15. I’m not a charity case
15
I’M NOT A CHARITY CASE
HALLE
A storm is brewing inside his head, and I’m caught in the eye of it. The silence between us is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. My muscles ache from the hour-long drive where I stayed to my side of the truck, with one hand on the handle, too scared to relax in fear of screwing up again.
“Get out of the fucking way, you’ll just screw it up.”
“Can you ever do anything right?”
Whispers turn to shouts in my head. That’s what I seem to do best… Screw up.
I shouldn’t have gone through his things. I should have just left the photo where it was hidden and waited outside for him. But no, I had to grab it from the top of the fridge where it was folded over, letting my curiosity get the best of me.
Asher’s place wasn’t what I was expecting at all. The moment I stepped inside, a chill came over me. It was empty, like no one lives there, and a heavy sadness hung in the air. There wasn’t a single photo or piece of him anywhere, and trust me, I looked because who lives like that?
Glancing over my shoulder for what feels like the millionth time, I find him silently following me. He’s tense and uninterested, with his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed in my direction. He hasn’t said a word to me since he stormed off and demanded I get in the truck, and it’s suffocating. Questions spin in my mind and a part of me wants to yell at him, to tell him that he’s being an asshole, but the whispers inside remind me that I’m already a burden, and that keeps me moving.
He’s giving me whiplash with his sudden mood changes, and I don’t know what he wants from me. One minute he’s silent and angry, the next he’s… something else. God, this is so confusing.
The photo flashes in my mind once again as I try to piece together the meaning behind it. Whoever it was in that photo clearly means something to him. He looked like Asher, but not. Where Asher’s hair is curly, this guy’s was shaved. They were young in the picture, both with the same vivid green eyes that you could get lost in for days. Standing side by side, smiling at the camera with an arm over each other’s shoulders, they looked happy. Like the world was theirs for the taking. So why was it hidden, and why did it make him snap the way he did?
I suddenly get the feeling that there’s more to Asher than anyone realizes, and I question if Hunter knows his full story. A knot of unease twists in me, and I glance back at him again. He’s always staying at Hunter’s. Could that be why his place is so empty, or is he running from something?
Biting my bottom lip, our eyes lock for a split second before his gaze turns elsewhere, completely ignoring me. Is this why I feel such a pull to him? Why he can see through me? Maybe he has a past of his own, and that’s why he understands me. Why we are so drawn to one another.
My heart is pounding in my chest as we walk through the one and only mall in this town, trying to find the art store I came here for. I want to stop, to turn and say something to break the silence and tension between us, but my unease turns to nerves and twists lower in my stomach, leaving me unable to speak. So I keep moving forward.
I just want to grab what I need and get back to Sunlit Cove and away from him. My anxiety is threatening to spill over, and I’m worried I’ll cause more problems while we’re here. Biting my thumbnail, I glance up and find the store I’ve been searching for. Relief floods through me, easing some of my nerves, and I let out a sigh. This trip wasn’t a waste of time after all.
I practically run inside, a wave of calmness washing over me as I take in the sight before me. It’s like coming home. The art store where I grew up was a safe haven for me, and I never wanted to leave. Being here right now makes me wish there was one in Sunlit Cove.
A flicker of hope sparks in my mind. If I could, I would open my own store. That’s my dream. If I stay, that is. I could turn it into a safe place for kids.
Kids like I once was, where everything felt so scary. It could be a place where they come to escape, a place for them to breathe when the world feels too much. I could even offer art classes. Sadness creeps into me as I push away the thought. Having dreams that big is impossible for me.
My eyes dart around, taking in all the shelves. There are paints displayed like a rainbow on the left side of the store, canvases of all sizes lean against the back wall, and there are crayons, brushes, and all the supplies you could want scattered throughout the other shelves. I breathe it all in. The scent of wood from the easels and the faint smell of paper and paints mixing together have my mind running wild with possibilities. A giddiness I haven’t felt in a long time slams into me.
I take in the front of the store and wave shyly at the guy behind the counter. He’s sitting back on a stool, drawing in a notebook that’s resting on his knee.
Pushing his glasses up his nose, he gives me a warm smile. “Hey, can I help you find anything?”
I take a small step toward the counter just as Asher appears next to me and my heart stutters at the sight of him. I completely forgot he was following behind me, and now his presence is overwhelming. He stands close to me, glaring at the guy who asked me a simple question. What the hell is his problem?
I close the distance to the counter. “I’m just after some charcoal and a new sketch pad.”
“Down there and to the back.” He points in the direction I need to go, his eyes flicking to Asher briefly before focusing back on his drawing.
Walking toward the back of the store, I find Asher creeping closer to me and glaring at anyone who looks our way as if he’s trying to protect me from the big bad strangers. I roll my eyes when he sends someone scurrying away with only a look. The fear I had on the drive over here is slowly morphing into irritation the longer he breathes down my back.
“Please, Daddy. I want this one.”
“That one is way too expensive and big for you. What about this one, baby?”
“But I want this one.”
I look over to see a little girl pouting at her dad, holding a scrapbook the same size as her tiny body to her chest. I smile at the sight. The enthusiasm and excitement are radiating off her, but as I look at her dad, he seems stressed. Holding the back of his neck with his brows furrowed, he’s clearly torn on what he should do here.
