I flashed him a smile as I pulled the towel tighter around me. Abbi raced by us, shivering.
“I need to warm up. Be down in a bit.”
“Don’t leave your clothes on the bathroom floor again,” I called.
“Got it. Hey, Mason.”
“Hi.” Mason trundled down the stairs, and I ran back into the laundry room. I didn’t want Asher’s son to see me topless. That was just too awkward to contemplate. Exactly why I needed to get my libido back under control.
One of Abbi’s camisoles with a built-in bra was still in the hamper. Score. It was tight, but it was better than the wet bra and towel. I yanked it over my head and stepped back into the kitchen to see Mason in the doorway. He glanced up at me, a lock of hair falling onto his brow and into his eyes, tangling in his lashes. Just like his father. I wanted to brush it back but wasn’t sure how he’d react. Just like his father.
“Morning, Dahlia,” he said.
“You should call me Lia. Everyone else does,” I said. “And good morning. What do you like for breakfast?”
“My dad calls you Dahlia. He said it’s a pretty flower. One of his favorites. He said you’re prettier than any flower.”
Asher was watching me with an intensity that completely disarmed me. Being attracted to a troubadour was one thing, being attracted to a sensitive man was more dangerous. The towel slipped, showing off more of his tanned chest.
“How about waffles?” I asked, using the bright happy voice of Abbi’s childhood. “I made a bunch yesterday. I’ll change while they warm up.”
After the rain ended, we drove Mason over to try out Cameron’s pony. Mason’s grin as he stroked the horse was brighter than the warm spring sun. Cameron was conscientious, making sure Mason’s helmet fit and the saddle was cinched tight to the stocky pony’s belly.
Asher watched from the edge of the corral, his long body settled into a relaxed stance, but tension gathered around his eyes. Abbi was on the porch, chatting with Cameron’s mom and sister, so I moved closer to Asher. His fingers were white where they gripped the slatted wood.
I dipped my head to his death grip. “He doesn’t have to ride if you’re concerned about it.”
Asher grimaced, relaxing his fingers. I slid my hand against his, this time offering Asher the comfort of my presence. His breath stuttered out.
“No. He wants to do this. It’ll be fine.”
Asher’s eyes never left Mason’s small form. Cameron helped Mason onto the pony’s back and Mason laughed, arms flying upward as he tipped his head back. Cameron stood next to the little boy, a grin spreading over his face, too. Asher’s grip on my hand tightened to the point of pain, and I leaned into him.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice soft. “Cameron’s got him. Darlin’s not going to buck him off.”
Asher turned his head, and I was shocked to see the brown bleeding out from the green, pupils too dilated for the bright day.
“You’re right.”
“But if you want Mason off the pony, we’ll get him off.”
“Dad! Look at me. I’m riding a horse,” Mason yelled. Darlin’ took advantage of Mason’s excitement and leaned down to munch a clump of tender grass at the edge of the pen.
“Good job, buddy. How about you hold the reins?”
Mason bounced in the saddle and Darlin’ huffed, still munching. Cameron stepped in and showed Mason how to hold the reins. Asher’s body uncoiled with slow, painful shudders.
“He’s all I have. Watching him do these things . . . Sometimes it really freaks me out.”
I pressed my cheek into his chest, listening to the steady thud of Asher’s heart. “I understand.”
“I know you do,” Asher whispered, sweeping the hair off my forehead. “You make carrying the burden easier. I couldn’t handle it if something happened to him.”
I wrapped my arm around his waist, uncaring what the people around us thought. “You’ll do everything you can to make sure he’s safe. That’s all any of us can do.”
“Sometimes it isn’t enough.”
I blinked up at him. “You’re right about that, too. But you’ve taught me to not let fear control how I live life.”
“Have I?” His eyes brightened as the corner of his lips curled up. “That’s good.”
“It is. Thank you for that.”
Asher pulled me closer. “Back at you, Dahlia.” His gaze drifted toward Mason who was walking in a slow circle around the large corral, Cameron holding the lead rope.
