Chapter 3 Ash
Ash
The headlights round the bend on Meridian too fast and I’m on my feet before I even register standing.
The truck slows and pulls off the road as the engine cuts but the beams stay on.
I’m caught in their glare, hand lifted to block them, squinting, probably looking exactly like the roadside disaster I’m trying not to be.
Boone’s door opens and he steps out, backlit so he’s just shape and size. As he comes closer though, I can see that my call pulled him out of whatever he was doing. His boots are unlaced, his shirt a little wrinkled, nothing like the polished man I’m used to seeing when I visit the ranch.
Some part of his appearance makes me feel important. Marcus never moves that fast for me. He stops three feet away and looks at me.
“Hey,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “You really didn’t have to—”
His brows furrow as he gives me a once over before gesturing to the truck. “Get in the truck, Ash.”
The baritone to his voice does funny things to my stomach as I comply, hopping into the passenger side.
Warmth immediately surrounds me, the heat cranked all the way up.
I wonder if he turned it on for me because I’ve never seen Boone turn that on during any of the trips to the city.
I can’t be that important, and I refuse to dwell on it so I just look through the window.
He slides in on his side and shuts the door.
The cab shrinks to just us, his breathing, my breathing, the ticking of the engine cooling, the heater blowing, and the smell of this truck: the ranch, leather and hay, and something warm underneath that I’ve spent two years pretending I don’t catalog every time I’m within five feet of him.
“Seatbelt,” he says.
I reach for it and miss. My hands are stiff and stupid from the cold and shaking, and the buckle won’t catch. I try again and his hand comes over, guiding the metal into the click, his fingers brushing my hip.
“Okay?” he says.
“Yep.” I stare at the dashboard, the very interesting dashboard. “Thank you. For coming. You really didn’t—”
“Ash.”
I slump in the passenger seat as he says my name. “Yeah?” I murmur.
“You don’t have to thank me and you don’t have to perform for me. I can see your mascara.”
That’s not embarrassing. I forgot I had put on a little makeup to feel pretty as we headed to the party but I never splurge for the waterproof stuff.
And now Boone knows I wasn’t just sitting out on a curb, lost in the dark but that I was crying while I was there.
Lovely. I brush my fingers over my cheek and they come away streaked black. Great.
He turns onto Meridian and I watch the gas station vanish in my side mirror.
At some point, I’m sure I’ll be super pissed at Marcus for tonight and I’ll shake my fist in his face and then I’ll forgive him the same way I always do.
Though, tonight feels different. He didn’t just leave me.
He never thought about me once, not even when calling his father and that stings more than I want to admit.
I look up to see the Route 9 exit zip past, the only road that takes me back to my apartment. I frown and twist back before focusing forward, wondering if Boone just forgot where I lived. “Boone?”
“Yeah?”
“That was my turn.”
“I know where your apartment is.”
“So we’re just… driving by it?” I suck in my bottom lip, glaring at this man before my expression softens. I can’t even pretend to be mad.
“You’re not going to your apartment tonight.” He turns off onto the next exit, confusion still running through me. “No doubt Marcus will be out in the morning and I don’t like the idea of you being at that apartment while he still has a key.”
The possessiveness in Boone’s voice sends a thrill down my spine and I actively try to ignore it.
I also hadn’t thought about tomorrow or really any of the other days I would have to spend with Marcus.
The more I think about it, the more I dread the conversation Marcus will start that will turn into an argument.
I’ll end up feeling bad, apologizing, and then we’ll move on like nothing ever happened.
But something did happen and fuck, I really don’t ever want it to happen again.
Resigned, I let out a small sigh. “Okay,” I say. “Where are we headed?”
“The ranch.”
“Boone—”
“You can argue, or you can close your eyes. Thirty-minute drive.”
I should argue. I should insist it’s a bad idea, that I can handle myself and to please just drop me home.
Because going to the ranch means stepping back into his world.
There were too many times my self-control nearly slipped and I almost did something or said something I wouldn’t get to take back.
The biggest problem is that my thoughts don’t only circle around Boone. It’s Teague and Cass and Ledger. It’s all four of them with their broad shoulders and deep voices, and those long, delicious fingers that could…
I shake my head and bury it in the small space between the door and my chair. Something is wrong with me. Who thinks about everyone in the family except the guy he’s dating? And yet, every one of those men made me feel wanted by just giving me attention in a way Marcus never did.
Listening to my stories or asking me questions about my job or even just offering me a whiskey at the end of the night while everyone else was having one.
I never said yes. Whiskey is gross but the thought counted. It still counts and I’m about to walk back into that space while forcing myself to behave.
Exhaustion starts to pull me toward sleep, my lids fluttering closed when Boone’s hand settles on the back of my neck.
Everything stops.
His palm is warm and wide and his fingers curl just slightly against the side of my throat and the weight of it is exactly like I remember. Then, though, it was just a fatherly touch.
Here, it feels like something more, like an invitation and promise wrapped up in one.
My whole body tilts toward it, craving his touch, any touch, really.
I lean into his hand, his thumb moving once along the ridge of my spine and a sound comes out of my mouth that I will be embarrassed about for the rest of my natural life.
I jerk upright and press myself further against the passenger door. I stare at the road through the windshield, my heart hammering in my chest and my skin on fire where his hand was, the ghost of it pulsing there like a second heartbeat.
