I missed her.
Jessica smothered the life out of my baby girl. And I’d stayed with her, slept next to her in our bed, left her alone with Mason.
Bile rose fast, and I vomited at the base of a tree. Pushing off, I continued to my car, ignoring my clammy skin.
Olivia had been five months old when she died. Just five months. If I’d hired Mrs. Knowles sooner like my mom wanted, maybe . . . I tried to breathe through the vise clamped around my lungs. This was how Dahlia felt most of the time. The pain was unbearable. Too big.
Dahlia. I was angry with her, too. She’d gone to see Jessica. I didn’t want Dahlia near my ex-wife. I didn’t want Dahlia to see me this broken. I wanted the blessed relief of Percocet and a bottle of whiskey.
But I needed Mason more.
I needed Dahlia, too. She’d calm me down, just as I did her.
I pulled into Simon’s driveway and leaned my head against the steering wheel, trying to get my shit together enough to knock on the door.
A shadow fell across the window. Dahlia. She looked uncertain, her eyes filled with an agony that answered my own. She knew about betrayal. She’d lived it with her husband. But this—this was so much worse, and we both knew it.
I opened the door and stepped from the car.
She backpedaled, giving me space, but her eyes never left my mine.
“I love you, Tristan Asher Smith. No matter what the papers say about us or what your ex-wife tries to do. And I’m sorry—so sorry—that I had to be the one to tell you. For all you’re going through now.”
“Fuck,” I said through gritted teeth. “I needed to hear that. So bad.” I pulled her into my arms, dipping my knees so Dahlia’s head nestled in her spot where my shoulder met my neck. “I feel like it’s breaking me apart.”
“Because it is,” she whispered. Her arms tightened around my waist, her fingers digging hard into my back. “I hate that I had to tell you, Asher.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks. I’d never cried for Olivia before. I’d been too shocked, then too hammered. Years of tears I hadn’t known I’d had in me poured down my cheeks. The pain eased in small increments as I bawled out the poison into Dahlia’s long, auburn hair. She held me, her grip firm, and her patience endless.
“Mason. I need him.”
“He’s in the backyard with Simon and Jeremiah. They’re having a tree-climbing contest.”
I scrubbed my hands over my face, up into my hair. I had to look worse than a beaten, three-legged dog.
“Come in. Wash your face, then we’ll go get Mason.”
“I hurt you. Now and earlier.” I leaned against the car, pulling her with me. She settled against me, and the pain was manageable. Still huge, but Dahlia was in my arms. She understood. She’d help me through.
“Not intentionally.”
“But I did. Simon told me you were dealing with your own shit and not to drag you into my steaming pile.” I opened my gritty eyes and met her gaze, which filled with trepidation.
“You’ve never been selfish with me,” she said. “You’re in a bad situation.”
I was so tired. Too many emotions in too short a time frame. From loving Dahlia last night to finding out about Jessica and Olivia . . . “You deserve better than this. Better than me.”
She cupped my cheek. “I want you.”
I shook my head, trying to clear the fuzziness there. “I don’t want to fuck up your life. Or Abbi’s.”
Her face froze, her eyes broken shards of moonlight, as her breathing escalated. “What are you saying?”
“I need to get my shit together.” I leaned back against my car and closed my eyes, trying to block out Olivia’s plump, sleep-warmed cheeks.
“Okay.”
I frowned, wondering at the thread of distress in Dahlia’s voice. “I just need to get Mason. These next few days are going to be rocky.”
Dahlia nodded, her eyes dulled. “Mason comes first.”
33
Dahlia
As soon as Asher gathered up Mason’s things, he left. He didn’t come back that day. Not that any of us expected him to. But when he didn’t call the next day, my anxiety spiked again.
“My boss asked me to get the scoop on you and Asher,” Briar said late that afternoon. She’d stuck around the house, not mentioning Ken at all. If I wasn’t so worried about Asher’s mental state and Abbi missing school just before finals, I would have questioned her on her desire to stay with me.