When Luke and his dad showed up in the early afternoon, along with Sally, her younger brother, and parents, Cameron’s mom suggested a barbecue.
“I don’t have anything with me,” I said, flustered.
“Abbi told me you cooked up a storm,” Rhonda said. “So we swung by your place and picked up some of the food in the fridge. You made more than enough for all of us.”
I leaned over to Abbi. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
Her eyes were wide and innocent. I narrowed mine in response.
“Leave that girl alone.” Rhonda swatted at my arm. “Lydia and I came up with the plan this morning when you called to see about Mason riding Darlin’. Abbi said you ate a late breakfast so you have to be hungry. This’ll be a fun way to spend the afternoon and evening. Plus, we wanted to meet your new men.” She poked Mason in the stomach, and he giggled.
“Can I have a s’more?” he asked.
Rhonda stood, hands on her generous hips. “You sure can. More than one if you stick by me.”
“Okay!”
We all laughed as Mason danced around the yard, hyper enough to make Asher comment that he didn’t need sugar.
“He’s fine,” I murmured. “Just excited.”
“Yeah, he’s wheels-off when he gets excited.”
“This is the perfect place to live it out loud.”
“You make it so easy, Dahlia. Thanks for today.”
I smiled, memorizing the planes of Asher’s face and the sparkle in his eyes.
Replete with food and laughter, Asher picked up Cameron’s shiny, new guitar. The boy had brought it outside with the last load of food but hadn’t actually asked Asher to play. Everyone leaned in, focused, when Asher tuned the instrument.
“What do you want to hear?” he asked.
“What’s your favorite song?” Rhonda asked.
“Well, for the longest time, it was ‘Moonshine Eyes’,” he said, strumming a soft, light melody. I shivered as his eyes met mine, heat simmering in his gaze. “But I’ve become rather partial to ‘Sweet Solace’ once again. Tell you what, I’ll play both, and you tell me which one you prefer.”
Firelight drifted over Asher’s skin, bathing him in its golden hues. His whiskey-soaked voice drifted over my skin, sliding deep inside me, just as it always did. My favorites, besides his own, were the old Bob Dylan songs. His voice was clear and pitch-perfect, melting into Dylan’s lyricism.
Each minute, each interaction with Asher, built upon itself, reverberating through me.
Sure, the timing was terrible, but I wanted him. I wanted this easy space we fell into. I blew out a breath, looking out into the star-filled night, wishing I’d been smarter with my choices.
I don’t think I’ve got it in me. The staying power.
Whether he had it in him or not, I wanted more of this. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to want a life with Asher.
22
Asher
“You’re quiet. Everything okay?” I asked as I stepped into the kitchen. I’d read Mason a book from Dahlia’s impressive library while she puttered downstairs with Abbi.
“That’s my cue. I’m outta here.”
“I didn’t mean to cut your conversation short with your mom, Abbi.”
“Oh, believe me, you weren’t interrupting a thing. Mom’s being stubborn. It’s the unattractive side of her personality. Plus, I have to answer all my social media messages that I couldn’t check for the last few days, thanks to Mom grounding me. Popul
arity is a real time suck.” She kissed my cheek on her way out. “Thanks for a fun day. I loved hearing you sing.”
She took the stairs two at a time before I could even raise my hand to the place her lips had touched. Dahlia’s elbows were on the bar, her face smug.
“Another admirer,” she said. Her voice was warm. Good.
“She’s great, and I’m glad we get along. But I only really care about one woman’s admiration.”
“Oh?” She pulled back and turned to the fridge. I followed, a magnet to the loadstone. “Want a beer?” she asked, her back to me.
I placed my hands on her hips and pressed my nose into her hair. “I meant you, Dahlia.”
She turned slowly, her hand coming up to rest on my chest. “Asher . . .”
“Do you have any idea how much I like my name coming from your mouth? The way your lips form the syllables. I’ve wanted to kiss your lips since I first saw you. And when I did, it was magic.” I took a deep breath. “I’m not going to push you. But you have to know I’ve thought about you. Fantasized about you. I told you that. In the elevator. Now, being here with you, my dreams are richer.”
