Chapter 38 – Sydney
SYDNEY
It takes days for the swelling in my lip to go down. I hide it as best as I can, with cold compresses and makeup, but they can only do so much.
Jade notices immediately. I see the worry in her eyes, the way her brow furrows when I walk into our shop the next morning.
“It’s not what you think,” I tell her. I hate the fear in her eyes, the panic.
“Then tell me what it is,” she volleys back at me.
I can’t look at her when I say it. “A love bite? And please don’t ask for details.” I grab the coffee she has prepared for me, and hide my growing blush by spinning around, turning my back on her.
“A love bite?” She lets out a shocked laugh. “Syd, are you kinky?”
“I plead the fifth,” I murmur into my drink.
Another laugh. “Was this the good doc’s doing?”
“Goodbye, former-friend-who-asks-questions-even-though-I-asked-her-not-to,” I singsong as I make my way to the back of the store with my coffee.
She lets it go after that. Which is good, because how do I explain to her what happened to me? How do you explain something like Viper?
And how do you explain how much you loved it?
I replay those few minutes in the dark over and over in my head, staring off into space when I should be working, lost in the memory. I fill in the gaps with my own imagination, licking at my split lip and squeezing my thighs together.
How had we looked from the outside, with my legs wrapped around him and his body engulfing mine?
Had his eyes been closed when he’d come?
Or open, locked on mine, staring deep into my soul?
Had he felt it when he’d pushed me over the edge, felt the shift in my body, the tense muscles, the tightening of my thighs around him?
Had he liked it?
Viper doesn’t come back to the shop, not in the days following our encounter. I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed.
I don’t hear from any of them, actually.
Not Sebastian. Not Alec.
Not even Ashton.
I find myself missing the barrage of texts Ash was sending to my phone every day. Missing the way he wished me good morning, even when I refused to respond. He’s finally doing what I asked of him, finally giving me the space I requested.
The space I needed to finally start missing him. To want him back.
Call it hypocritical, maybe. Call it whatever you want. But I find myself checking my phone every few minutes, wishing he would text again. Wishing I could see him.
Maybe what I told Sebastian was more honest than I’d realized. Maybe I really have had enough space.
When the swelling on my lip has eventually faded days later, and I’ve just settled down onto my couch with Bea to relax for the night, I suddenly realize I can’t take it anymore. I miss him. Them.
I pick up my phone, and before I can stop myself, I send Ash a text.
Hi. Are you free?
He doesn’t answer, not right away. Three dots appear and then vanish.
After a few minutes of staring down at my phone, waiting for a response, I give up, my stomach sinking as I set it down beside me and pull my favorite blanket tighter around myself, finding comfort in the feeling of soft fabric against my skin.
Sebastian said he would wait forever, but maybe Ashton just isn’t that patient. Maybe he got sick of waiting for me, of begging for my attention while I pushed him away.
Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on my door.
I sit up straight on my couch, turning in my seat to frown at it. A nervous apprehension crawls into my belly.
Another knock.
Shrugging off my blanket, I creep quietly to the door, hesitating with my hand over the lock. “Hello?” I call through the wood.
“It’s me, Babygirl,” comes the cheery answer. “Open up!”
Of course. Of course he saw my text as an invitation to come over. Sighing, I disengage the lock and ease the door open.
“Let me guess,” I say, leaning against the door frame and eyeing the bundle in his arms. “Takeout?”
Ashton grins, and my heart melts a little seeing it. He has such a charming smile, even with the bruises littering his face. Fuck, I missed him, I really did.
“Actually,” he says, hoisting the basket he’s carrying a little higher. “A picnic. I was so excited you texted that I maybe went a bit overboard.”
“You know, by are you free, I meant are you free to talk,” I try to explain, eyeing the basket and frowning.
“Talks are always better in person!” he insists. “I thought, you know, maybe if you’re feeling up to it, we could go to the park? Just to chat. Or…whatever you want to do. You call the shots.”
It’s still Ash. The eagerness, the enthusiasm, all that’s exactly how I remember. But something is different. He’s muted, just a little, his smile strained, like he’s holding back.
“The park?” I repeat with a little laugh. I poke my head outside, looking around at the dark sky above us. “Ash, it’s nearly nine. We can’t just go sit in the park. It’s not… It’s dangerous out there at night.”
He lowers the basket, studying me too closely.
