Wherever You Go

by Amanda Torrey

  She dropped her arms, fiddling with the corner of the desk while avoiding eye contact. She had thought the worst thing he could do was to avoid looking at her like he had been, but now the heat of his gaze made her uncomfortably hot and sticky, and she wished he’d stop studying her with those penetrating eyes.

  “I’m sorry I said that. Let’s just forget it, okay?”

  “Let’s recap here for a moment,” Asher said, his tone foreboding. “You keep things from me. Then you tell me you love me as a way of covering up the fact that you didn’t tell me things. Important things. And then you take it all back?”

  “It sounds pretty bad when you say it like that…”

  “Yeah. It does.”

  She sat in the chair on the other side of his desk, too tired to move.

  She had taken a break from law to avoid stress, and instead she had created a whole ball of the stuff. At least she knew how to proceed in a courtroom. This whole shebang lacked precedent.

  “I want to tell you everything.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore, Paisley. The time for honesty has passed. You didn’t want me to know. Why change that now?”

  His words cut. Deep. She imagined her blood pouring out of her body onto the dusty floor. She imagined her breasts melting off her body and the poster girls laughing at her inadequacies. She imagined Asher stepping over her on his way out the door.

  Paisley had once read an article on astral projection that Simplicity had been reading. The article gave tips on how to relax to the point that part of you can actually rise out of your body.

  Paisley must have inadvertently picked up some of those tips, because though she felt like her body remained in the chair, the rest of her drifted toward the door.

  Once she got to the door, she realized her entire self was with her.

  And Asher hadn’t moved a muscle.

  He didn’t try to stop her.

  He didn’t offer sympathy.

  He didn’t reciprocate love.

  And yet she still wanted him to know.

  She didn’t turn around, but she didn’t keep moving forward, either.

  “I’m not sure how much you heard, but I assume you now know that I have breast cancer. I’ll be having both of my breasts removed. Since I also tested positive for the gene that often causes breast and ovarian cancer, I’ll be having my ovaries and fallopian tubes removed as well. I’ll never again be the woman you see here. The woman you made love to. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but now you know.”

  His silence was all the response she needed.

  She scurried out of the shop as if he might reach out and stop her from leaving.

  Who was she kidding? He hated her. She saw it in his eyes.

  Sweet, loving, protective-of-his-family-and-all-town-citizens Asher. Hated. Her.

  The Mean Girls of Healing Springs had been correct.

  She didn’t belong here.

  Freedom and Simplicity had carved out little notches for themselves in this town. They had become snuggly and warm, and were invited to cuddle in the loving embrace of the town.

  Paisley never would.

  She didn’t belong here.

  Freedom and Simplicity had found love, even though neither of them had been looking for it. Their lovers turned into soul mates, and their relationships were the kinds that romance novelists wrote books about.

  But not Paisley.

  Her Healing Springs relationship swiftly turned into the kind that people wrote books about, too.

  Horror books.

  She didn’t belong here.

  Just a few more days of life as she knew it. She’d busy herself with the ice cream shop, prepare for the surgeries, check in on Pippin, and maybe catch up on the cases her colleagues kept emailing her about.

  She’d do everything but give another thought to Asher.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Asher’s customers appreciated that he finished their vehicle repairs sooner than he had initially promised. New customers appreciated that he could squeeze them into an already overflowing schedule. His stomach appreciated that he didn’t take time to eat, as that helped ward off the nausea that began every time he had a quiet moment to think of Paisley.

  Fuck!

  Asher squeezed the thumb he had just slammed.

  Thinking of Paisley only led to bad things happening.

  He wrapped up the project he had been working on and figured he had to get home sometime.

  Izzy hadn’t seemed too affected by his absence over the last couple of days, but he didn’t want her to feel alone, even if she seldom emerged from her bedroom when he was home.

  He hadn’t heard from his brother and figured that meant he was out on a bender. Asher would kick his ass as soon as he tracked him down.

  He had been so busy with Paisley that he hadn’t been keeping close enough tabs on his family.

  He had been letting down his primary responsibility.

  His mother’s last words to him had been, “Take care of your dad and Ricky.”

  He had spent his life trying.

  And now he was failing.

  Asher tried to push all thoughts out of his head. His life had been carefully mapped out and relatively on course. The thing with Paisley had thrown him into the Bermuda Triangle for a moment or two, but he had emerged. He wasn’t okay—would never be okay—but his plans were in motion and nothing would get in the way of looking out for the ones who needed him.

  He couldn’t get caught up in trying to save anyone else.

  He couldn’t have any more distractions.

  Asher dragged himself home, hoping that he had exhausted himself enough that he’d collapse into a coma and not emerge until the next morning, when he could do it all again.

  As soon as he entered the house and realized Izzy was missing, he knew for sure that relaxation was a fantasy that would never come to pass.

  ***

  Paisley slipped into her comfy cotton jammies and the unicorn slippers Simplicity had bought her. No way was she about to bring them to the hospital as Simplicity had instructed, but she’d wear them every night leading up to her hospitalization if it made Simplicity feel better.