I picked up her hand that held the beer. I took the bottle, set it on the counter, and shut the fridge behind her, leaving my arm next to her head. “I’ve thought about the smell of your hair. Your eyes get that faraway look when you’re thinking. How they sparkle before you smile. I’ve thought about the little dimple in your cheek. The way your hips sway in heels.”
“This isn’t slow,” she murmured. She sounded tortured.
I stepped back, giving her the space she needed. “I’ve thought about you being alone, and how scared you are even though you’re capable of taking care of yourself and your daughter. I’ve thought about your injury,” I said. I ran my fingertips across the healing cut over her eyebrow before cupping her other cheek. “I’ve worried about you, Dahlia. Especially your panic attacks.”
Her gray eyes were wide, filled with longing.
“You have enough to worry about right now without adding me to the list.”
“I know what I need to worry about.”
Her lips parted. I could take her now, if I asked. I knew I could just as I knew it was too soon for her, for us. So even though I wanted to bury my fingers in her silk hair and plunder her mouth, I grabbed the beer from the counter instead.
“Are you still in love with Doug?” I asked.
She blinked. I could tell she was trying to bring her head out of the sensuality caused by my earlier words. I bit back a smile.
She opened a drawer and handed me the bottle opener.
“I—no,” she said. Her eyes never left mine. “I haven’t been in love with him for a long time.”
My throat was dry, my skin itchy. “Because he cheated?”
“Yes.” She blew out a breath. She met my eyes, and I wanted to fall into all that luscious silver. “By the time Abbi was in school, we were struggling. Not just because of Huntington’s, I don’t think. Not that it helped.”
I rubbed my thumb across her petal-soft lips. She wore some kind of sheer gloss I liked. A lot. Dahlia wasn’t superficial. She was herself, and I respected her for being strong enough not to hide behind lipstick or fake tits. “I’m glad I don’t have to compete with the perfect image.” I smirked. “We both know I’m not perfect.”
She wanted to raise her eyebrows, but she managed to stay the motion with a slight grimace. “Compete?”
“Yeah.”
I took a long swig of my beer, trying to look like I didn’t have a care in the world even though my heart was in my throat and my hands were all clammy.
“You’re nervous,” she whispered.
“Well, this is more important than asking Carey Newman to be my girlfriend in high school.”
“Because?”
“I care a fucking lot more about your answer.”
“You cuss when you’re upset.”
“Maybe. Are you going to ignore the fact that I want this to go somewhere?”
“This?”
“Our relationship,” I said.
Setting down the bottle, I put my hands on her upper arms. I pulled her toward me. Her lips parted and her eyes dilated. I smiled, letting my lip curl up the way she seemed to like. Her breath hitched and her chest expanded so that her breasts brushed my chest. Best feeling in the world.
“You just got out of a relationship. Or are working on finishing it. Why would you want to jump right into another one?”
That was the big question, one I was trying to work out in my mind. I was pretty sure of the answer, but I was scared shitless to go there. Still, Dahlia deserved to know the truth. “You think I’d be here if I didn’t care about you? This is more than attraction, Dahlia. Always has been.”
She kept her eyes on mine as she nodded. “It is. For me. I-I wanted you then. But I was with Doug.”
“Last night you said you were scared. I am, too.” I blew out a breath.
She smiled, her eyes warming, but she hesitated. “You might hurt me,” she said, voice low.
“Are you going to fight this chemistry because you’re afraid?”
I ran my thumb along her soft jaw down to the leaping pulse in her neck. Her lips parted and a breath puffed out.
“I need to see you,” I said. “Often. Every day.”
Her pulse jumped as the panic attack tried to wrestle away her control. I waited, knowing she’d want to handle this her way. She closed her eyes while her breath fluttered across my hand in sporadic bursts.
“You’ll leave. Once you’re stable. If nothing else, you’ll tour.” She ducked her head. “You’d break me if you cheated. I can’t do that again, Asher.”