I gravitate toward them and offer the dad a small sympathetic smile as I near. When he spots me, he mouths, Help me and I chuckle lightly.
Feeling the heat of Asher behind me, I spin on my heel, hair whipping around me as I shoot a glare at him.
“You stay,” I say, my voice laced with irritation. “I don’t want you scaring the little girl.” My tone drops to a whisper so she doesn’t hear me.
As I turn back to face the little girl, I swear I catch a glimpse of Asher’s lips tugging up in amusement.
Shaking Asher from my mind, I kneel down to the little girl. She has big, wide, chocolate eyes with long golden hair and the cutest cheeks I’ve ever seen.
“Hi,” I say to her with a wide smile. “Did you know that the sketchpad your daddy has,” I flick my eyes up to her dad, and she follows my gaze. Taking the sketchpad from him, I bring it down and hold it out to her, “is a professional sketchpad? These are the best kind to draw in and perfect for using cool water paints.”
I reach for the cheap kid-friendly water paints on the shelf next to her, the kind Stacey’s kids back home loved, and they don’t break the bank. I hold them out to her.
“Really?” she asks, her voice sweet but skeptical.
“Sure, look,” I say, grabbing for my worn sketchpad out of my bag. I show her the exact same one and flip through the pages, hoping she’ll want the same.
Her tiny hands stop me on a page, and I glance at her to see her little mouth popped open in awe and her eyes bouncing between my sketch and the man behind me .
Heat floods my cheeks, and my heart skips as she says, “Wow, that’s him! You are a really good drawer.”
Before I can react, I hear Asher’s quiet steps creep closer, and panic surges in my chest. I quickly turn the page to cover the sketch of him that I did the week we met. I never had any intention of showing anyone my sketches, especially him.
I glance up, and my breath catches. He’s staring down at me, a softness in his gaze that I can’t quite make sense of.
“Okay, Daddy,” the little girl pulls my attention back to her, “I want this one because it’s the same one she has, and I want to be a good drawer just like her one day.”
My heart squeezes at her words. She has the whole world ahead of her, and I silently hope that she never gives up on her dreams, big or small.
“And the best part is,” I add, standing up with a smile, “you can take it everywhere with you because it’s not as big as the other one.”
Her dad sighs with relief as he looks at me gratefully. “Thank you. I don’t know how that would have gone if you didn’t step in.”
Tucking my sketchpad back into my bag and picking up my new supplies, I shift on my feet. Kids have always been easy for me to interact with. They don’t judge or ask questions. They just offer contagious smiles and endless excitement.
“That’s… That’s okay.” I stumble over my words. “Happy to help.”
Waving at the little girl, I turn and head back toward the counter, feeling a mix of emotions spinning inside me. I wish I could hold onto that same hope and excitement.
As I go to pay for my new supplies, Asher suddenly steps in, handing over his card before I can reach for mine. Frustration boils inside me, and I grab the bag, storming out without a word.
Walking back to his truck, my phone vibrates in my back pocket, but I ignore it, too angry to care. Not only did he get mad at me for something he told me to do, but he ran away and shut me out. Then he has the nerve to go all protective over me, acting like my bodyguard, following me around, and paying for everything like I’m a charity case. I scoff. I have savings from my old job. I’m not broke. And despite having nowhere to go and needing to stay at Hunter’s, I refuse to be treated like a charity case.
My phone vibrates again, and I groan, stopping on the side of the street. Pulling it out of my back pocket, I glance back and notice Asher is doing the same behind me.
WHISKEY CREW
Lights up on my screen with two new messages.
Hunter: Asher you better be looking after my sister.
Connor: I’m sure he’s looking after her just fine, hey Ash
Rolling my eyes at my phone, I look up to find Asher smirking at his. Heat instantly starts to creep its way up my neck when I realize he’s a part of this group text, too. Why do people like these things? Isn’t it easier, better, to text just one person? Why does everyone need to know everything? My phone vibrates again, pulling my attention back to the screen.
Asher: Hunt, did you know your sister doesn’t know the words thank and you?
My eyes fly to his and I growl out, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I shove my phone back into my pocket, ignoring it, and glare at Asher. Is he actually serious right now? I raise an eyebrow in his direction, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Finally,” he yells, storming closer to me, “there she is.”
Asher stands right in front of me, his body tight and his eyes challenging me. Seriously, what the hell is happening right now? I glance away from him, confusion pounding my head.
“No, Halle,” he snaps his voice firm, “you’ve been inside your head all day. Wanting to ask me questions, wanting to yell at me for how I treated you back at my place.”
He gently places his thumb under my chin, causing a shiver to roll down my spine from his touch, guiding my face to meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry, okay? But you need to know that you are strong enough to stand up for yourself, to stand up against someone’s shitty behavior.”
He’s kidding, right? I stare into his eyes and see nothing but sincerity. He’s not kidding at all.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, “let’s go get food before we head back.”
“I’m not your sweetheart.” My eyes narrow on him, shooting daggers his way.
He chuckles under his breath and smirks, taking my hand before pulling me down the street.