“Syd.” He looks a little sad as he holds my gaze. “I promise you there won’t be anything in that park more dangerous than me.”
There’s no pride in his voice, no cocky assurances. It’s just a fact. He watches me, after he says it, measuring my response.
He’s not trying to hide it. Not pretending to be anything he’s not.
He’s still Ashton. The man who put away my dishes, who tucked me into bed and kissed me on the forehead.
A man with no fear of being in a park at night, because there’s nothing out there scarier than him.
It’s up to me to reconcile both those parts of him.
Just like it’s up to me to decide how much I’m willing to forgive him, right now. To decide if I want to fight him, or fight for him.
I take a deep breath and try to tuck some of my anger away. I can’t keep living in the in-between with them. It’s not what I want.
“Okay,” I say, hesitating in the doorway. “Let me get a jacket.”
Ashton practically vibrates with excitement.
He helps me down the stairs when I get back, holding my hand to steady me while still carrying the picnic basket.
“What happened to your face?” I ask, staring up at the bruises.
“You should see the other guy!” Ashton laughs, letting go of my hand to gesture at his fading black eye. “Actually, no, you shouldn’t, he looks fine. I got thrashed.”
“Your fight,” I say, suddenly remembering. My stomach sinks a little. “The one you were texting me about. I missed it, didn’t I?”
He shrugs.
I wonder if he realizes how much he wears his emotions on his sleeve. I don’t miss the hurt that fills his eyes before he tries to hide it.
“It’s okay, you’re not the only one,” he tells me, forcing a smile. “Doc made me realize that I’ve been pretty unfair to you, lately. I shouldn’t have pressured you so much about it.”
“Maybe I can come see your next one?” I offer.
His whole face lights up when I say it.
The park is empty and dark when we arrive, but I’m not afraid at all.
Ashton was right. I’m perfectly safe when I’m with him.
He leads me over to a flat space of grass, under a spacious oak tree, and lays out the blanket he had tucked away in his basket.
The way he heads right for it, like he knew exactly where the best place to have a picnic would be, makes me wonder how he even found out about this part of my neighborhood.
How long he’s been wanting to bring me here.
“I already ate dinner,” I warn him, sitting down on the blanket and tucking my legs beneath me.
“Ah! I thought you might have,” he says with a grin, not letting my hesitation derail his enthusiasm. “That’s why this thing is packed full of dessert.”
I watch as he removes package after package from his basket, laying them out before me.
“Ta-da!” he says, taking the lid off a container and holding it out for me. “Chocolate-covered strawberries! And, in case you don’t like strawberries, I have a bunch of other chocolate-covered fruits, too. And some marshmallows, somewhere in here.”
He goes back to digging in his basket, pulling out more items as he talks.
“Who doesn’t like strawberries?” I question with a laugh, taking one out of the container and biting into it. It’s divine, perfectly ripe, the chocolate just the perfect amount of bitter dark to complement the sweetness.
Ashton winces. “Well,” he demurs, not looking at me. “Me, for one.”
I balk, then sputter out, “What? How can you not like strawberries?”
After setting the last of the containers out on the blanket, he settles back, stretching his legs out. When he turns to look at me, his face is serious.
“They tried to kill Doc,” he tells me. “So, it’s personal, for me.”
A small smile spreads over my face before I can stop it.
“It’s true,” he insists. “When we were young—and I mean, really young, I was eight, so he would have been like…five, maybe? Anyway, our mom took us to this little farmers’ market.”
Ashton’s eyes are bright and animated with the memory. I nibble on my strawberry, listening.
“There was a guy who was selling strawberries, and they must have been a steal or something, because our mom buys four whole pints of them, right? Maybe she was thinking she’d make a pie, or some jam, I don’t know, we never got a chance to find out.
Because less than an hour after we get home, Sebastian gets into those strawberries and he just… doesn’t stop.”
I have to bite my lip to keep my expression blank as Ashton continues. He moves his hands as he talks, painting a picture for me.
“He eats all of them. All four pints, before she notices. And he’s covered in strawberry stems and juice, a sticky mess. But here’s the thing.” Ashton pauses, dramatically. “About fifteen minutes later, he starts blowing up like a balloon.”
“He’s allergic?” I ask, horrified.
Ashton snaps his fingers at me. “Yep! He’d never had an allergic reaction before, not once. So mom shoves us in the car, and off we go, straight to the emergency room.”
“That must have been so scary for your mom,” I murmur. “And you.”