by Cole Gibsen
Her hands fall from my waist. “Lane, you’re scaring me.”
I sigh and motion to the couch. “Do you want to sit?”
She folds her arms across her chest and shakes her head. “I don’t really feel like sitting.”
“Right.” I can’t sit either. Nervous energy courses through me, prickling my skin and winding through my muscles. I pace a short path across the living room, my boots grinding the broken glass against the floor. “It’s not fair of me to ask you to stay without you knowing the truth about me—without you knowing my past.”
She nods slowly.
“Ash, when I was sixteen, I went to a party and had too much to drink.”
She makes a face. “If underage drinking is your biggest secret, I can handle that.”
“It’s not. You see, my dad had passed a year before and left me in charge of the family. The responsibility was crushing. I went to the party looking for a good time. I didn’t want to think about my mom or my sister, I just wanted to have fun—something I could barely remember having. I met this girl and—well, she was unlike any girl I’d ever met before. She was exciting. She made me forget all about school, my family, my dad, my responsibility.”
Ash frowns at this, her eyes questioning.
“One thing led to another, and I lost my virginity in a fucking coat closet.” The words taste sour on my tongue, and my lip curls in disgust. I hate to tell her this story, to blurt out my mistake and let it fill the space between us.
“Lane, we’re not children. I know you’ve been with other women, just like I’ve been with other guys.”
“I know. That’s not what I’m getting at.” My throat feels like it’s on the verge of closing, as if my body is working against me, to keep me from spilling my secret. “Something more happened in that closet—something other than sex.”
Slowly, she lowers herself onto the couch. “What?”
God, this is so much harder than I expected. I wish I could just spit the words out, but they bury themselves deep within me. I know once they’re out, there will be no pulling them back. They have the power to make Ash leave—forever. My body tenses, bracing for the worst. “After the party, I never expected to see the girl again. We were having fun, no strings attached. Even so, about a month later, she showed up on my doorstep.”
Ash leans forward, her eyes widening with realization. “Lane, what—”
Before she can finish, the door to her apartment swings open. I spin around, half expecting to find her stepdad. Instead, Emily stands in the doorway, her lips parted as she takes in the toppled end table and broken lamp.
“What the hell happened up here?” she asks. “There were all these loud noises and shouting. You said you’d be right back.”
“I know. We had an incident and I was just trying to explain a few things to Ash before we left.” I make a face, hoping she’ll catch the hint.
She doesn’t.
“What the fuck is an incident?” She steps inside the apartment and surveys the damage. “Is everyone okay? Harper and I were freaking out.”
“Harper?” Ash is on her feet, her gaze accusing. “She’s here?”
“Yeah.” Em nods to the door. “She’s right—”
Before she can finish, Harper appears in the doorway, her eyes wide. “Daddy, is everything okay? Aunt Em and I heard yelling.” She looks from me to Em, before her gaze rests on Ash. “Oh. I know you. What are you doing here?”
The silence that follows stills my heart. The flush in Ash’s cheeks pales as realization filters through her. Still she says nothing, until the words she’s not saying stretch and swell, digging a canyon between us.
Panic rolls down my skin in prickly waves. I’m desperate for her to say something, anything, just to fill the void.
Instead, she blinks slowly, as if dazed, and places a hand against her forehead. “Wait. If you’re Harper, and he’s your—” She looks up at me, her face a mixture of horror and understanding. “Oh my God. You have a kid.”
Emily places a hand over her mouth. “Shit. I thought you’d already told her.” She backs through the doorway and grabs Harper’s hand. “We’re going to get ice cream.”
Harper wrinkles her nose in confusion. “We are?”
“Yup.” Emily nods. “Right now. Sundaes. Big ones.” She guides Harper to the stairs. “Lane, call me as soon as you can, okay?” Before I can answer, they disappear from view.
“You have a kid,” Ash repeats. Even though she’s looking at me, her gaze is unfocused, more like she’s looking through me.
