Face the Music

by Salsbury, JB

  As much as I want to take a shower and go to sleep, I can’t leave my brother to take care of Elliot, so I drag myself off the bed and to the hallway. I take a step and freeze when I hear female laughter coming from behind me.

  It’s coming from the guest suite at the end of the hallway. Why would Bethany, whose bedroom is on the other side of the house, be in the guest suite with someone? A female someone?

  It wouldn’t be Jade, Ryder’s wife, because he was going home to see her when we left the studio thirty minutes ago. Bethany’s parents are on an Alaskan cruise, so it’s not them.

  My pulse beats a little faster. Hope swells behind my ribs, and I tell myself I’m being stupid for thinking the other voice could be Ashleigh’s. Surely Jes would’ve told me if she was coming. And surely Bethany would’ve told Ashleigh I was staying here for a few weeks. If she had, Ash wouldn’t come here. She’s worked so hard to avoid me.

  Music comes from the room, then another short burst of laughter followed by the rumble of a voice that sends goose bumps up my arms. I know that voice, if not for the words but the tone and inflections. Her voice is recorded in my soul. I’d know it from a million others.

  With quaking fingers, I push open the door. They don’t see me right away, and I’m struck silent as I stare at Ashleigh. Her back is toward me as she stands on the bed, baggy red plaid flannel pajama pants and her cut-off tank top showcasing soft skin and a narrow waist that flows into womanly hips. Her hair is up in a ponytail that looks loose, probably from jumping on the bed as she is now. Bethany laughs, swinging a pillow at Ashleigh’s legs.

  Bethany spots me and her laughter dies. She sits up abruptly and hits something on her phone that stops the music. Ashleigh notices and whirls around, her big blue eyes even bigger, her face makeup free. When she whispers my name, I find myself smiling at her.

  “Hey, Ash,” I say through a grin I refuse to hide.

  “What are you doing here?” She tries to pull her gaze away from mine, but she can’t, and I refuse to fight the draw between us.

  I step into the room.

  Bethany scoots to the edge of the bed. “Ben, you’re back.”

  I don’t answer her because my presence is answer enough.

  Bethany darts for the door. “I’m going to go downstairs and—”

  “You knew he was here.” Ashleigh’s words are for her best friend.

  Bethany flinches. “I didn’t tell you because you never asked.”

  Ashleigh’s legs fold and she sits on the bed with her head in her hands. She mumbles something I can’t make out, but it sounds something like, “This is so bad.”

  “I’ll be downstairs.” Bethany scurries out of the room, closing the door.

  With the soft click of the closed door, Ashleigh’s eyes come up, glazed with tears that squeeze my chest.

  “I don’t want to upset you, Ash. If you want me to leave…”

  She doesn’t tell me to go, which is good, because I couldn’t force myself out of this room if I tried.

  “What are you doing here?” She sounds worn out, beaten up.

  She sounds exactly how I feel.

  I clear my throat and look around for somewhere to sit. My legs feel as though they weigh a million pounds as I drag them to the sitting area in the corner of the room. Ashleigh slides off the bed, and I try not to stare at her belly button as she walks toward me and takes the seat next to me. Her beauty takes my breath away. Did I forget how gorgeous she is? Or does the fact that she’s no longer mine make her seem even more appealing then ever?

  “Ben?”

  “I miss you.” There. I said it.

  “You’re here for me?” Her eyebrows pinch together.

  I wish I could lean forward and run my thumb between them to soothe the tension. “I’m working with Jesiah on his album.”

  Those pinched brows become more severe. “What about the church?”

  “I quit.”

  “What!” Her face pales and her lips part. “Why?”

  I blow out a breath, trying to figure out which of the hundreds of reasons I should give her. “Because being a pastor meant alienating the people I love. Because I’d rather have a relationship with my brother than a church. I’m sick of being forced to choose between the two.”