She looked as wan and tired as I did. Simon and Ella were at work, but they’d both been pinch-faced and unhappy when they left that morning. Only Abbi was holding firm in her belief that everything would work out.
“His divorce is pretty sensational, and you’re caught in the middle,” Briar said. “Maybe you should head back to Rathdrum.”
“I’m not leaving him,” I said, setting my jaw against the need to cry. “You all said it. He needs me right now.”
Abbi gripped my hand, but even her optimism dimmed a little as another day passed.
He called me, two days later. “We’re still in divorce hell. We needed experts, and all kinds of people had to testify. Jessica’s screaming you and I set her up. You’re in that video, Dahlia. Her lawyers are using that. It’s going to get worse.”
“How’s Mason?” I asked, refusing to acknowledge his other comments.
“Mrs. Knowles has been amazing. She’s stayed here at my apartment with him. Kept him from all this. But he wants to see Abbi and Jeremiah. He asked for your waffles.”
“I’d make him some. How are you?” I asked.
“No, don’t. The media’s trying to find him and you. I don’t want this to get bigger.”
We were quiet. I didn’t know where to steer the conversation, my anxiety ratcheting with each breath.
“I miss you,” I said, needing him to know.
“Yeah. Same goes.”
Another long break.
“Thank your sister for me,” he said. “The fact her paper’s carrying the same headlines as usual is a relief.”
“She wouldn’t capitalize on our relationship. Not even to sell more papers.”
“She’s the only one then.” Bitterness crept into his voice. “Look, Dahlia. My lawyers advised me to not be seen with you for a while. The shit storm is just starting, and I’m the center. Why don’t you go home?”
I dragged in a ragged breath. “That’s what you want?” I asked.
“I can’t come see you. So that makes the most sense. Abbi’s close to finals. She needs to be there for those. You can finish your book, and I . . .” Asher swallowed hard. “I need to deal with my shit.”
Arguments died on my lips. “If that’s what you want,” I managed to choke out.
“What I want and what I have to do are at odds. I’ve just got to clear this up. Then I can see straight again. God, I miss her.”
His grief broke my resistance. Fighting with Asher wasn’t going to help either of us, and it definitely wouldn’t help him grieve his daughter. I couldn’t stay in Seattle another night.
Abbi and Briar drove me home. I sat in the backseat, dazed and nauseous, praying Asher would call me.
He didn’t.
We got home that night after a mostly silent, painfully long car ride. The next few days were brutal for all of us. Briar still hadn’t told me why she’d broken it off with Ken The Asshole yet, and I didn’t push. She moped around, just as miserable as I was. Worse, her boss had given her an ultimatum: write all the dirty details of my relationship with Asher, or she was fired.
After multiple arguments where I begged her not to give up her job, she took the pink slip. “Don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry,” Briar said, her eyes as fierce as Abbi’s were whenever she said Asher would call. “I’m a big girl, and I won’t be forced into putting a story before my family. You’re the only one I could really count on for years, Lia. Let me do this for you.”
I hugged her hard. She hugged me back. Our tears mingled.
/> “Thank you,” I whispered.
I called Asher, needing to know he was okay. That the story I’d helped break was worth it, that he was getting to keep Mason. He didn’t answer the phone, and he didn’t call back.
I asked Briar to move in. She stayed in the room Asher had slept in. I hated giving it to her, but it was the bigger guest room and she’d been fired for my sake. It would be best for both of us to have her here.
“How was school?” I asked Abbi. It was her first day back since we left Seattle.
“Shitty,” she said, scowling. “There were a couple of reporters there, and all the kids swarmed me, wanting to know the details of the video. It’s all over the Internet.”
“I’m so sorry, Abbi. What can I do?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. In fact, it’s better if you stay away. Sheriff Lindon’s going to take me to school tomorrow and stay on campus. Even Luke’s being all nice and keeping the reporters away from me.”
“So are you getting back with Luke?”