Fuck. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. “Ash, if you could just give me a second to explain.”
She blinks again, this time her eyes focusing on mine. “You have a kid.” It’s not so much a question, but the answer to one.
“Yes. Harper is my daughter.”
“Jesus Christ!”
The volume of her voice startles me, and I stiffen.
“Oh my God. I just… I can’t… Fuck!” She spins around, sweeping her fingers through her hair, pulling it from the ponytail until it falls over her face.
“Ash, please.” I reach for her, stopping short of actually touching her. “Can we talk about this?”
She spins around, her cheeks flushed and her eyes brimming with tears. “There’s nothing to talk about, Lane. This changes everything!”
I yank my hand back. “It doesn’t have to.”
“You just don’t get it, do you?” She half laughs, even as the tears spill down her face. “I’m a walking shit storm. You saw my stepdad, and my mom’s not much better. I don’t know the first thing about how a family is supposed to operate—I barely managed to survive this long on my own.” She juts a finger toward the empty doorway. “I won’t be responsible for fucking up the life of a young girl. I won’t do it, Lane.”
“Ash, you won’t fuck it up. If you’d only calm down—”
“How do you know? Do you have psychic powers you haven’t told me about?”
“I just know.”
She tilts her chin, meeting my gaze square on. “Well, that’s one of us. And that’s not a gamble I’m willing to take with a kid. You shouldn’t either.”
She brushes past me, and I snag her arm. “Ash, I know you. You’re an amazing person. You’re kind, and smart, and—”
“Damaged,” she cuts in, pulling free from my grasp. “More than you can possibly know, Lane. A girl like me has no business being in the life of a child. I’m doing you a favor.”
Her words stab into my heart like a dagger. “What are you saying?”
She freezes, but doesn’t turn around. “It’s pretty obvious isn’t it?”
Maybe. Still, I need to hear the words out loud. Only then will they become real. “Say it, Ash.”
Her shoulders slump. Still she doesn’t turn.
“Good-bye, Lane,” she chokes.
Chapter Thirty
Ashlyn
“Ashlyn,” Lane calls after me as I descend the stairs. “Please don’t do this.”
I almost stop. Almost. Lane is the first shot of happiness I ever had, and now I’m running from it. I hoist the garbage bag of clothes over my shoulder and tighten my grip on Hank’s leash. I don’t have a plan. I just know I need to go before Lane can convince me to stay. I won’t be the distraction in Lane’s life. I won’t do to his daughter what was done to me for ten years.
Hank whines as we jog to my car. I glance down find him watching me, his ears pinned flat against his head. He obviously knows something isn’t right.
Behind me, the thud of heavy footsteps descends the stairs. “Ashlyn.” Lane’s voice is closer than I expect, and I flinch. “You’re not even giving me a chance.”
People always talk about heartbreak, but that doesn’t come close to describing what I feel. To me, when you break something, the damage is immediate and the cuts clean. My heart, on the other hand, feels like it’s being torn to ribbons, shredded to a pulp. The ache is unbearable, making
me stagger the last couple of steps to my car.
“I’m giving you every chance.” Despite my better judgment, I turn and face him. I instantly regret it. His face is a mixture of pain and desperation. And I’m the one responsible for putting those emotions there. “I’m giving you a shot at a happy life with your kid. She deserves better than me.”
He shakes his head, the tendons in his jaw flexing. “There is no better than you.”
Another rip deep in my chest precedes an agonizing wave of pain. Stupid, silly, boy. He can only see what’s on the surface. He has no idea how far my damaged roots run. One of these days, he’ll understand. He might even thank me if I ever see him again—which I won’t.
I turn away. I know I’m doing the right thing. Kids were never part of my plan. Considering my own parental influences, I’m sure to fuck up royally. I can’t, won’t, risk it.