  “But… you always preach about love and grace and—”

  “Attributes of God, not man. My dedication to God hasn’t changed, but I don’t have to lead a church to be devoted to both God and the people I care about.”

  Her expression relaxes. “At the risk of sounding condescending, I’m really proud of you.”

  Her words warm me and fill a little of the emptiness in my chest. “That means a lot coming from you.”

  She folds her hands in her lap, her feminine knuckles turning white as if she’s keeping her hands from reaching out or fidgeting. “I think your brother and my friend may have arranged for us to be here at the same time.”

  I grin, loving the lightness she manages to bring into what could be a tense conversation. “You think so?”

  A light chuckle escapes her lips. “I should’ve known Bethany was scheming when she offered for me to come and stay while I figured out my life.”

  “Figure out your life?” A flicker of worry and guilt sparks inside me. “Did the club fire you? Was it because of what happened with Anthony?”

  “No, no.” She puts her hand on my knee and I freeze, looking at her pretty hand on my denim-covered knee. “It was time to move on.”

  I can’t pull my gaze from where she’s touching me. She must notice, because she removes her hand, but I grip her wrist and put her hand back on me, leaving my hand covering hers. I close my eyes, embarrassed by my need to feel her touch me, feel her warmth under my palm.

  “Ben…”

  “I know, I’m sorry.” I squeeze her hand, unable to release her. “I have regretted, every day, watching you walk out of my office. Now that I’m touching you… I don’t want to let you go.”

  Silent seconds stretch between us. The only sound is our breathing. She doesn’t pull her hand away, allowing me this small favor of her presence and touch.

  I never want to let her go.

  Ashleigh

  Ben has changed.

  He’s aged. Or seems older somehow.

  It’s not the dusting of dark hair on his jaw that is usually clean-shaven, or the shadows under his eyes that speak to nights without sleep. It’s something deeper. Some part of his soul seems to have aged years since the last time I saw him. Was it only two weeks ago when I showed up in his office on a Sunday morning, drunk and desperate for him to beg me to stay?

  His big shoulders are forward as he leans over his thighs, his hand on mine. Does he know he’s rubbing soothing strokes across my knuckles? His long, black lashes fan out over olive skin, and in this moment, he has never looked more broken or more gorgeous.

  I don’t want to let you go.

  “Then don’t,” I whisper so softly I don’t expect him to hear me, but his eyes snap open and the muscles of his leg tense.

  “What did you say?” he whispers back.

  “Don’t let me go.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to accept that there are parts of my life I may never be able to share with you and want me anyway.” I should be humiliated by the desperate pleading in my voice.

  He tilts his head, his eyes seeming to reach into mine as if he could read my thoughts in order to understand my meaning.

  “Do you want to be with me, Ben?”

  “More than anything.”

  I close my eyes and drop my chin, his words washing over me in a comforting caress. He tugs on my arm, pulling me from my chair to his lap. His hands grip my hips, and he pulls me on top of him, my legs straddling his thighs. I run my hands up his arms to his shoulders, loving the feel of him and thinking it’s been a lifetime since I touched him. His hands on my hips, he keeps his eyes on mine as I loop my hands behind his neck.

&n
bsp; “Is this what you want?” His hands grip my hips, as if to imply it’s his touch I’m after. He doesn’t sound sarcastic but genuinely curious.

  “No.” I run my hands up the back of his hair, loving the way the longer strands feel between my fingers. “I also want your mind.” I bring my lips to his forehead and place a kiss there before moving to his eyes. “I want these to only be on me.” I kiss each eyelid in turn. “I want your words of encouragement, your wisdom, your advice when I’m fucking everything up.” I kiss his chin, dip down and kiss his throat, then run my lips to his ear, where I whisper, “And I want you to hear me when I say that I can give you my future, but I’m terrified to give you my past.”

  His hands slip around to lock behind my lower back. He scoots me closer until we’re hip to hip. “Ash.” My name said with such longing, rumbled from his lips, sends blood racing through my veins. “What can I do? To get you to trust me with everything, every single part?” He brushes his lips across mine. “I want to know all of you, even the parts you refuse to let see the light.”