Abbi snorted. “No. He dumped me.”
“I wish I could do something for you,” I said. “Make this easier.”
“Much as today sucked, I think you’re in worse shape. You didn’t sleep last night, Mom.”
“I’m worried about Asher and Mason,” I admitted.
“He’ll call. When he can.” I no longer had my daughter’s faith, but I hated saying it out loud, especially when she had her hand wrapped around the pendant Asher had given her.
The next morning, I suggested Abbi stay home. She shook her head. “I have a final today. I have to go.”
I let her climb into Ralph Lindon’s patrol car, feeling lost and impotent. I hadn’t helped Asher, just blown up his life in the worst way, and now my daughter was dealing with the fallout.
Twenty minutes later, Briar bustled into the kitchen. “I’m borrowing your car. I have a meeting with the editor in Spokane.”
“Good luck with that,” I said. I smiled, hopeful that Briar’s future was improving. Maybe she’d stay here and I’d get to see her more often, a silver lining in the mess I’d made of my life.
After waving Briar off, I locked myself in my office. This time, the words poured out of me. All the fantasies with Asher I would never have filled page after page.
The longing for what could have been pulled at me, ate me up until I wrote it down. In just two weeks, I’d finished the last book. The Gardiner series was complete.
I clicked send on the e-mail to Bev, trying not to think about the three weeks since I’d last seen Asher.
Abbi knocked on my door. “Phone’s for you.”
“I’ll call whoever it is back tomorrow.”
“Take the phone, Mom.”
I put it to my ear with reluctance. “Hello.”
“Dahlia.”
My heart raced, my vision tunneled. “Asher.”
“I need to see you.”
“Um.”
“Hey, breathe. You can. Just breathe. I’m right here.”
“I’m okay.” I managed to wheeze.
“I’m worried about you.”
I should be worried about him. He’d just gone through one of the most traumatic periods anyone could experience, and he’d done it pretty much alone. I hated that. So much.
“I want to see you. Please.” His voice was still tired.
The panic gave way to a flutter of something. Not hope, but need. I needed to see him again. I’d always need him.
“I can meet you this weekend,” I said. “Just tell me where.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.” He hung up.
What? No! I was in the same pajamas I’d been wearing for . . . I didn’t know how long. I’d dumped coffee down my front at some point. Had I brushed my teeth recently?
I pushed up from my chair. I didn’t have time to panic. I needed a shower. Asher couldn’t see how bad my wallowing had been.
“What are you doing?” Abbi asked from the doorway. She sounded just like I used to when she was doing something crazy.
“Asher. An hour. I need . . . clean.”
Abbi wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. You’ve smelled funky for a while.”
Only when I was in the shower did I realize Abbi hadn’t been surprised that Asher was coming.
I shaved my legs and washed my hair and body in record time. I got out, dried off, considering Abbi’s reaction. Asher hadn’t said what, exactly, he wanted to see me about.
What if Abbi wanted to go on tour with him? They’d gotten close during the time they’d spent together. How could I keep her from the closest person she had to a father?
I wriggled into my underwear and bra, my hair wrapped toga-style.
“Here, wear this,” Abbi said, tossing a dress at me. I swiped it from the air and clutched it to my chest.
“You’ve been talking to him, haven’t you?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, Abbi. I’m so sorry you had to go through this. I would do anything so you don’t hurt like I do.”
Abbi rolled her eyes. “First, I’m not mourning the end of a relationship. I think you’re the only one doing that. Second, Asher’s here. I’m going to send him up in a minute. I suggest you put that dress on and comb your hair.”
I sank onto the bed, unable to get beyond my fear he was going to break up with me. “I can’t see him,” I whimpered.
“Yes, you can. You have to. He wants to see you. Bad. He needs it, Mom. So do I. Dress on. Hair. Now.” She pulled the towel from my hair, causing me to wince when the towel caught on some of the strands.
“Where’s Briar?”
