33. ashton
thirty-three
ashton
. . .
Jealous - Alyssa Bonagura
When the rain subsides and the cloud lifts, we finally drag ourselves outdoors.
It might be barely seven in the morning, but Brooks has never been to New York before, and he has a whole list of things he wants to do.
Ostensibly, it’s a list of tourist hotspots and landmarks where he wants to kiss me—atop the Empire State building, inside Lady Liberty’s crown, on the Brooklyn Bridge at sunrise—but since Central Park is also on that list, and after just a couple of days back in the city I’m craving some wide open space again, we take the subway into Manhattan and enter the park at 103rd Street.
The early morning stroll is punctuated by kisses on sidewalks and his hand in mine, and there’s something so final, so peaceful and freeing about knowing that his is the last hand I’ll hold. That anyone walking by will see how intimate our belonging is, that his heart is mine, and that I am his.
There’s a bite to the gentle breeze—such a contrast to September in Texas, when it would be hotter than the surface of the sun already by now—and Brooks pulls me over to a street cart selling the most luxurious-smelling hot chocolate.
“Whipped cream and marshmallows?” he asks, and as he looks down at me with a wide, content smile on his face, his gray eyes sparkle so bright they look almost green, especially against the lush park backdrop and the bright blue sky. I contemplate the flavors.
“Maybe a mocha with whipped cream?”
“A mocha with whipped cream,” Brooks repeats, giving my order to the young woman behind the cart.
Her long, braided hair is lime green, and dragon wings dangle from her ears.
Her sharp eyeliner wings are enviable, bold against the porcelain of her skin.
“And a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows, please.”
“You got it,” the woman says, and her dragon wing earrings begin to dance as she moves around.
Rich coffee and chocolate combine, assaulting my senses, and I close my eyes as I inhale, tipping my face to the sun.
Brooks kisses my forehead softly. I could get used to this feeling.
I might never get used to living in a city, and I don’t think I want to, but my hand in his, the sun on my skin, and him kissing me whenever he damn well pleases? Oh, yes. I could get used to that.
The warmth of the paper cup seeps into my bones as I wrap my hands around it, locking my fingers together and twisting them to feel the warmth on every inch of skin.
I bring it to my face to inhale the aroma, carried by the steam pouring through the drinking hole in the plastic lid.
It reminds me of the last thing I baked—espresso fudge brownies with a sweet vanilla drizzle—and it reminds me of my brother’s kitchen, Ruth and I perfectly in sync as we reach for utensils and open cupboards whilst Everett sits on a bar stool and watches us with a smile.
God, I miss them. I’ve only been back in the city for a short time, but being home for an extended period over the summer turned out to be everything my heart needed and more.
I’ve always been a free spirit, counting the days until I could spread my wings and learn to fly outside of Farrow County.
But it turns out home really is where the heart is, and I might have left part of mine there.
And the rest of it followed me across the country.
I inhale and exhale deeply, lifting and dropping my shoulders as Brooks accepts his drink and turns to me.
His smile is both blinding and brilliant as he turns his whole body to face me, stepping into me until we’re toe-to-toe and almost touching all the way up to our arms. He leans in to kiss my forehead.
Home is where the heart is, and mine is with Brooks.
He’s opted for no lid on his cup, leaving the swirl of whipped cream open to the elements.
I swipe a little with my finger. Before I can suck it into my mouth, Brooks does the same, and dabs it against my face.
The cool cream meets my skin with a shock before Brooks kisses it from the tip of my nose with warm lips.
It’s strangely arousing, something we absolutely shouldn’t be doing in the middle of Central Park, but at the same time, it’s so innocent and freeing to have him kiss the tip of my nose so sweetly, so easily.
When his hand cups my jaw, lifting my lips to his, I melt into him. He tastes like chocolate and cream and home. He holds his drink behind my back, away from my body, whilst crushing me against him, and I balance on my toes as I stretch to meet him.
“You and me, Ash,” he whispers. Puffs of steam billow softly between us as his warm breath meets the crisp morning air.
“Me and you,” I whisper. One more closed-mouth kiss, and he takes my hand to resume our stroll.
