CHAPTER TWO #2
I take advantage of the quick reprieve and short distance from Ledger to try and gain some clarity and gather my thoughts.
The hell I put him through?
The last time I saw Ledger Sharpe was the night I gave him my virginity. It was also the night that my naiveté in thinking all people are considered equal was shattered.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath.
My anger, my snark to hide my hurt—hell, this whole direction of our conversation—won’t get us anywhere. Not that I want it to. But in the same breath, I can’t deny the emotions seeing him has dredged up.
Go. Be nice. Be polite. Make small talk. Then serve him his beer so he can get on his way back out of my life.
Again.
He tracks me as I make my way back to him. “Look. Everything is perfect. Obviously, we have a past. It’s best if we leave it alone.” I muster a strained smile I don’t expect him to believe. “Sound good?”
His snort is unconvincing, the displeasure in his eyes even more so. “Sure. Fine.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Right after you explain to me what you mean by men like me . . . because last I knew you, you seemed to like men like me.”
Touché.
I did.
I still do.
I’d be lying to myself if I said otherwise, and yet, men like him are the reason I’ve lived my adult life trying to prove I’m more than enough. That I’m more than a motherless girl with no future. It was men like him who cast me aside because I didn’t meet the Sharpe standards.
My thoughts become crazy as the memories renew my fury. Don’t be angry. Ignore the hurt. It was years ago. But it’s so much easier to hide behind the anger and use it as a defense than to admit seeing him has opened wounds I thought had healed and faded.
I clear my throat. “Men like you,” I state and find my footing that his unwavering stare is constantly knocking askew.
“Clearly one who thinks he’s too good for this establishment, this town, the people in it .
. . maybe even this state, but for some reason, shock of all shocks, he’s sitting at this bar. ”
“Not by choice.”
“Of course not. You just proved my point. On that note”—I lift my chin toward the direction of the door and lean my hips back against the counter behind me—“you know where the door is.”
“Asher Wells speaks her mind now? That’s new,” he says with mock surprise and, for the first time, I see a hint of the personality that my teenage heart used to be madly in love with.
“I’m not the same person you used to know. A lot has changed, Ledger.”
“Clearly.” A ghost of a smile paints his lips. It’s smug and arrogant and, Jesus, does it suit him perfectly. There’s confidence to back it now, an acknowledgment that he is who he is without apology. “I like the change. It’s becoming of you—”
“No, you don’t.” I snort and cross my arms over my chest, a defense in and of itself.
“You think I’m being a bitch—which for the record, I am.
I think I have a good cause too. Just as I’m sure you’ve followed in your father’s footsteps, opting to be the asshole whenever you feel like it, simply because you can.
Or do you still toe the line, always doing what you’re told?
Do you still need Daddy’s praise? To be the best of the best or you’re not considered good enough? ”
My temper gets the best of me with this incoherent ramble that I can’t help. It’s hurt or be hurt. It gets everything you once wanted to say out since this might be your only chance.
But I’m so caught up in my feelings that I don’t give his grimace a second thought.
“Hey, Ash. Can I get another, sweetheart?” a regular asks from across the bar.
“Coming right up, Larry.” I move away to pour Larry’s beer, thankful for the reprieve. Maybe Ledger will give up and go back to wherever he came from while I’m distracted.
“Why am I sensing that I missed part of this conversation somehow?” Or maybe not. There’s a chill to his voice, a stiffness to his posture.
I’ve pissed him off.
Good.
That’s only an iota of what he deserves.
I stare at him, my jaw clenched and hands fisted.
Why am I letting the memory of what happened still affect me?
It was a long time ago. It’s done and over with.
“You know what? You’re right. You’re not worthy of my anger,” I finally say, hating that while I tell him that, I still want to ask a million questions.
Why did you leave and never come back?
Why didn’t you call?
Was everything you told me a lie?
Why did you let him tear you apart like that?
That’s enough, Ash. Enough wondering. Enough anger. Enough forgetting what you promised yourself minutes ago—that the past is the past.
This is the first impression you give him of who you are and what you’ve made of your life? All you’re succeeding in doing is looking unstable.
Get your shit together, even if it kills you.
“You’re right. I’m probably not worthy of your anger.
” He meets my eyes and something softens inside me at his comment.
