Chapter Twenty-six
Ashlyn
The orangey glow of sunset lit the windows when Sam, Greg, and Carol said their goodbyes. By the time darkness fell, Allie and Dean were preparing to leave, as well. Em made a valiant effort to help clean up, but Ashlyn all but man-handled the newlyweds out the door right behind their guests, insisting they had ‘better things to do tonight’.
The whole day had gone well and she was glad to see her friends so happy, but the moment they were out of sight she slumped against the bar. Long nights with no sleep were starting to take their toll. A wobbly stool provided questionable support as she kicked off the glittery black heels she loved and loathed in equal measure, ignoring the yuck factor from the way the soles of her feet stuck to the floors in favor of the soothing coolness the hardwood provided.
“Why don’t you get out of here?” Mason paused his sweeping to lean on the broomstick. “The car won’t be here to pick me up for another half hour. I can have all of this done by then.”
Ashlyn’s gaze drifted to the front door. How nice would it be to get home and change into some cozy pajamas and soft socks and crawl into bed? Her longing for a hot shower was so strong she nearly sighed. But no, her stupid conscience insisted it wasn’t fair to leave clean up to Mason alone.
“It’s okay.” Stacking plastic cups precariously on top of paper plates, she moved from one table to the next collecting trash. “I can help.”
“Ashlyn.” A solid grip braceleted her wrist as she reached for a crumpled napkin. “Go home. I got this.”
Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t pull away or knee him in the groin, though both options flashed through her mind. Instead she tipped her head back to look him in the eye. Something she’d been actively avoiding all evening. “Are you sure?”
He sounded sure, and getting out of there—away from him—should have been her first priority. Who cared if he thought she was selfish? She was. But standing there, breathing in his woodsy scent, feeling the heat of his touch sweeping up her arm . . . leaving felt all wrong.
Soft eyes narrowed on her face. “Have you been getting any sleep at all?”
She could ask him the same question. Dark circles and deeper lines were new additions to his appearance. But her guilt already weighed heavily enough. “I’m fine.”
“Ashlyn . . .” Leaning the broom against the table, Mason reached for her face, but before he could make contact and eviscerate whatever sanity she had left she twisted out of his grasp.
“Thank you, Mas.” Stopping to cram her feet into her shoes, she clacked across the floor to the bar where she retrieved her I-pod and purse.
The bitter night air was like a slap in the face and other uncovered body parts. Earlier when the sun had been shining, taking a jacket along had felt like a hassle. Now she was regretting that shortsightedness. Harrison’s heater was questionable on a good day and even then it took at least ten minutes to get cranking. Usually about the time she pulled into her driveway.
“Okay, let’s get out of here.” The overhead light provided a yellowish glow as she rooted through her bag for the keys, but when she turned them in the ignition the car made some godawful grinding noise. “No, no, no. Come on, baby.”
She gave the keys another twist and this time all she got were a series of clicks. And then . . . nothing.
“No!” Her palm slapped the cracked plastic on the steering wheel followed quickly by her forehead. “One thing. Why is it so damn hard for just one thing to go right?”
Why did everything have to be such a mess all the time? Couldn’t anything just be easy? The way her throat swelled told her she was beyond exhausted. It was hardly the first time something like this had happened. It was nothing to cry about.
Popping the hood, Ashlyn climbed back out of the car and propped the creaky thing open. Why? Because that’s what people did when they had car trouble. They opened the hood and stared at what was inside like some magical grease fairy might appear and point out the problem and supply step-by-step ‘for dummies’ instructions on how to easily solve it. No such luck.
Ashlyn didn’t know the difference between motor and a muffler. Every other time this happened she’d just call a tow truck and take a cab home, let someone who knew what they were doing deal with it. But, now, a tow truck and a cab cost money she didn’t have to spare.
Tension crept up Ashlyn’s spine to settle at the back of her neck. Her temples throbbed with every beat of her pulse. Her toes felt like they were being gnawed on by a pair of rabid squirrels, and a film of ice coated her bare skin.
“Stupid, useless, piece of crap . . .” Why hadn’t she sold it for scrap when her mother told her to? Why hadn’t she listened in the first place when her mother had warned her to buy a newer car? Something under warranty? This was what happened when she tried to—
A flash of light swept across the sidewalk and Mason shoved his way outside, carrying two trash bags. When he spotted her standing there, he set them down. “What happened?”
Ashlyn sighed. “It won’t start.”
She shut her eyes and braced for his reaction. No doubt he’d laugh at her or lecture her about needing a more reliable car. Nothing she hadn’t already told herself, but all she could do was stand there and take it. What she wasn’t prepared for was the loud bang of her hood slamming shut.
Ashlyn jumped and her eyes sprang open. “What are you doing?”
An eerie creak spilled into the darkened lot when he yanked her door open and leaned into the car.
“Getting your stuff.” Mason dropped her keys into her bag and handed it over. “The car will be here any minute. You ride home with me and we . . . you can deal with this in the morning.”
Because there was no ‘we’ anymore. And that had been her decision. So then why the hell did it cut so deeply?
Slapping a second set of keys into her hand, Mason told her to lock up while he finished tossing out the trash. She tried, but she was shivering so hard she couldn’t get the stupid key in the hole. It just kept stabbing wildly at the gold plated lock.
“You’re cold.” Mason reached over her shoulder to steady her hand.
Ashlyn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s cold out so . . .”
The key slid home, but Mason kept hold of her hand. Ashlyn told herself to let go, that the warmth of his body pressed against her back shouldn’t have felt as good as it did.
“Come here.” Before she had a chance to react, he spun her around and tugged her into his arms.
She collided with his chest, both hands finding their way to his shoulders to steady herself. “What are you doing?”
“Warming you up, ice cube.” His hands rubbed briskly over her frigid arms and fire raced along her skin, melting away the ice.
That was the problem with Mason. He melted the ice. He scaled the walls, drained the moats, dodged the cannons, and shattered her armor. Being with him made her feel vulnerable, defenseless, and strangely safe all at the same time. It was a perplexing and terrifying combination.
“Enough.” Her hands slid down his chest. She knew she should push him away, but she didn’t know if she had the strength to do it again. He made her want things she shouldn’t want. Things she couldn’t have.
“Ash . . .” Mason leaned closer and she struggled to swallow, but her mouth had gone bone-dry. “I can’t—”
Whatever he’d been about to say was cut short when headlights swung across the darkened lot, bathing them both in a harsh glare.
Not one more word was spoken the entire drive home. Ashlyn sat quietly beside Mason with only the occasional pained hiss as she plucked the infinite amount of pins from her hair and dropped them in her purse. She probably looked like Bride of Frankenstein, but her tingling scalp thanked her.
Mason hummed quietly to the song playing on the radio.
When the car pulled to a stop on the street outside her house, Ashlyn slid out as he tipped the driver. What now? Would he want to come in? Finish whatever he had to say? She was too tired for that tonight. But, maybe, if she could make it inside before he—
Ashlyn stumbled to a halt at the end of her driveway.
“What’s wr—” Slowly she dragged her gaze from the shocking scene to find Mason at her side. Even in the pale glow of moonlight she could see the blood drain from his face. “Are those . . . bullet holes?”