“No good answer, Tay. Wish I had one. College. Football. Parties. Drinking was just part of the game. Then I was drinking more and more, but why wouldn’t I think it was normal when I was still acing school? When I wasn’t—most days—slurring and incoherent?”
That was my problem. It made me a dick, but it hadn’t made me a failure. Until it did.
I continued, “And then I began working to help the band, and with a band, you know… it’s all about the after-party and the Tennessee whiskey.”
“What did it do to you?”
If it had been anyone else asking, I would have tensed in insult, like I was too fucking dumb to know I had a problem and see how it was affecting me.
“Aside from making me a short-tempered asshole?” A short laugh escaped me. “I mean, I think that was enough.” I let out a sigh. “You know there was always a justification—either celebrating some new milestone or to relax from the stress. And it wasn’t like we didn’t go out enough for it all to be masked by the social life of the job. So what if I got piss drunk? Everyone else was right there with me. Except they weren’t. Not in the way that I was.”
I felt my teeth clench as I tried to really describe what it felt like. I’d never tried to explain it to someone else before. Everyone in my meeting, they knew—they lived it; they didn’t need an explanation for what happened to us.
“It’s like you go to the beach for the day and you sit in the sun, soak up the rays. You don’t see the sunburn as it’s happening. Only later, after a shower, does everything turn redder than Santa’s pants.”
I caught her grin out of the corner of my eyes as I flipped the chicken one last time before serving it onto our plates next to the roasted red pepper and asparagus.
“I didn’t see it happening. And by the time I did, it was too late, and alcohol kept me too busy looking for monsters in the madness of the world—people, things, that would try to ruin me or those I cared about.”
I sighed heavily, walking over to the table and setting her plate in front of her.
She waited patiently, cutting into her chicken but waiting to eat so she could give me her full attention.
“After what I did to Blake… forcing Zach to break her heart… I looked in the mirror and finally saw what I’d become. I saw the man who could function but not feel. I saw the man who could perform but whose perception was completely broken.”
I set my utensils down and reached up to pinch the bridge of my nose. Hard. Before my hand fell to the table with a remorseful thud.
“I always thought that monsters were the things that lived beneath the bed or in the dark and shadows. That day I saw the real monsters were the ones that lived inside me.”
“Ash… you’re not a monster,” she said softly, grabbing my wrist before I could pull away.
“Not anymore… I hope.”
Her green eyes brimmed with emotion, making them glow with compassion. And her small hand squeezed my arm once more before releasing me. “So that’s why you left?”
“You can’t recover from addiction in the same environment that created it or fueled it,” I told her. “I needed to get away from the reminders of what I’d done.”
“I understand,” she said softly.
I waited to say anything more until she took a bite. She needed to eat and I needed a minute to think about something else than the weight resting on my chest.
The slight warming of her cheeks and the way her eyes squeezed shut were enough to tell me that she enjoyed it. But then she went and let loose one of those soft little moans and the erection I’d just barely managed to forget came roaring to the forefront of my mind.
Great.
“Ash…” Forget the restaurant. Right now, I’d be happy just to cook for her for the rest of my life if it meant that she’d always say my name like that. “This is delicious.”
“Probably just your hormones,” I said gruffly, shoving a large bite into my mouth.
Taylor shook her head. “Only I’m allowed to give that excuse,” she informed me teasingly as she popped another mouthful in, eliciting the same breathless moan.
I cleared my throat, refocusing on my confession before it got to the point where I had to excuse myself so I could yank a quick one off in the bathroom in order to maintain a coherent conversation.
“I had no idea what I was going to do when I got here. And then I walked into Roasters and met Larry.” A smile spread up my face at the memory. “He took me to my first meeting, brought me into the program, became my sponsor… he helped me get clean.” I looked down at where my most recent sobriety chip stayed wrapped around my wrist. “He gave me a place to stay… Hell, that doesn’t even begin to describe it. He kept me from liquor. He cleaned me up when I looked like you did the other morning. Worse probably, from the detox.”
Taylor was almost finished with her dinner, meanwhile, I’d only had a few bites. I guess needing to eat wasn’t as critical as getting this out.
“Damn man hid my wallet in case I had a thought to buy booze. Took care of everything so I didn’t have to do anything except claw my way back up to where rock bottom looked like a vacation postcard.” A shadow of a smile tugged at one corner of my lip. “He taught me what it meant to be a part of this town—to look out for one another. And to look out for myself.”
I saw the way her breath caught.
Realizing it was okay for her to say something, she told me quietly, “I wondered how… I mean, it makes sense. Larry certainly seems to hold everything together around here.”
Even in just the few weeks she’d known him, I heard the emotion in her voice; it was hard to meet Larry and not feel like he’d do anything for you—including making you face the hard truths about yourself. He’d do it and he’d stand by your side the whole damn time.
“Yeah, don’t know what I’d do—what I would’ve done—without him,” I said with a low voice. “Just hope he’s saving enough to hold himself together, too.”