At him giving me an out to somehow justify the spiteful words I just slung at him.
“But hey, if I had known asking for a Coors Light would make you this upset, then I easily could have picked something else. A Heineken. A Corona. Which beer is best paired with the side of animosity you’re serving? ”
“Quit making fun of me.”
He offers his lopsided, mischievous smile that has one reluctantly tugging on the corners of my mouth. I’m transported back to ice cream cones on the docks and kisses that left me breathless.
There’s something about you that until this very moment, until seeing you standing there, I didn’t know would still pull on parts of me.
“Everything good here?” Hank asks as he steps behind the bar, eyeing me with curiosity before taking in Ledger. “Asher taking care of you all right?”
“Yes. She was just about to pour me a Coors Light, but she had to finish reading me the riot act about how much she dislikes me first.”
Jesus. I’m filling in for Nita. The last thing I need is to cause paying customers to complain and get her in trouble with the boss.
“Don’t take it personally,” Hank says, followed by his baritone bark of a laugh and a wink my way. “For what it’s worth, she doesn’t exactly like anyone.”
I narrow my eyes at Hank as he emits a big belly laugh before moving to the far end of the bar to chat with some regulars.
“Asher?” Ledger asks my name like a question, but when I look his way, there’s a sudden change to his expression.
It’s almost as if he just had an epiphany or figured out an answer to the question he never asked.
“A minute ago, you said something. About what I put you through—” He gives a quick shake to his head and as quickly as the expression appears, it’s gone.
“I think you’re wrong. We do need to talk about what hap—”
“Telling me I’m wrong isn’t the best way to make me like you again.”
“I didn’t realize you had to try to. You never had to before.” The quiet confidence in his tone paired with the bittersweet look in his eyes has me struggling to think of a response.
How is it possible to go from anger to uncertainty in such a short span of time?
Confused and unsettled by the sudden feeling, I turn around to find a clean glass on the counter behind me, even though there’s a stack of them right in front of me.
I’m a grown woman, for God’s sake.
We were teenagers.
It was a lifetime ago.
I’ve moved on with my life and so has he.
I rearrange more glasses before grabbing one and moving toward the tap.
“What are you in town for? A trip with your family again? Is it your first time back since . . . before?” I ramble, my concentration on the beer and its foam head instead of Ledger.
“The town has changed. The old hotel was bought and is being built into a resort. The whole town is up in arms over it.” I pour some foam out.
“The ski resort is even fancier than before, if you can believe that. The rich ladies and their outfits even more outrageous than the ones we used to make fun of.”
Ledger sits in silence as I rattle off comments, avoiding eye contact with him. But when I set the glass down in front of him, he closes his hand over my wrist.
His touch.
At one time it was everything my teenage heart yearned for.
My eyes flash to his, but I don’t pull my hand away. I’m sure he can see it in the look I give him—a tinge of nostalgia, a bit of what could have been—but he doesn’t say a word. Rather, he just nods ever so slightly as if he understands, and offers a soft smile.
“You look good, Asher. More than good,” he murmurs. “I hope you’ve been happy.”
The kindness in his words almost unravels me.
Vulnerability I don’t want to feel wells up as tears threaten, which I successfully fight back.
It’s been a tough few months. Moving Gran to an assisted living facility.
Losing Pop so unexpectedly. Then learning to shoulder the responsibilities to keep The Fields afloat when Pop guarded everything.
Combined, it’s all but drowned me. So much in such a short span that his sympathy, his sincerity, get to me.
“Trudging along,” I say as I pull my hand from his grip. “And you? You’re good?”
He nods again as he studies me in that silent, disarming way of his. “Are you still sketching those insanely beautiful landscapes? I always figured I’d stumble upon one somewhere and know right away it was yours.”
“No. Not anymore.”
“I thought you were going to art school. To—”
“Plans changed.”
“That was your dream though.”
“Dreams change.” I look at the door as another customer walks in and welcome the distraction. “You never answered my questions.”
“Because I wanted to know about you more.” He takes a sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving mine until he gives a roll of his eyes. “Fine. What are your questions, Ash?”
He says my nickname like no time has passed, and we’re still familiar with each other. I can’t bring myself to correct him.
Maybe I don’t want to.
“Why are you here?”