Especially not when a young girl’s life is at stake—a girl who looks exactly the age I was when my mom met Charles, forever changing my life for the worse. If only I knew about his kid before any of this happened, I could have put some distance between us. I could have…
My shoulders slump. Who am I kidding? The only thing that could have kept me away from Lane was never meeting him in the first place. And now that I have, now that I’ve fallen so completely for him, the only thing that will free me is distance—and lots of it.
I open the door and throw my bag of clothes into the backseat.
“Ashlyn.” There’s a note of pleading in his voice that hooks into my heart. Damn it. I pause long enough to shake my head. I have to go before I change my mind.
I slam the back door shut and wrench open the driver’s door. I pick up Hank and place him in the passenger seat, before climbing into the driver’s seat.
“Don’t go,” Lane says.
Invisible hands squeeze my heart. I gasp. After all these years of being unwanted and unloved, I finally found someone who wants me to stay.
But I can’t. I’m doing this for me, for the girl I could have been, the childhood I could have had if my stepdad never entered my life. I slam the door, placing a wall of metal and glass between Lane and myself. Only then do the rivets screwed into my muscles loosen. With shaking fingers, I put the key into the ignition and start the car.
Lane takes a step back. He jams his hands into his back pockets resignedly, and presses his lips into a thin line. “Where are you going?”
I can only shake my head and shift my car into gear. I can’t speak past the lump knotted inside my throat. Even if I could, I wouldn’t have an answer.
I have no idea.
Chapter Thirty-One
Lane
She’s gone. Long after she pulls away I stare at the empty spot where her car was parked. Left, like the other girl I opened my heart to, like my father, and even Harper someday when she gets married and starts a family of her own—without me.
A growl pushes through my clenched teeth. I spin on my heels and march up the stairs to the vacated apartment. Inside, I spin around, searching for any sign of Ash, anything she might have forgotten, something I can hold onto—something real.
But aside from the pain swelling inside my chest, the broken table and shattered lamp, there’s no trace of her—like she never existed.
Rage explodes inside me. With an angry yell, I upend the coffee table. It crashes on its side with a satisfying crack, one of its legs breaking off in the process. The rush of adrenaline that follows burns away most of the hollow ache inside my chest. Still, a lingering stab of pain remains.
I grab the back of the chair we made love on and fling it against the wall where it smashes to pieces, leaving a gouge in the drywall—ruining the new paint job. Doesn’t matter, I think. When only seconds ago I was desperate for a piece of Ash, now I want nothing to remind me of her.
I march into the small kitchen and swipe my arm along the short counter, knocking coffee mugs, ceramic canisters, and a vase with a wilted daisy onto the floor. Anywhere the ghost of her might linger, I fling to the floor until broken shards of glass and ceramic litter the linoleum, covering the paint stain from the night Ash and I first slept together.
But it’s not enough. The ache she left inside me continues to grow, threatening to swallow me whole.
I continue to topple furniture, pull fixtures from the walls, and upend the mattresses until sweat soaks the front of my shirt and I’m panting with exhaustion. My muscles are loose like noodles and my insides comfortably numb. I pause, looking around the obliterated studio. Every inch has been decimated.
Just like me.
Satisfied, I turn and head for the door. I sweep my eyes over the wreckage one last time and that’s when I spot the edge of paper protruding from under the sofa. Kicking debris aside with my foot, I make my way to the couch. The paper has my name written on top in a feminine, loopy script. At first, I think it’s a letter, but it only takes me a couple of lines to realize it’s a poem.
Lane
“Tell me you want me,” he whispers in the dark
Trapped in leather, his touch lighter than silk
He holds me in a cage with the door wide open
“Tell me to stop,” he says, “and I will.”
But I don’t want him to stop
The second he lets go, that’s when I will truly be lost.
I reread the words several times, fighting the urge to crumple the paper in my hand. Instead, I fold it into a neat square and tuck it inside my pocket. Even lost from my sight, the words written on the page continue to play through my mind, branded on my brain.
