Chapter Twenty
Ashlyn
“Trust me.” Mason’s voice was quiet, but she could tell he was close. Probably right on the other side of the door. “Please.”
Christ, she was a horrible human being. Mason had already been through too much bullshit with messed up friends. He was a good guy. A white knight in shining armor who wanted to go around saving everyone. But, the truth was, some people were just too broken to fix.
He already shouldered the guilt of what happened to his friend in high school. He’d carry this, too. The weight of her failures. How much more could he take before it broke him?
“You have to go.” Ashlyn’s heart ached. She couldn’t save herself. She wanted to. She wanted to let Mason come in and make everything better. Make her normal again. But it didn’t work that way. She wasn’t strong enough. For either of them. Weakness infused her bones, making even her head too heavy to hold up.
Rustling sounded outside the door. “I’m not going to leave you.”
A soft thud sounded and she pictured him leaning on the door. Her fingers strained upward, moving soundlessly to press against the wood on her side. All she could do now was make sure she didn’t drag him down with her. “Get out.”
“Ash . . .”
Ashlyn pressed her head back against the wall beside the sink hard enough that her skull ached.
“Get out!” Her throat burned as badly as her eyes. “Get out right now. Go!”
She was a curse. A plague on everyone she touched. Her family. Her friends. They all suffered just for knowing her. Ashlyn thrashed, self-hatred burning a hole through her chest. Why did she have to be this way? Why couldn’t she ever do anything right?
“Get away from me! Get out!”
A ceramic soap dispenser smashed against the side of the tub leaving tiny green shards all over the bathmat.
“Okay. Alright.” More rustling. Mason sounded worried and that only made her feel worse. He shouldn’t worry. He shouldn’t care about her at all. No one should. “I’ll get out of your way. I’ll give you space if that’s what you need, but—”
“Get out of my house.”
The rustling stopped. “What?”
“You heard me. Get out.” The words clogged her throat, causing an unbearable ache. It hurt just to speak them. “And don’t come back.”
“Ashlyn, don’t do this. Don’t push me—”
“You have five minutes to get your shit and get out. Or I’ll call the police.” Pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes hard enough to make them ache held the tears in check.
“Ashlyn . . .”
“No rental agreement.” Her voice sounded flat . . . broken. Just like her. “You’re trespassing.”
He got up without a word and she heard him move into his room. Minutes later the front door opened and closed. The weight of what she’d done settled over her like a cold, wet blanket. It suffocated.
She sat there for a long time. Until the light from the small window over the toilet faded away to darkness. Still she sat. Something about getting up, moving on . . . it all felt like too much. Maybe she could just sit there forever and never move again. Never think. Never feel. That didn’t sound so terrible.
It was the sound of whining that finally forced her to her feet and gave her the strength to slide the linen cabinet away from the door. Tank lay at the end of the hall, staring at the front door.
“You hungry?” Ashlyn shuffled into the kitchen with one goal in mind: feed the dog. If she took the rest of her life that way—one thing at a time—she might just make it through.
The clatter of kibble filling the metal bowl couldn’t draw Tank’s attention from the door. Sad eyes watched diligently and he whimpered; a sad, pathetic sound that pissed Ashlyn off.
“Get over it.” She dropped the bowl to the floor with a loud crash. “He’s gone and he’s not coming back.”
Grief welled so fast she choked on it.
“He’s gone.” No amount of will power could stop the tears from falling. They spilled down her cheeks in scorching paths and she dropped to her knees beside the dog bowl. “He’s n-not coming . . . b-back.”
A heavy body leaned against her and she folded into herself, forehead to knees, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, trying desperately to hold herself together. A cold nose prodded the side of her face a few times before she heard crunching.
Not alone. She wasn’t alone. Mason may have left, but he hadn’t left her alone.
Straightening, she looked at the dog with tears in her eyes. Tank stopped eating and came to her.
“I’m sorry.” She stroked a hand down his thick neck. “It’s my fault he left. You lost him, too, and . . . it’s my fault.”
In a moment of pure weakness—or maybe it was insanity—she threw her arms around the giant beast’s neck and buried her face in his scruff. Ashlyn shook from head to toe, but Tank didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t whine or complain that she was keeping him from his dinner. He didn’t blame her for sending Mason away. Didn’t abandon her. He just sat there and let her cling to him for as long as she needed. No one had ever done that for her before. But maybe that was her fault. Maybe she’d never trusted anyone enough to give them the chance.