“She drove to Spokane to start that freelance gig this morning. Don’t you remember?”
I didn’t. I’d been so spacey. “That wasn’t an hour,” I said, feeling hollow.
“Nope. I wouldn’t let him call until he was actually here. That way you couldn’t run away.” She turned and opened the door. Asher stood there, in my hall, trying to peer around Abbi. With a yelp, I ran to the bathroom and slammed the door.
“She’ll be out in a minute,” Abbi said loud enough for me to hear through the door. The rest of what she said was too muffled for me to catch, and my heart beat too loud for me to hear anyway. I pulled the brush through my hair in quick, jerky strokes.
I forced my shaking fingers to unwrap the tie on my dress. Putting it on, I retied the bow. Anxiety pummeled my chest. The mirror reflected a pale, hollow-cheeked version of my face. Dark shadows circled my eyes.
There was a knock on the door. Soft. Just a knuckle. Asher was in my room. My knees turned to jelly.
He looked taller. No, he’d lost weight. I wanted to go to him, soothe him. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to know I could calm him, too. The pain in my chest expanded, licking into my throat.
Asher’s eyes slid from my mouth to meet my steady gaze.
“I was stuck in the divorce hearings. Your evidence both helped and also slowed the process. I had to finish the sound track, too, because we had the studio time all booked. Media’s been a bitch.”
My skin chilled, but I kept my eyes steady on his, hoping he wouldn’t call my bluff.
“Social media is an amazing tool,” he said. His fingers tapped his thigh. “Especially for my new hobby of cyber stalking.”
I swallowed. This was it. We were over. At least he had the decency to tell me in person, unlike Luke who’d simply switched his relationship status on Facebook.
“Mmm.”
“But you weren’t on social media. And you haven’t posted anything on your blog or updated your website. It’s like you’ve been hibernating. You thought I was leaving you.”
Thought? He had. For three weeks. Of course we were over.
“Dahlia, if I hadn’t talked to Abbi—because you weren’t even answering your e-mails—and found out why you thought I’d dumped you, I’d be really fucking angry.”
“I turned off my Internet access after Briar left.”
“Beca
use of the media coverage?” he asked.
“In part. I didn’t like seeing you so tired and alone. And I couldn’t help myself—I kept going to the news sites to see what was happening.”
He slid his hand up the back of my neck, cupping it in his long-fingered palm. My heart rate escalated, but not with panic. With need. I could see the image of me naked, that night, in his eyes. How I wanted this man.
I closed my eyes, trying to regain some semblance of calm.
“The pulse in your neck is going crazy. You’re not having another panic attack, are you?”
Concern laced through his voice. He’d offered me the perfect out. I could lie and push off this conversation, but that wasn’t fair to either of us. The one thing Asher and I had always had was honesty.
“N-no,” I stuttered. I met his eyes. “Tell me the rest.”
“Jessica caved. Finally. The evidence was too much. She told us Olivia wouldn’t stop crying. She covered her mouth with a pillow until Olivia stopped. But by then, she’d quit breathing altogether.”
He tipped my chin up, his thumb caressing the curve of my jaw. I gripped his arms, needing to offer something back, even if it was just my touch. “I’m so sorry.”
“So am I. Olivia deserved better than she got. So does Mason. These past weeks have been hard on him. He’s seeing a counselor.” He ran his free hand through his hair, fear clouding his hazel eyes. “I thought I deserved more, too.”
I stepped closer, our bodies nearly touching, drawn to him as I always was. “You do.”
This might be the last time he ever looked at me. I stood up on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his, showing him I cared about his pain. His other hand came to the far side of my waist, pulling me tight to his lean body. I’d missed this, him. My hands tangled into his too-long hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.
Finally, I pushed back, my chest heaving.
“The record company contacted my agent this morning. The single we released last week—the one we did at the show with Simon—it’s getting loads of airtime. Richard thinks it’ll go platinum.”
Sweet Solace (The Seattle Sound Series Book 1) Page 25
