special way of uncorking. As a bartender, you probably do it more often than I do. At least for now. When I’m a sommelier, I’ll do it a lot.”
“Fair enough.” He uncorks the Latour with an expert hand and then pours it into a glass carafe. “Let’s give it a few minutes.”
“Good call. Grand crus need their breathing time.”
Though I’m anxious to taste the wine. Because it’s an excellent cru and vintage, of course, but also because it may loosen Brendan’s tongue even more.
My curiosity is warranted, as I’m in love with Dale. But I’m also being nosy for the sake of being nosy, like when I walked into Dale’s unlocked home.
I should know better.
The chance to find out details the Steels won’t tell me has fallen into my lap, though. Details that may help me understand the man I love better. I can’t walk away from this chance.
“Help yourself to a burger,” he says, “before they get cold.”
I smile and load my plate.
“Those buns are from Ava Steel’s bakery,” Brendan says. “She makes the best bread I’ve ever tasted.”
“Oh?” I squirt ketchup on top of my burger. “I’ve only met her briefly.”
“She’s awesome. Really down-to-earth. If you met her and didn’t know who she was, you’d never guess she was a Steel.”
“Really? I think the Steels are pretty down-to-earth.”
“They’re nice folks,” he says. “But I wouldn’t call them down-to-earth. They live in the lap of luxury.”
I let out a laugh. “Well, that’s true enough.”
