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I try to get back to my work, and while I stare at a pile of hay dust and leaves, our conversation from CCs plays on my mind. Ashton has always known how to make me feel better. Stronger. Happier to be, well, me.
When I told Eric about my feelings a couple of times after becoming a vet, he thought I was being dramatic. He said I made my bed and I needed to lie in it and I needed to check my privilege. I was a doctor coming out of school with no debt, thanks to my family’s position. And he’d tell me I already knew what the job entailed so why complain about it now.
As a woman growing up with a lot of men in my life, I knew they weren’t always the most sympathetic. But Eric was downright cruel sometimes. And now, talking to Ashton, I can’t believe I wasted so many years not seeing how Eric pushing me down was also him keeping me right where he wanted me. Under his skate. Ready to pick up whenever he wanted. I told myself he wasn’t important to me and he was as throwaway in my life as I was in his. Inever loved him. But allowing him in my life was more damaging than I realized because it doesn’t matter if you’re made of steel. When someone shoots at you, if it doesn’t leave a hole, it still leaves a dent. I let his words wear me down into silence.
And it’s so clear, now that I have Ashton who won’t let me hide within myself. Never before and not now. He just has a way of getting me to talk and open up.
I stare at the country hockey boy in his element, hunched over, his thumb flicking upward, and God, I remember how well he flicked me… He senses me staring and glances up from his phone. I snatch his gaze into the palm of my hand and send a smile on the breeze across the yard. The corner of his mouth lifts, and our eyes lock long enough for me to want to run across the pavement and jump onto his lap.
“There you are!”
A woman’s voice startles me. Startles us. Ashton quickly lowers his eyes to his phone again.
There, coming into the space, are our mothers.
Monica heads to Ashton’s side and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Good to see you’re resting. You’ve been out all day.”
I get back to sweeping as if it’s the most important task in the world, but I feel her eyes dart to me anyway.
My mom approaches, pulling her coat tighter around her slim middle. “Are you okay?” she asks in that very particular way moms who know you’re not quite right, ask.
I know my mom knows everything, even though I haven’t told her. Colt would have told everyone in our family. I’m sure my mom is terrified of how fragile I could be. I should talk to her.
I’ve avoided just about everyone in my family like theplague since talking to Colt. Logan’s been blowing up my phone. Dash has asked me for coffee more than once this year which is a new record for him, since it’s me who always dishes out the invites. Colton sent me a few therapy appointments that might “fit my schedule.”
They’re all worried I’m severely depressed. They know my profession claims lives. I’m lucky. Some of the vets who haven’t made it didn’t have anyone. I toss Mom a true smile, because since talking to Ashton, I’m feeling optimistic for the first time in years. I don’t know if I can just be myself like he says, hell, I probably won’t be able to retain clients if I don’t keep some filter on, but his validation meant everything. Sometimes, all we need is to be seen for who we are to gather up our weapons and fight another day.
“I’m good.” And I mean it. I am good about what she’s asking, and if I included finally getting with the man of my dreams in this equation, I’d be a lot better than good. But she’s not asking about that, and I can’t tell. Not yet.
Mom smiles back, and visible relief washes through her because she knows if I’m not okay, I usually stop talking to everyone altogether. “Yeah? That’s… great.”
Monica asks, “You two want to come in now? We have the caterer inside and we’re picking buffet items for your dad’s surprise sixtieth.”
Ashton taps his phone and slides it off. “Sure. Man, the party is sneaking up on us.”
“Mmm. Not long now. You have a game on Thanksgiving, so we made it the Friday after because your brother might be able to come home, too. You both have it off.”
“Might?” Ashton barks. “What the hell would he have going on that’s more important than Dad’s sixtieth?”
“You know how Fletcher is.”
Ashton’s younger brother and I went to school together.
“He’s just like Logan. How can he make an entrance if it’s not a surprise?” I say.
“Exactly,” Monica agrees. “You look done here, sweetheart. Want to come in the house for some hors d’oeuvres?”
“You don’t have to ask twice.” I pop the broom back in the outbuilding. “I’m starving.”
Monica says, “You two will be helpful. Joy and I don’t exactly agree on spice levels.”
My mom shrugs. “What can I say? I like it hot.”
Ashton and I stand next to each other on one side of the table. I planned on not standing next to him because if I thought I craved him before, now that I know what he has under those clothes and in that heart of his, all that L for me? I want to touch him, squeeze him, hold him, and talk to him all night long.
Ashton being so tall, he’s always had an imposing energy, but now, he’s a wall of red-hot desire next to me, and it’s pretty damn hard to focus on the food.
Monica coughs into her hand. “What the hell, Hux,” she says to the caterer, who is also head chef at our family’s ranch hotel. “You said these were mild satay skewers. How much chili is in these? I think I’d rather poke my eye out with the bamboo stick.” She coughs again and tries to wash down the spice with some water.