“Are you… Are you ever going to tell them? Are you ever going to go home?” she asked, standing beside me at the sink, taking the wet plates from my hands and drying them with a towel she must have bought because I’d never seen it before.
“Step nine,” I replied, picking up our empty plates. “Just figured that the least I could do is give them something to show for who I am now. For who I want to be.”
“The restaurant…”
Again, I nodded.
“They wouldn’t judge you, you know,” she said softly, her hand on my arm stopping me from walking past her. “They love you. They’ve forgiven you.”
“You saying I’ll be like the prodigal brother?” I tried to joke, to play off that I felt like a failure leaving, the last thing I wanted was to go back home and have them think that I needed something… anything… from them aside from forgiveness.
She shook her head. I should have known better than to make a scripture reference to the girls whose family didn’t live in the Bible belt, they wore it like a damn pageant sash: “Miss Bible Universe.”
“The greatest gift you can give the people you love is your recovery. And I know they will love you no matter how you come to them, ashamed of who you were or proud of who you’ve become—but I think you should be proud,” she replied, sadness seeping into her eyes like red into fall-crisped leaves.
“And it doesn’t matter if you deserve it… none of us do; that’s the definition of grace. Forgiveness without fault. It’s the whole point of the Bible. Trust me, I know what it’s like to lean on those who profess their love of God yet prefer judgment over Jesus; I know what it’s like to lean on them, searching for support, only to find myself falling.”
No matter how many people I met, no matter what I managed to accomplish with my own recovery, I didn’t think I’d ever look at someone—in the mirror or otherwise—who was as strong as the tiny woman standing in front of me.
I cupped her face, tilting it to mine.
“I’m sorry you went thro
ugh this alone,” she murmured.
She was like those Greek statues, the ones that looked soft and were covered in curves yet made of the strongest stone.
“I was never alone, Pixie,” I promised her. “I might not have been home. I might not have been with family. But I was never alone.”
A flicker of a smile tugged at her pink lips and it was just enough to make me swear one taste of them would rip away the guilt that hung like an albatross around my heart.
“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” I murmured. “I’m sorry that I said you would judge me. I’m a moron.”
“It’s okay.” She smiled. “I forgive you.”
Her lips barely moved to speak the words. They were so close to mine and I just wanted to taste them again. I wanted to finish what we started—what I felt like was started years ago.
“I’m sorry about your parents,” I offered sadly, wanting to call them and ream them a new asshole the way Tay’s face turned into my palm like she needed it to hold back her tears.
“Don’t be. I love them and I pray for them,” she uttered, her breath warming my skin. “I pray that when I tell them about the baby, they’ll choose to see it as the blessing he or she is.”
Her voice gave away what a long shot she thought that to be. But her smile said she would never stop hoping.
“Sweetheart, Blake and I and all the people who care about you, we will celebrate this. We will lift you up, not drag you down.”
“Thank you,” she whispered as my head drifted down to hers.
It seemed natural, like God using Adam’s rib to create Eve, for me to kiss her—for me to give this to her.
My lips locked back on hers—drinking in everything warm and succulent in her mouth. Just like outside, she tasted like a favorite memory—a strange thought to have about a first kiss. Then again, kissing her was something I’d just as eagerly revisit.
Long and slow, I savored every inch of her. I licked away the sadness that lingered on her tongue because of her words.
“I should let you go to bed,” I rasped against the warm sweetness of her mouth.
I should step back. I should let her go. I should not throw something else into her life that was already fraying her well-kept edges.
I should do a lot of things.
Instead, I waited for her to tell me to go because I wanted this too badly to do it on my own. I wanted her warmth, her goodness. I wanted her faith in forgiveness.
And I wanted her.
Her kiss. Her hesitantly desperate touch and her needy mouth on mine.
I wanted to unwrap every inch of her sacred body and worship it like she deserved. I wanted to make her feel things that she never felt before.
It registered in my mind that someone had put a baby in her stomach, but I refused to believe she knew what true pleasure felt like—not when she kissed me like I was the only man who could give it to her.
I refused to believe she knew just how good and perfect someone could make her body feel. I refused because the thought of anyone else besides me giving her that made me burn with a raging possessiveness I’d only ever felt when I was drunk, and my emotions ran on extremes.
And at that notion, I let her go, making sure she was steady before I released her.
“Get some sleep, Pixie,” I said gruffly, turning back toward the fridge to search for something that didn’t exist. Forgiveness.
Her muffled ‘goodnight’ was a bittersweet chaser to my shot of chivalry.
She might taste like a memory, but I refused to let her become one.
They always said that heaven was some indefinable place filled with bright lights, clouded comforts, and golden gates. It was none of that, really. It was a petite brunette with eyes that glinted like molten emeralds and a heart of gold.
How was I sure that she was Heaven?
Because when I thought about dying, the only place I imagined wanting to go was wherever she was.
Taylor
“What is going on here?” Larry’s disgruntled voice made both Eve and me jump.
