Chapter 22
Dexter
I’m staring at Lexy as she wipes down some tables, completely lost in it.
We left the party late yesterday, and I took the long way home just to feel her arms around me for a little while longer.
She didn’t say much before we both went to bed, but she avoided my eyes, and when she thought I wasn’t looking, I caught her watching me, then blushing the second she realized I saw her.
Today she’s acting like nothing happened, like I didn’t request a song for her and dance with her to another five songs.
A couple of regulars sit scattered at the bar, nursing beers like they’ve got nowhere better to be, chairs scraping, glasses clinking while Lexy laughs at something one of the guys says.
The smell of whiskey and citrus cleaner still lingers in the air.
I’m wiping down the counter when the door opens, and this time I do look up. Most people who come in this early aren’t here for a good reason, but the second I see who it is, something shifts anyway.
Asher.
Strange… ever since he had his little boy, he stopped coming to the bar.
And yet here he is.
He steps inside and lets the door fall shut behind him, slower than usual, like even that takes effort. His shirt’s wrinkled, like he’s been wearing it too long, his hair not as put together as it usually is, and there’s something off about him. Not messy.
Just… undone.
He lingers there for a second, no nod, no “evenin’,” no half smirk thrown my way, and that alone is enough to tell me something’s wrong.
I straighten slightly, rag still in my hand, keeping my eyes on him.
When he finally moves toward the bar, each step is controlled but tight, like if he lets go for even a second, something’s going to crack. Lexy notices him too, her smile faltering just a fraction before she turns back to her customer, but that’s all it takes.
Asher reaches the bar and drops onto a stool, exhaling like the weight of the world followed him in, and I don’t say anything right away. Instead, I grab a glass, because whatever brought him here, it pulled him away from something, or someone.
I set the beer in front of him, and his hand closes around it, fingers flexing once like he’s grounding himself, but he doesn’t drink. Not yet. His jaw ticks.
Asher stares at the beer for a long moment before finally speaking.
“She left.”
“Who?”
“Leona.”
“What? Why?”
His jaw tightens as he breathes through his nose, trying to hold it together.
“She… I…” He shakes his head. “When she told me she was pregnant… I just did what I thought was right, you know?”
I nod. That’s Asher. He doesn’t run from anything.
“Then Liam was born, and I was over the moon… a son. My son…” A faint smile pulls at his mouth, but it doesn’t last. “She wasn’t…”
He drags a hand over his face, the movement slow, heavy.
“Doctors said it was postpartum depression. She couldn’t… didn’t want to pick him up, feed him, hold him. So I stepped in, gave her space, thought time would fix it, but the more Liam grew, the clearer it got.”
He exhales slowly, staring past the bar.
“He’d smile, laugh… and she tried to feel something, I could see it, but it just wasn’t there.”
His fingers tighten slightly around the bottle.
“First steps, first words… every milestone hit me like a damn wave.” He swallows. “She’d just nod… then go back to whatever made her feel like herself again.”
He takes a long pull of his beer before continuing.
“Yesterday, before we were supposed to leave for your parents’ anniversary, she told me she couldn’t attend because she wasn’t feeling well, so I came alone with Liam.
” I nod, remembering seeing Asher sitting alone with his son.
“When I came home last night… she was standing by the door, suitcases packed, papers in her hand.”
A hollow breath leaves him.
“I never thought I’d be divorced. Swore I wouldn’t end up like my parents… and here I am.”
I rest a hand on his shoulder.
“Did she tell you why?”
A humorless laugh slips out.
“She said…” He swallows. “‘I thought Liam would make you love me… but you never really did, did you?’”
He finishes his beer and gestures for another, and I pour it without a word.
“What did you say?”
His gaze stays on the glass like he’s still standing in that moment.
“Nothing at first… because I couldn’t lie to her.” His voice lowers. “Couldn’t tell her I loved her when I didn’t.” He takes another sip of his beer.
“I tried, God knows I tried to feel something, but…” He shakes his head and sighs. “I couldn’t feel more than friendship and respect for the woman who gave me Liam.”
A pause stretches between us.
“I married her because she’s Liam’s mother, and I didn’t want my son to grow up in two households like I did.” He shakes his head.
“She looked at me for a long second… then nodded, like she already knew.” Another pause. “Then she handed me the papers.”
“What about Liam?”
He meets my eyes.
“She left him too. Said she tried to be a good mother, but she never felt it. Said I was the better parent.” He exhales. “Said she couldn’t be happy here. With us.”