It shouldn’t take me by surprise, but it does: no one around us seemed to blink at the intimacy of the moment we just shared.
Back home in Skillett, we’d have attracted a handful of wolf whistles at the least, and at most, someone would’ve yelled get a room, or splashed us with a hose, droughts be damned.
It would be headline news within the hour.
Julianne certainly would be crowing about it for weeks on her podcast. But here in the city, we can be whoever and whatever we want, whenever we want it.
Around us, there are couples walking hand-in-hand.
One couple is sitting on a bench making out like teenagers.
One woman has her hand in her partner’s back pocket, clearly enjoying a little grab-ass.
It’s still early enough for dogs to be off their leashes, and a dalmatian struts by, tennis ball in its mouth. A man with thick glasses and pale pink chinos sashays after the dog.
“Peaches!” he calls. The dog halts, tail wagging, awaiting further instruction. The man throws out an arm. “To Mineral Springs!”
“I ain’t ever seen a real one before,” Brooks whispers to me, nudging me with his shoulder. “I only ever seen ‘em in a cartoon.” I bite back a smirk, hiding the curve of my lips with my coffee cup as a pair of chihuahuas cross our path, chasing each other.
A loud, deep bark startles me and Brooks squeezes my hand in his.
I don’t even see the dog responsible for it until he’s right in front of me, almost toppling me as he leaps onto his hind legs.
Eyes wide and smiling—as much as a dog can smile—he jumps up and down in front of me, brushing my jeans with his large front paws.
It’s only when the second dog appears, slightly smaller and with a higher-pitched bark, that the realization slams into my chest, knocking the wind from me.
I’m vaguely aware of both dogs barking excitedly at me and Brooks pushing himself between us, trying to distract them, but I’m frozen.
Paralyzed with—what, I’m not quite sure.
Fear, maybe? I’m not afraid of these dogs.
But of what they mean… I’m absolutely terrified.
“Rio!” a voice calls. “Lemon!”
It’s a voice I haven’t heard for a long time.
One that, for a while, I longed to hear.
One that only sounds like sadness to me now, like a distant memory of a woman who thought she was me.
Eventually, human footsteps catch up to the canine ones, and two familiar faces appear.
Breathless, and just about as stricken as I feel.
“Are you okay?” Brooks asks. He leans in close, one hand taking my near-empty coffee cup from me and the other resting on my lower back.
I close my eyes and focus on the sensation of his hand on my spine, willing myself to accept its warmth and ward off the chill that set in when I recognized Rio and Lemon. I force myself to nod.
“Ashton.” Declan’s voice isn’t as rich and warm as I remember. There’s no contrasting lightness, no smile to it the way there is when Brooks says my name. “You look… well.”
How am I supposed to respond to that? I open my eyes and turn to face him.
Jessa is half a step behind him, two leashes wrapped around the handlebar of a stroller.
She bends at the waist to attach one to Rio, who is sat in front of me with his tail thumping excitedly at the ground.
Declan takes Rio’s leash when Jessa moves on to Lemon.
“You look…” I trail off, swallowing hard. Like an asshole. Faced with him now, he’s not as boyishly handsome as I used to think he was. His jaw is too angular, his stubble too patchy and thin. I blink. Push away an impending migraine aura with a heavy exhale. “You look fine.”
“Well. We’ll be going. Come on Rio. Lemon, let’s go.
” Declan turns on his heel, Rio trotting faithfully beside him with Lemon and Jessa following behind, Lemon’s leash connected to a hook on the side of the stroller.
Jessa looks right past me as she turns back, and I feel my body begin to sag.
Brooks’s arm around my waist supports me as I deflate and he leads me to the nearest bench.
I sit down hard, curling forward and dropping my head into my hands, fingers tangling into my hair as it falls in a curtain in front of my face.
“Ash?” Brooks rests a hand on my shoulder.
There’s hardly been a single second since we got our drinks this morning that he hasn’t had physical contact with some part of my body.
The warmth of his body seeps through the flannel I’m wearing and I take strength from it as I lift my head to face him. “Are you okay?”
“No.” The light of the overcast morning is cold and blue, too bright to be comfortable. I scrunch my eyes shut. Brooks’s hand drifts between my shoulder blades, palm gentle but firm against my spine.