But I don’t want him to stop.
The second he lets go, that’s when I’ll truly be lost.
I guess that’s not exactly true. Not only did she want me to let go, she didn’t even bother to look back as she ran.
I swallow hard and push the thought away, focusing my attention instead on the demolished room. As bad as it looks, I haven’t done anything that can’t be repaired or replaced.
Unfortunately, a little paint and spackle won’t repair what’s broken inside me.
Some things just can’t be fixed.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ashlyn
All the windows are down and a rush of air streams through the car, whipping my hair and drying the tears streaking down my cheeks. I wish it could blow through my head and clear the memory of Lane standing in the road, growing smaller as I drive away, until he disappears all together.
I’m doing the right thing. I remind myself over and over, until the words are a meaningless tangle of letters in my mind. If it’s the right thing, why does it feel so wrong?
Because you’re selfish, another voice chimes in, my stepdad’s voice. You’re a fuckup who’ll do irreparable damage to that child if you stay. But you don’t care, do you? You only think of yourself.
No. I shake my head, my lips trembling. I’m not thinking of myself. I’m doing this. I’m leaving.
And because the temptation to see Lane would be too great if I stayed in the area, I’ve decided to drive to Atlanta. I’ll call my aunt as soon as I can be sure I won’t cry into the phone. I’m sure she’ll understand—at least I hope so.
The twin smokestacks on the edge of Springfield fade in my review mirror as I travel farther down I-55, leaving the town, and Lane, behind me. I hold my breath as I pass the last exit, the exit that leads to my old house, as if I might accidentally suffocate on the poison it emanates. It’s not until I drive another twenty miles that I take my first deep breath and loosen my white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.
Maybe this is exactly what I need. Distance. Followed by time.
No sooner do I have the thought than an unfamiliar ding sounds from my dash. I glance down to find the gas gauge needle dipping well below the red line.
“Shit!” I left in such a hurry I didn’t think to check the gas. Not wanting to get stranded on the side of the highway, I turn on my blinker for the approaching exit. My heart plummets when
I read the sign.
Rest Area.
It’s further out than the ones I used to sleep at, so I’m not familiar with it. Still, the irony I should end up in one is not lost on me. A sinking feeling washes over me as I pull into a parking spot and turn off my car. “We’re not staying,” I tell Hank, who watches me intently. For once, we’re actual travelers, not homeless vagabonds, making what I hope to be a small pit stop before we move on.
The small, square, brick building is no different from the other rest areas where I’ve slept—just big enough for bathrooms and vending machines. Sun-faded park benches and rusted barrel trash cans are scattered throughout a grassy field in desperate need of mowing.
My muscles coil and my chest shudders. Not staying, I remind myself.
I grab my purse off the floor and open my wallet. A five-dollar bill and some change is all I find.
Fuck. That’s barely more than a gallon of gas—nowhere near what I need to get to Atlanta. I had no idea, when I’d thrown the money my mom gave me out the door, I’d be throwing away my gas money. I have a debit card, but with payday a couple days away, I only have fifteen dollars in my account. Panic squeezes my ribs as I zip my wallet closed. Stay calm, Ashlyn. You can figure this out. I grab my phone and dial my Aunt’s number. Several rings later, the call goes to voicemail.
After I leave a message, I end the call and toss my phone back into my purse. “Shit!” I know better than to call my mom, so I’m out of options.
Fresh tears prick the corners of my eyes and I quickly blink them away. It figures. This is what I get for trying to do the right thing.
Hank whimpers, and I turn to find him staring at me, concern etched in his eyes.
Keep it together, Ash. “It’s okay, buddy. We’re fine.” I scratch the soft fur behind his ears, and his tail thumps against the seat. “We just have to wait for Aunt Karen to call us back. She’ll help.”
We just have to wait. As the sun lowers and the possibility of spending the night becomes more probable by the second, a hard lump pushes up my throat. “Want to go potty?”