He puts his hand back on the wheel like nothing ever happened but it felt like the first real thing that's happened to me in two years.
Slowly, the ranch comes into view, the porch light illuminating the soft wood surrounding the front door. I'd teased him about that once, years ago. Nobody's coming up your road at three a.m., Boone. And he'd told me, you don't leave a light on for who you're expecting.
I feel the gravel crunch under the tires, the sound reaching something old and deep inside me.
Thanksgiving. Easter. The Fourth of July when I cracked the porch railing and Teague brought it up every visit for a year.
I haven’t heard it in eight months, and it sounds exactly the same and I can’t decide if that makes it better or worse, that this place just kept existing without me, unchanged, like it was waiting.
“The boys know you’re coming,” Boone says. “I called Teague from the road.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“They’d want to know.”
The front door opens before we reach the porch. Ledger is there, the oldest brother. He’s always been the most terrifying to me, thoughthe others tell me he can be sweet. I’ve never seen it, those intense eyes always watching and observing like he sees everything and catalogs it for the future.
He’s stuffed in a dark button down that’s completely open, showing off the expanse of muscles beneath. He looks like he just woke up, with the way his pants are barely over his hips, the v of his stomach disappearing into…
No.
When I get to the porch, he just steps aside and lets me through. “Hey, Ledger.”
He merely nods and disappears down the hall.
A few more steps takes me into the kitchen, Teague leaning against the counter, glass of water in hand, grin halfway to trouble.
I knew I shouldn’t have come here. He’s not wearing anything.
I mean, he is but boxers, a t-shirt with a hole in the collar, with his hair a complete mess and he’s still sexy.
It has to do with how sharp his blue eyes are, I think. Or the grin. Or the slight bulge between his thighs that absolutely should not be there because I’m his brother’s boyfriend.
“There he is,” Teague muses. “You look like shit.”
“Teague,” Boone says behind me.
“What? He does. A beautiful kind of shit. A shit you’d frame and put on a wall. Come here.”
Before I can answer, he pulls me into a hug, his arms sliding around me, one hand settling at the back of my head, the solid warmth of a man who runs hot and doesn’t apologize for it.
He smells like toothpaste and sleep. I stiffen for a moment, then something in me gives in.
I lean into him because I’m so tired, so tired of not being touched.
He holds me longer than a normal hug, long enough to make my breathing go shaky against his chest and for me to feel every last inch of his cock pressed against my stomach.
I’m sure none of that was on purpose.
“For the record,” he says into the top of my head, “you’re too pretty to be walking around Meridian at night. Someone would’ve scooped you right up.”
I laugh, though it comes out wet and fractured. A laugh nonetheless.
“Let him breathe, son.” Boone pushes out.
Teague lets go. His hand trails across my shoulders on the way out, as if touching me is his right. I don’t know how to react, so I don’t.
At the edge of the room something shifts.
I turn to find the last of the brothers, Cass, standing in the doorway to the hall.
He’s the youngest but also the biggest of them all, clad in only sweatpants that are even lower than the ones Ledger was wearing.
I will myself to keep my calm, Cass looking at me like I’m forbidden fruit.
I don’t remember it being this intense the last time I was here. His hazel eyes slowly track down my body and back up again. There’s no attempt to hide it, no flourish, just the steady gaze of a man who’s already made up his mind and is savoring the view before he moves.
“Ash,” he purrs.
“Hi, Cass.” No one ever uses his full name, Cassian, unless someone’s angry or doesn’t know him. Then he just snarls in their direction which I find hilarious.
I look away first because my face is doing whatever it wants, and if one more person in this house treats me like I matter, I’ll fall apart on their kitchen floor. Boone moves past me to grab a glass from the kitchen, returning with it full.
“Drink. Then I’ll show you your room.”
I drink because Boone told me to. Because doing what he says is the only solid ground I have, and I’m not ready to question why. Then I push the empty glass into Cass’ waiting hand before heading down the hall with Boone a step behind me.
I know this house as well as I know my own body, the living room, the bathroom with the loud faucet, the room Marcus used to occupy before he left, Boone filling it with tack and saddle blankets and pretending he’d never slept there.
The guest room sits at the end, directly across from Boone’s bedroom.
I’ve always known that. I’ve always counted the exact steps between doors.
He pushes open the guest bedroom, revealing a completely made bed with a towel lying at the foot. A T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants are folded neatly on the pillow.
“Teague’s clothes,” Boone says. “They’ll swim on you but I’m afraid that’s the smallest we have.”
That’s a lie. Some of Marcus’ clothes are here and he’s smaller than any of his brothers but I’m also grateful because I wouldn’t want those right now. “That’s fine. Thank you.”
“Bathroom’s across the hall. Towels in the cabinet. If you need anything—”
“I know where everything is.”
My voice is quieter than I meant it to be. We both hear that admission buried in it: that I know this house. That I memorized every inch. That I could walk its hallways in the dark by touch alone, because I spent two years paying attention to a place I was never going to belong to.
I twist around to see Boone filling the doorframe, the charged air between us begging for something more but I can’t do that. It’s wrong. “Uhm…”
“You’re safe here, Ash. I can promise you that.”
Then he just walks down the hallway and shuts off the light, leaving me in the darkness. It almost feels like an invitation, the lack of a ‘goodnight’ lingering behind him. But I’m going to be good. I’m going to get in bed, pass out, and then figure out what happens tomorrow.