“My ex,” I whisper quietly. “Exes. I didn’t know Declan was married when I started seeing him. Not until he took me home to meet his wife. And then…”
“And then…?” I can feel the tension rolling off Brooks in waves. I felt it when he saw the coldness in Declan’s eyes, the way Jessa couldn’t even bring herself to look at me. Even though they’re the ones who cut me from their lives. “What happened, Ash? You never said a word about them.”
“We… were in love. Or, I thought we were. The three of us. It was perfect right up until it wasn’t anymore.
” I peer up at Brooks, my forearms resting on my knees and my head still hung low.
His head is dipped toward mine, one hand still between my shoulder blades and the other curling and uncurling a fist, like he’s not quite sure what to do with it.
My breath leaves my lungs in a harsh, silent chuckle. “We were perfect. Until one day they just stopped picking up the phone. Stopped taking my calls. Stopped answering the door when I showed up. I ain’t seen or spoken to either of ‘em since then. I guess now I know why.”
“She was pregnant,” Brooks says. An observation, not a question. “When you came home, when we… you just wanted to get over them?”
“Love isn’t supposed to be like that. I got my heart broke, Brooks. I came home to heal.”
“And me? Us?” His expression drops. There’s a strange, unfamiliar mixture of sadness and anger in his eyes. Even with his hand on my shoulder to provide warmth, a cold shiver rolls through my body.
“You’re my teenage dream come true,” I admit with a tiny chuckle.
“Twelve-year-old me knew it way back when. She was so certain we were always gonna be us, no matter who we thought we’d become along the way.
I kinda lost that hope for a little while, but coming home this summer?
Twelve-year-old Ashton was right all along. ”
Brooks exhales loudly; a heavy sigh torn from deep within his chest. There’s something in his eyes—a cautiousness, a hesitation that makes me want to curl up and die. I want to scream, Brooks Hart is not a rebound. He is the only one. He has always been the one.
“I never came to New York for them,” I whisper.
“They just happened to me when I got here. But you… you never just happened to me. You always were, you always have been. You’ve always had all of me, Brooks.
All twenty-three and a half years of my life.
” Brooks Hart has never simply happened to me.
He has always been a part of me. He has always owned me; mind, body, heart, soul.
Hand still between my shoulder blades, Brooks reaches toward me and uses a single crooked finger to tilt my chin closer to his face. His eyes search mine and I see all of my childhood memories reflected in them.
The day he first called me “devil.” The day he held my clammy hands in his warm ones as he taught me to skateboard.
The day he wrapped his arms around me, trying to teach me to play guitar after gatecrashing one of Reston’s music lessons and discovering his own affinity for the instrument.
The day he promised to take care of my horse—my heart—while I was gone.
Slowly, and then all at once, the pieces of us I started to break begin to repair.
“There she is,” he whispers. “There’s my devil girl.”
“I don’t know when it happened.”
“Don’t matter,” he insists. “Just matters that it did.”
“I mean I don’t know when you stopped being my brother’s best friend and started being… you.”
“I’d have to check with Ev, but I’m pretty sure I ain’t stopped being his best friend. Even if he did slam me against a wall and threaten my man parts.”
“He did what?” I make a mental note to call my brother later. Unleash both barrels at him.
“He ain’t ever gonna stop being overprotective, Ash.”
“I know.”
“And for the record, I’ve always been your best friend, too.”
“Know that, too.”
“So… we good? You gonna kiss me now, or what?”
Whatever I had with Declan and Jessa wasn’t love.
That’s not what a relationship is supposed to look like.
They were supposed to love me like I did them, but they didn’t.
But love—whether it’s one partner, or two, or more—it’s supposed to uplift.
It’s wild and untamed; it doesn’t hurt or break your heart.
It treasures it. Love is different for all of us, and I see that now. There’s no one size to fit us all.
But for me? Love feels like Brooks Hart.
I capture his mouth with mine, right in the middle of Central Park, and somewhere in the corner of my mind, I register a small child laughing and clapping their hands. I smile against his lips. In every lifetime, I think Brooks Hart would be my heart’s home.