Something shifts in his voice. It’s not anger. Just… loss.
I squeeze his shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. Where’s Liam now?”
A tired smile pulls at his lips. “I asked your parents to keep him. Told them she left, and they didn’t ask a damn thing… just took him in.”
A quiet laugh leaves me. “Bet my mama’s loving that. She misses having little ones around. Always saw you as one of hers… Liam too.”
He nods. “She’s been more of a mother to me than my own.”
He finishes his second beer, and I slide another his way automatically.
“Don’t worry. I’m taking you home tonight. You’re not driving.”
“Thanks, man.”
He drinks again, and this time I catch the shine in his eyes.
“How the hell am I supposed to raise that boy on my own?”
I step closer, making sure he sees the truth in my eyes.
“Asher… I think you already are.”
He lets that sit for a moment.
“Divorced,” he mutters, like it’s a death sentence.
“Maybe one day you’ll meet someone,” I say, glancing at Lexy laughing with customers, “someone you actually love… and who’ll love Liam just as much.”
A small smile tugs at my mouth. “Love’s not that bad.”
He shakes his head. “No, man. Not for me. I’ll raise Liam, give him everything I’ve got… focus on the ranch.” His gaze drops again. “I’m not built for it.”
A quiet breath leaves me.
“Yeah… I used to think that too…”
His eyes lift. “But then…?”
I glance away from Lexy, but it’s already too late. He saw.
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Dexter Hawthorne falling for a woman. Didn’t see that coming.”
He shakes his head. “Times are changing.”
I nod once. “Yeah… they sure are.”
Asher stayed until closing, and I drove him home. He wasn’t wasted, switched to sodas after a few beers, but he needed the company.
When I step back into the bar, the quiet hits first, heavier than it should be.
I never understood why he married Leona, especially if he didn’t love her, but Asher is the kind of man who will always do what’s right, even if it costs him everything.
I exhale slowly, scrubbing a hand over my jaw before I look up.
And stop dead in my tracks.
Tinker is dancing to the music, hips swaying, head nodding as she lifts chairs and sets them onto the tables. I lean against the doorframe and watch.
She smiles at the song, mouthing the lyrics, lost in the rhythm, and there’s something weightless about her like this. Happy. Free. And I hate how much it twists something deep in my chest.
Those lips, fuck… those lips make me want to take a bite. I stay right where I am, unable to look away.
She looks like the kind of temptation I should never give in to.
But God help me, I want to.
She’s impossible, stubborn, clever, infuriating, and still I can’t stop watching her, the pull constant, dragging me closer, making me wonder what she’d do if I actually touched her like I keep imagining.
I move toward her slowly, deliberately, my gaze fixed on her moving body, and I’m only a few feet away when she turns mid-lyric…
and screams.
The chair slips from her hands, crashing onto her foot, and she bends instantly.
“Oww, Dex! You scared the shit out of me!”
“Shit,” I mutter, stepping forward. “I’m sorry, Tinker, I just…”
Just what?
I didn’t want you to stop dancing because you captivate me body and soul?
Because I was imagining throwing you on that table and discovering every inch of you?
Because the longer I look at you, the more I crave to feel you close, branded on me like a fucking tattoo?
Yeah. Can’t say that.
So instead I settle for, “Sorry, Tinker.”
She looks up at me, her blue gaze wide and glassy, and I crouch without thinking, brushing her hands aside to check her foot.
“It’s okay, it’s nothing,” she says quickly. “The chair isn’t that heavy…”
I cut her off with a look. “Let me see.”
My hands settle on her hips, firm and sure, and I lift her easily, setting her down on the table. The contact is brief, but it’s enough. Too much.
I crouch again, sliding her shoe off, then her sock. Her foot is small, delicate, a little red but not swollen.
“Can you move it?” I ask, my voice rough as my fingers brush over her skin.
“Yeah,” she whispers, flexing her foot.
“Good girl,” I growl, relief mixing with something darker.
I look up and nearly curse out loud.
Lexy’s eyes are locked on me, the blue nearly swallowed by her pupils, breath shallow, lips parted just slightly.
“Tinker,” I warn quietly. I know that look. I’ve worn it myself.
“Dex, I…” she starts.
“Hey! Who left the lights on in the basement?” Stephen calls out as he comes up the stairs.
I step back instantly, breaking the moment like snapping a wire.
Lexy blushes hard, her gaze darting anywhere but at me.
And just like that, the air shifts, but the tension stays, thick and dangerous, humming between us.