  Settling in on the cozy, oversized chair in her little cottage, romance novel in hand, Paisley tried to suppress all thoughts of Asher. She had vowed not to think of him for one more second, but on nights like this, with the crickets singing their songs of summer and nothing on television, she couldn’t keep the cad out of her mind.

  He had stayed silent while she told him how she’d be butchered soon. He hadn’t offered any words of condolence or sympathy. He hadn’t moved a muscle.

  And he most certainly hadn’t tried to call her.

  She had gotten what she wanted out of that relationship—hot sex and nothing more. Well, she had driven the Ferrari, an unexpected, unplanned bonus, but that could hardly count.

  A noise outside her door startled her. She listened for a moment. Had someone knocked? Was it an animal? Reed had complained that morning about a problem with skunks—was there one out there?

  More shuffling, and Paisley moved to the door, listening for clues. Sounded big. A bear? A human?

  Asher?

  No, he wouldn’t be scuffling around out there. He wouldn’t be out there at all.

  She started to walk away, ready to dig into the book with the hot man-candy on the cover.

  She made it about three steps before she heard someone yacking outside her door.

  Paisley had no tolerance for inconsiderate people, and if her neighbors thought they could vomit in her bushes and get away with it…

  She whipped open the door, ready to confront the offender.

  She was greeted by the last person she expected—Izzy—peering at her through a curtain of purple hair.

  Paisley sprung out of her doorway and put her arms around the girl. “What are you doing here?”

  The smell of alcohol on the girl nearly knocked Paisley over.


  “And how the hell much did you drink?”

  “Don’t tell my uncle.”

  The words were slightly slurred, but mostly desperate.

  “Get in here.”

  Paisley walked the girl to the chair—the comfy chair that had promised a night of relaxation—and retrieved a wet washcloth. She handed it to Izzy, who held it to her head. Paisley grabbed another one, taking the time to clean the vomit off Izzy’s chin and wiping it out of her hair.

  “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “I’m glad you came here. How’d you get here, though?”

  “Will, this kid I was hanging with, dropped me off.” Her head slumped to the side.

  Paisley lifted Izzy’s head, not wanting her to pass out until she knew for certain she was okay.

  “Did he do anything to hurt you?” Besides getting a very under-aged girl drunk out of her mind!

  Izzy laughed, then began to dry-heave. Paisley grabbed the wastebasket and held it in front of Izzy. Luckily, it wasn’t needed.

  “He didn’t hurt me. When he asked me how old I was he decided he needed to get rid of me so he wouldn’t be in trouble. Loser.”

  “He’ll be in trouble, all right.” Paisley muttered the words. “I have to call your uncle.”

  She’d rather shoot herself in the foot, toe by toe. Or give herself a bikini wax. Or attend law school for another twelve years straight.

  But Izzy was here, drunk as hell at eight p.m. Asher would be worried sick.

  Better for him to be crazy-pissed than crazy-worried.

  “No—you can’t call him. He’ll kill me.”

  “You’ll be lucky if that’s all he does. What are you doing to yourself, Izzy?”

  She didn’t expect an answer. The girl was intoxicated to the point of vomiting.

  “My life sucks.”

  Paisley nodded and pulled up one of the two chairs she had at the tiny table. She waited for Izzy to keep talking.

  Fat tears slid over cheeks that begged for an overweight great-aunt to pinch them, landing in the corner of a little cupid mouth that should have been singing along to her favorite boy band in the bathroom mirror, not consuming alcohol with older boys.

  “I can’t take it anymore.”

  “Yes you can, Izzy. Yes, life sucks. But it won’t get better if you keep pulling this crap.”

  Izzy rolled over in the chair, bringing her skinny knees to her chest and shrinking to the size of a five-year-old.

  She watched the girl’s tiny shoulders rising and falling, shuddering and stilling. Paisley waited to see if she wanted to talk more. No use lecturing her when she more than likely wouldn’t remember a thing Paisley said.

  Besides, a lecture wasn’t going to fix this poor thing’s life.

  Paisley thought Izzy had dozed off, so she covered her with a light blanket and turned off the light next to the chair, slipping away to make the call she had no desire to make.

  She chickened out and prepared a text. She erased it as quickly as she had typed it. A drunk runaway thirteen-year-old warranted a phone call.

  “Please don’t call him.”

  Izzy’s tiny voice emerged from the oversized chair.

  Paisley kept her phone in her hand, knowing there was no way she couldn’t call, but wanting to give Izzy the opportunity to talk to her if she wanted to.

  “I’m sorry I came here. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “You made the right decision, sweetie.” Paisley reached over and repositioned the wet washcloth on Izzy’s forehead. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

  “I don’t want him to see me like this. I thought I was okay with it, but I can’t stand seeing the disappointment on his face.”

  Paisley knew exactly what the girl meant.

  “What’s been going on with you, Izzy? You’re such a hard worker—I see a lot of myself in you. You never complain at work, you bust your butt to make sure you’re keeping busy while you’re there. What’s with the rebellion at home?”

  “I don’t have a home.” Izzy wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them to her chin. “My mom loved drugs more than she loved me, and my dad doesn’t love me enough to clean up for me. And Uncle Ash doesn’t understand that I should be able to do stuff. That I’m not a baby anymore.”