We spun away from the espresso machine where she’d been showing me how to work the hopper and pack the right amount of grounds in order to get the perfect infusion.
“Goodness you are so quiet!” Both of us caught our breath with a laugh as Eve adjusted her glasses on her nose and explained cheerfully, “I was helping Taylor practice how to make espresso so she can start serving.”
Larry walked right up to me and stared hard into my eyes for a second. “Think you’re ready for that, do you?”
My breath whooshed from my lungs.
“I guess we’ll find out,” I teased with a small laugh.
After our encounter last night, I’d barely caught Ash this morning as he was about to run out of the house, citing errands to run and approaching inspection deadlines.
It had taken a long time for me to fall asleep—my thoughts vacillating between processing Ash’s addiction and deciphering those two kisses. And I wasn’t going to spend an entire day lost in the same turbulence.
So, even though it wasn’t my usual day at Roasters, I asked Ash if he could drop me off on his way out wherever he was going.
“Alright,” Larry said hesitantly, nodding back to the machine. “Then how about you make me an Americano and we’ll see what you’ve got.”
With Eve’s instructions, I navigated the completely manual espresso machine, topped off the shot with some hot water, and made my way to the end of the bar to see whether or not I passed the test.
“I knew you were the right one,” he said with a self-assured nod after he took the first sip.
“If you think that’s good, you should let me bake some pastries for you. I make a mean apple fritter—though the competition is pretty stiff with Josie’s,” I said with a chuckle.
My laugh faded as I watched sadness creep into his face. The kind of sadness that’s like cancer in the marrow of your bones—virtually impossible to eliminate.
“My granddaughter, Laurel, loves apple fritters.” I knew he wasn’t even seeing me anymore.
“Where is she?” I almost didn’t ask. I’d been raised not to pry into personal matters, but with that look on his face, I couldn’t stop myself.
His silence was painful, and when he just shook his head and shook off my question along with it, my heart broke.
“You can come bake anytime. You’re Ashton’s girl. This is your home,” he stated like it was the soup of the day instead of soup for my soul.
My cheeks heated like they’d been steamed. “I’m not—We’re not—”
“Don’t argue with me, Taylor,” he grumbled, walking past me. “I’m too old to deal with denial.”
“It’s not denial, it’s just—”
“Is that boy being stubborn?” He rounded on me. “Did he do something stupid?” He huffed. “And he was doing so well. Look, Taylor, Ashton is a good man. He had a rough go, to be sure. Made mistakes. But nobody makes it through life without those—and if you do, frankly, you shouldn’t be trusted. He needs to realize sooner than later that the more he tries to punish himself, the more things he’s gonna have to regret. Like losin’ you.”
My eyes flew wide, completely unprepared for his emotional outburst.
And as though Larry controlled everything in this town, the moment he finished, the door jingled as Ash walked inside like he’d been summoned by the conversation.
His hair was blown off to one side, shirtsleeves rolled up to where they stretched above his elbow, and his pants had a little more dust on them than when he’d dropped me off, but still, he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen.
He looked between the two of us like he knew exactly what was going on.
“Larry…” he drawled.
“Don’t gimme that look. Just makin’ sure you’re taking care of your girl and baby,” he scolded, missing no beat in attributing the baby to Ash.
And then he turned and made for the back, calling for Eve as he went. An
d with the respect you would show a grandparent when they spoke to you, even if it was with something arguably controversial, Ash’s mouth just thinned until he was gone, holding a retort inside.
“I have to stop one other place on the other side of town. I’ll come back for you, just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything from the truck.”
“Can I come with you?”
His mouth opened and shut. And then, like he knew what Ash was about to do, Larry reappeared with a box of travel mugs and said, “Take her to meet Addison.”
“You’re going over to Blooms?” Eve asked immediately, following Larry back out front.
Eve mentioned her siblings before, but I hadn’t met them yet.
Ash nodded which sent Eve jogging to the back for a second before returning with a huge box of wrapped muffins.
“Can you drop these off with Addy while you’re over there? They’re muffins for Blooms Donor Breakfast tomorrow morning.” She pushed the box into his chest, not giving him the opportunity to say no, even though I knew he wouldn’t.
A few minutes later we were back in the truck and weaving through town.
The tension in the silence built, especially the way he postured himself in the seat.
With one elbow resting on the edge of the window, the other arm one-handing the steering wheel, he looked like a blonde James Dean and the sight made me squirm.
“Did Eve tell you what her siblings do?”
I nodded. “She said they run a recovery house for women.”
“Well, it’s a little more than that,” he continued as though searching for anything else but our kisses to talk about. “They provide them a safe place to live, food, counseling, and resources to get back on their feet.”
“Oh, wow.” I guess I hadn’t realized the full scope of what she’d meant.
We pulled into a parking spot in front of an enormous, three-story old Victorian home.
I hopped down from the truck, following behind Ash as he walked inside.
“Hey, Addy,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “I have some goods for you.”
I was taken aback when the woman who turned to greet us looked almost exactly like Eve but slightly older.
Redemption Page 14