“I don’t want anyone else. You can come with me on tour. So can the kids. We run a big enough operation it won’t be an issue. Bill brings his kids sometimes. Mason came as an infant. We make it work. It changes the rhythm, sure, but it’s good.”
I wanted to show her how much I wanted her. But more, I wanted to soothe her fear. I slid my thumb up her smooth cheek. Her eyes were full of sadness and longing, the color of the thunderheads that had burst upon us this morning.
“Doug collected women after he’d promised to love only me forever. How do you know what you feel for me could last?”
“How do you not know that?”
“Don’t do that,” she said. “I’m serious. I’ve had one relationship in my life.”
“You’re comparing what you feel for me to him. I don’t like that.”
She shook her head. “Doug cheated me out of a lot. If I loved a selfish man once, I’m afraid . . .” She looked away, tilting her head away from my grasp.
“You’ll do it again.” I stepped back and snagged my beer. “Fuck, Dahlia. I am selfish.” I stepped back further to ensure there was lots of space between us. I met her steady, gray gaze with my own.
“Pour yourself a glass of wine. We’ll sit on the couch, and I’ll tell you a story.”
23
Dahlia
“I was going to tell you this morning, but the rain sidetracked me,” Asher said. He waited until we were settled on the couch. Much as I tried to stay away, my head found its way to his shoulder, and his fingers combed my hair with an absentminded gentleness that made my heart stutter.
“Mason had a twin sister. Olivia.”
I reached out, gripping the hand clenched on his thigh. He accepted the comfort, turning so we were palm to palm.
“She died of SIDS, right?”
“Accidental suffocation.” His voice was raw. “In our bed. Jessica said I slept through it while she was dealing with Mason. I . . .” He swallowed hard. “I don’t remember much about that night.”
“Oh, Asher,” I whispered.
“I wasn’t on anything. Just tired. The babies took turns waking up, and I dealt with a lot of it because Jessica had postpartum. Her doctor said she needed help. So I helped. But that night I fell asleep.”
“How old was s
he?” I asked.
“Five months.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “When Olivia died . . . Jessica didn’t ever recover from it. She’s become hell-bent on hurting me.”
I nodded, waiting. There was more to the story. Much as it hurt to hear it, he needed to tell me.
“I hired Mrs. Knowles to help out, but we were scheduled to tour about a month after Olivia’s funeral. I couldn’t wait to leave that house. Jessica wasn’t talking to me. First night out, I hit the pills hard. Shit I’d never done before. I spent months drunk and high, just to make the pain go away.”
I wanted to pull him out of the place he’d gone, but instead I waited, my heart aching.
“My mom got pissed and flew out with Jessica and Mason. I hadn’t seen him in months. He was crawling, babbling. So cute I could barely stand it. I didn’t want to hold him at first. Mom said I needed something to focus on, something other than the hole from losing Olivia. Jessica wasn’t making any sense. Talking about how she could still hear Olivia crying.”
He paused again, gathering himself for whatever he needed to say next.
“That’s why you stayed with her,” I said. “Because of the guilt.”
He gripped my hand, his anchor in a sea of grief and loss. “I wouldn’t have made it through that time without Mason and my mom. I rocked him every night. For hours. He’d sleep in my arms. But I couldn’t sleep. I was too scared I’d hurt him. Like I did his sister.”
I gripped his hand, tears pressing against the back of my eyes. This was painful to hear, so much worse than my spiral with Doug. Asher’s demons, and Jessica’s too, were buried with a tiny body in a cemetery in Seattle.
“The guys and I were fighting about whether to extend the tour. It was going well, really well, but Bill’s wife was unhappy and Carl hadn’t seen his son, Seth, in months. We extended. Ran another four months. As our music hit bigger, our private lives tanked. Jessica flew back out for a few weeks. She brought Mason again. She was on so many meds, she couldn’t keep them straight. I had to hide the bottles and dole them out each morning. Mason didn’t sleep through the nights.”
Seattle Sound Series, The Collection: Books One to Five Page 18