  “Oh, honey, to your Uncle Ash, you’ll always be a baby.”

  “That’s the problem! I’m not!”

  “I get it. I do. But this isn’t the way to show him that you’re growing up.”

  Izzy rubbed black-rimmed eyes, smearing make-up on her cheek.

  “I want to be more like Uncle Ash, but I think I’m more like my mom and dad.” Her head dropped to her knees and her shoulders began to tremble again. “I don’t want to be like them.”

  Paisley didn’t know what to say, so she climbed into the chair and pulled Izzy into her arms. Izzy’s sobs tore through Paisley, stabbing her in the heart.

  Izzy drifted off to sleep after a good cry. Paisley gently lifted her arms from behind Izzy, careful not to disturb her, and stepped away to call Asher.

  As she dialed, a thumping at the door pulled her away.

  She opened it a crack, startled to see Asher—looking bigger and more fierce than ever.

  “Is she here?”

  Paisley nodded, opening the door to gesture over at the sleeping girl.

  His jaw set in stone, Asher shouldered his way past Paisley. He didn’t bother with a greeting.

  “Isabel. Get up.”

  “Asher, can we talk for a minute before you rouse her?”

  “Talk? No. You’ve done enough here.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Letting her run away to you? Encouraging her to be as crazy as she needs to be? Thanks for all your help. You can stop now.”

  Paisley’s shoulders rose toward the ceiling as her spine filled with fire.

  Asher leaned down to shake Izzy awake. She rolled over in the chair, knocking the blanket to the floor.

  “Is she drunk? I smell alcohol!”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Asher. She—”

  Asher lifted Izzy in one swoop, tossing her over his shoulder and heading toward the door.

  Paisley’s mind raced, but her body froze.

  “She won’t be helping with the ice cream anymore.”

  Paisley decided then and there that if she couldn’t say anything nice, she’d bite her tongue until it bled. Asher’s reaction to finding Izzy here made her want to bite him, and not in the way that would make him burn.

  So this was how things would end.

  Their relationship had begun with the randomness of a wildfire—a burning passion.

  It would die with burning hatred.

  Chapter Twenty

  Asher tucked Izzy into her bed, though he had a feeling she wasn’t really sleeping.

  He locked the doors. And the windows. He turned off his phone—possibly for good. The only reason he even got the damn thing was to somehow prove that he wasn’t as ass-backward as Paisley saw him.

  Asher sat in the living room, staring at the door, wishing his heart rate would settle from thundering elephants to something more sedate.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. Something more terrible than finding out his not-quite-girlfriend had cancer. Something more terrible than finding his baby niece wasted. Something more terrible than knowing he was the biggest asshole on the planet and not having the ability to do anything to change it.

  As soon as he heard a noise outside, he jumped to look out the window, expecting to see his brother. He had a feeling he’d be showing up here. He couldn’t explain the premonition, but his skin crawled and his senses were on overdrive.

  A raccoon ambled off the porch. Asher released a breath.

  Ricky was getting to Izzy, psychologically-speaking. He’d have to go through Asher to get to her physically, and it wouldn’t end well for Ricky.

  Asher loved Ricky more than he loved
himself. He’d give anything to help his brother. But disease or not, Ricky had more choice in his lifestyle than Izzy did. And Asher couldn’t allow Ricky to ruin Izzy’s life any more than he already had.

  Asher inhaled the tense air, feeding his lungs. He crossed to the kitchen for a soda. He’d need the caffeine to keep him awake. Guarding.

  He considered chasing his brother down and locking him in a room to keep him from further harming himself, but what the hell good would that do?

  Asher dug out his tools to fix a cabinet door that had been hanging off the hinges for several weeks. While he was at it, he took apart the pipes under the sink to clear away the slow drain that had been bugging him, and then he unclogged the icemaker.

  Life was better when he wasn’t distracted. When Paisley didn’t flaunt her curves and her sexy vibe all over his imagination. When pining for a woman didn’t override his dutiful thoughts. When he had a check-list of real chores, not wishful musings.

  Yeah, life was better. He could fix shit.

  The doorknob rattled a millisecond before the banging began. Asher wiped his hands on a paper towel, tossing it to the counter as he made his way to the door.

  He opened the door, unsurprised to find Ricky there. High as a runaway hot air balloon.

  “You can’t be here now, Ricky.”

  “You’ve gotta help me, bro. I need you.”

  Snot dripped from his brother’s nose. Asher shook his head in disgust.

  “I’ll get you a ride to the hospital, but that’s the extent of what I can do to help you.”

  “I need money. Just a few bucks to get me through the next few days.”

  “No.” Asher began to close the door.

  Ricky positioned his body in the way.

  “What the fuck do you mean, no?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like, Rick.”

  “You can’t tell me no. You have my inheritance.”

  Asher closed his eyes. He couldn’t have this argument again.

  “That’s not how it works, Rick. Dad left everything to me. There wasn’t any money. I work my ass off to keep the business afloat. I pay the bills on the house. I take care of you and Izzy. I won’t give you a dime when I know you’ll shoot it up.”