  Teetering on the edge of sharing my heart, I close my eyes to avoid the unconditional acceptance reflecting from his. He would never forgive me if he knew. “I’m so afraid of what you’ll think of me.”

  His big hands cup my face, and he lifts my chin. “Open your eyes.” When I don’t, he commands again. “Look at me.”

  Reluctantly, I do.

  “I watched my baby brother get beaten by my father more times than I can count—”

  “Ben.”

  “And I did nothing to stop him.” His hands quake against my jaw. “When Jesiah was twelve, they sat him in front of the entire church congregation and told them he was demon possessed and that the only way to chase away the demon was to do it with rattlesnakes. My brother cried so hard, he wet his pants.” He frowns but holds my eyes. “I did nothing to help him.”

  My eyes brim with tears at the pain and regret in Ben’s voice.

  “It’s taken me a long time to forgive myself for turning my back on Jes when he needed me most. You think anything you’ve done could be worse than that? Because I don’t. What I did cannot be justified. And even murder can be justified sometimes.”

  His words take me by surprise, and I pull my face free of his hold. His muscles lock up, and I curse my transparency. I was so lost in his confession I hadn’t thought to protect myself against what he might say next.

  “Murder?” he whispers.

  I peek at his eyes, knowing I’ve given myself away and there’s no turning back.

  His big, warm palms fall to my thighs and pass in firm strokes up my thighs to my hips. “What happened?”

  The tears fall quicker now. I shake my head, hoping by some miracle he’ll drop the conversation.

  Instead, he locks his hands at my lower back and says softly, “Who?”

  “I…” Am I really going to do this? I just got him back!

  “It’s okay,” he says soothingly. “Nothing you say will ever change the way I feel about you.” He says those same words over and over, a calming chant that slowly penetrates my heart. He pulls me closer so that my chest is pressed to his, my face buried in his neck. His cologne washes over me like a warm blanket. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here.”

  It’s only when I register his words that I realize how hard I’m crying now. My shoulders jump with every choking sob. And yet Ben does nothing but hold me in his powerful, life-giving arms. I don’t know how much time passes, but eventually the tears dry up and I run out of energy. Slumped against Ben, my tears soaking through his T-shirt, I feel his hands run along my back. He kisses my head over and over.

  I sniff and test my throat by clearing it. “I got pregnant when I was seventeen.”

  I expect to feel some kind of physical response—his muscles to tense, his hands to stop comforting me, his breath to catch—but there’s nothing but his still, slow, soothing touch and steady pulse.

  “My parents were strict—no TV during the week, sweets only on holidays, physical punishment for grades below an A. My mom never taught me about sex. Everything I knew, I learned from older guys. When I realized I was pregnant, I knew I couldn’t tell my parents. They’d disown me, put me out on the streets. The guy who knocked me up had lost interest. When I told him I was pregnant, he refused to help me, told me it probably wasn’t even his kid.”

  “That’s awful. I’m so sorry you had to face that alone.” His words would be just words if not for the comforting way his arms squeeze me closer or the soft way his lips continue to brush against my hair.

  “I ditched school to get an abortion.”

  His arms tighten and stay tight, as if he’s attempting to hold me together. I wait for him to release me, to tell me he can’t get beyond my terminated pregnancy. After all, people of faith view terminated pregnancies as murder, and Ben is an ordained pastor! How could he possibly forgive me in light of all he’s lost? His wife was taken from him. I freely gave away my chance at motherhood.

  “I can’t believe you—”

  In milliseconds, I finish his sentence.

  Would do that.

  Killed a baby.

  Are not who I thought you were.

  “Went through that. You’re incredibly strong, Ash.”

  I blink multiple times, unsure of what he’s saying. I pull back enough to see his face, and his warm brown gaze holds mine. The flecks of gold glimmer as he watches me.

  “I didn’t feel strong,” I say. “I felt scared and confused. I was looking for the easiest and quickest way out of the mess I’d gotten myself into.”

  “You did what you needed to do. You were a child without a healthy support system and—”

  “Please, stop talking like I should get a trophy for what I did.” I cover my face with my hands. “It gets so much worse.”

  He doesn’t let me go, but he doesn’t say a word either, leaving me to wallow in the silence and forge on at my own risk. I hear the hammer as it cracks against the final nail in my coffin.

  Ben

  Ashleigh seems to shrink even as she towers over me on my lap. Her head falls as her shoulders curl forward, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she seems more girl than woman.

  I can see why she was afraid to tell me about the abortion. People tend to see me through a single lens—the pastor who preaches about righteousness and godliness. How could a man like me ever understand the human condition that leads to desperate choices with difficult consequences and impossible emotional obstacles? What people tend to forget is that although I may not have experienced the same things as some, I do counsel them. I’ve prayed for hours with women who have had unplanned pregnancies and felt the loss after abortion or adoption, or they kept the child and struggle with resentment for having to become a teenage mom. Life is hard. But no bad can come from loving too much. Somewhere along the way, I failed to love Ashleigh enough that she could see me as a safe place to fall.

  After several minutes of silence, I wonder if Ashleigh’s changed her mind and decided she’s shared enough. If so, I’ll respect her wishes and give her the time she needs to feel safe with me. But first…

  “Ash, look at me please.”

  She sniffles, wipes at her eyes, and looks at me.

  I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing away the tears that still trickle. “I want to apologize for not being the kind of man you deserve. I’m not perfect, I’ve got my own demons I wrestle with every day, but know this… from here on out, I will always be your safe place.”

  “Stop being so sweet. You don’t know everything. You can’t possibly mean—”

  “I mean it.” I tilt my head to get her eyes again. “There is nothing you could tell me that I won’t love you through.”

  Her body jolts.

  I continue to hold her eyes. “There is nothing you could say or do that I won’t love you through.”

  I watch as the emotion bleeds from her expression and her jaw hardens under my palm. “You don’t know wha
t you’re saying.”

  “I do too.” And I do. I knew the second I watched Ashleigh walk out of my office weeks ago that I was in love with her and I was making the biggest mistake of my life. Every day I lived without her was a miserable reminder of my failure.

  I will not allow either of us to go through life without the other.

  “Anthony got me pregnant three years ago.”

  My fingers jump against her skin, and by the way she pulls her face from my hold, I know she felt it. She tries to climb off my lap, but I lock my hands together at her lower back and hold her to me.

  “Stay. Please.”

  She sighs and frowns. “I thought I would feel stronger having been through it before. I thought I’d make a better, more adult choice, but all of the sudden, I felt like that seventeen-year-old kid again, the one who was afraid of everything and so alone.”

  “Does Anthony know?”

  Her pretty blond eyebrows pinch together. “Of course. Keeping it wasn’t even an option. The second after I told him, he assured me he’d take care of it.” She smiles sadly. “In a way, it was nice not to have to go through it alone. He brought me in, paid for everything, took me home, and that was it. We never spoke of it again. I never told anyone, not even Bethany.” Her gaze becomes thoughtful. “Until you.”

  She seems surprised when I sit up tall and pull her face to my shoulder, holding and cradling her body that feels so fragile in my arms.

  After a few minutes of searching for the right words, I mumble into her hair, “Thank you for trusting me.”

  She pulls back. “So that’s it? You’re not disappointed or disgusted?”

  “Of course not. I hate that you’ve carried those secrets for so long, afraid if someone found out, they’d find you unlovable or unworthy in some way. Life is a journey, a painful and treacherous journey filled with pitfalls, and we’re all on it. The only way to get through it without giving in all together is to surround ourselves with people we love. To savor every chance we get to experience something good. And when things get rough, and they will get rough, I hope we’ll have each other to cling to until the waters grow calm again.”