Chapter Eleven
Ash
Idon't hear from Loralei after Book Club.
I don't hear from her on Sunday, either.
When I try to call her, my calls go straight to voicemail.
When I stop by her place, she doesn't answer the door.
And for the first time in my life, I think I know what dying feels like.
It's this—it's realizing how fucking wrong you were…
while simultaneously realizing that you might already be too late to fix it.
She's right. She's right about everything. I've spent all this trying to convince myself that she didn't belong in my world. I told myself that she deserved better, that my world was too much for her.
The truth is, it was never about her. It was always about me.
My world—my life—has been too much for me for a long goddamn time.
I feel at peace here because the stress is gone, and the constant need to be somewhere, to be doing something, is no longer a factor.
There aren't cameras in my face at every turn.
There aren't ninety people wanting ninety different things.
I got addicted to how that felt, and I've clung to it with both hands. I told myself that we could stop hiding once all the pieces of my retirement were in place, when no one would care about me anymore.
And I told myself that it's what she needed if I was ever going to be good enough for her. But I never really considered what hiding was doing to her or how it made her feel.
I was building a future, one that felt like home. She was crumbling, feeling like a secret. And I'm the one who made her feel that way. I told her she wasn't strong enough or good enough in a million different ways, without ever realizing that's what I was doing.
Every damn time I showed in disguise, every damn time I failed to take her out, every damn time I kept her hidden, I failed her. I broke her heart over and over, all while hoping she'd keep giving pieces of it to me.
"You are an idiot," I mutter to my reflection in the mirror early on Monday morning. I look like hammered shit. But I'm a little proud of myself too. Despite how I feel and despite how hard yesterday was, I never even considered reaching for a bottle. I never thought about escape.
That's Loralei's doing.
Because I've already hurt her once. Because I won't do it again. She needs me to step up and fix what I've broken, to prove that I can be the man she deserves, instead of the prick who decided he knew what she wanted and tried to write her future without ever consulting her.
I can do that. Hell, I'll kill myself trying if that's what it takes.
A little after nine, I hop into my SUV and head downtown. I want to head straight for the library, but I'm not going to cause a scene while she's at work. She may kill me for that, and I've already done enough damage.
Instead, I search for the bookstore she talks so much about, locating it a few blocks from the library.
I pull into the parking lot, and then hop out. I'm not sure if her friends are willing to help me, but it never hurts to try, right?
I take a breath, heading for the entrance.
As soon as I step over the threshold, the giant wall of vibrators catches my attention. I smile despite myself, shaking my head. I guess Loralei wasn't joking about that.
"Welcome to Book of…holy shit," a blonde behind the counter says, gaping at me. "You're Ash Kilborne."
"I am," I say, shoving my hands into my pockets.
"Lilah!" she shouts. "Ash Kilborne is in your store."
"Jazz, I swear to God, if you're lying just to get me to stock shelves, I'm telling River about that time you…" A brunette steps through a door behind the counter, blinking. "Holy shit. Ash Kilborne is in my store."
"Told you so," Jazz says.
"Um, hey," I say, with a little wave.
They both stare at me with matching expressions, and then the blonde cackles loudly. "If he's here because he reads smut, I'm going to lose my shit."
"I'm actually here about Loralei."
"What about her?" Lilah asks.
But I think Jazz already knows. She's looking at me like she's doing complex mathematical equations in her head, her blue eyes growing wider and then wider. "Shut the front door!" she finally shouts, leaping to her feet. "You're fucking!"
The fact that Loralei hasn't even told her closest friends about us bothers me. I fucking hate that she's felt like she's had to hide it. I hate that I made her feel that way. I hate knowing just how little I deserve her right now.
"I'm in love with her," I say, not willing to diminish what this really is. It's not fucking. Sure, there's been a lot of that. But it's never been just that.
Lilah staggers to the stool Jazz just vacated and plops down, looking shell-shocked. Jazz, on the other hand, looks a little pissed.
"You're the reason she was crying at Book Club, aren't you?" she practically growls, crossing her arms.
"She was crying at Book Club?" I ask.
"Yes," Jazz says.
Fuck. I'm such an asshole.
"Yeah," I whisper, swallowing hard. "I guess I am."
"What happened?" Lilah asks, looking a little less like she wants to murder me than Jazz does.
I hesitate for a moment and then decide I might as well tell them everything.
If I'm going to recruit them to the cause, they deserve to know.
"We've been seeing each other since I got into town two weeks ago.
I…fuck, I've been an asshole who made her feel like she wasn't good enough, when that couldn't be further from the truth.
" I scrub a hand through my hair. "She asked me to go to a gala with her, and I said no. "
"So you don't want to be seen with her," Jazz says flatly.
"My life is a shitshow," I explain. "No matter where I go, someone wants something—photos, autographs, a quote.
I walk down the fucking street back home, and I'm in the paper the next day.
I thought if no one knew I was here, we could skip all that.
I could convince her to fall in love with me, and she never had to see firsthand how insane it gets. "
"If you want to be with her, she's going to see it eventually," Lilah says.
"I had a plan."
"Oh, this should be good," Jazz mutters. "Let's hear it."
I sigh heavily, pretty sure she's going to crucify me when she hears it.
I see it written all over her face. "The plan was to wait until after I announced my retirement to be seen publicly.
I figured by then, no one would give a shit, and they'd leave her alone.
But I never bothered to ask her what she needed.
I just decided for her that it was better for her that way. "
Jazz and Lilah exchange a glance that says I'm an idiot. Which…fair. I am an idiot. We've already established that. Now, I need to fix it.
"You're retiring?" Lilah finally asks.
"Yeah."
"Does she know?"
I shake my head. "I might have fucked that up too."
Jazz sighs, rolling her eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Be nice," Lilah mutters.
"He made her cry. I don't have to be nice."
"I'm trying to fix it."
"How?" Jazz asks, still looking at me like she's trying to decide how best to make my life hell.
"I need a tux, for starters. And a ticket to the literacy gala tonight."
Jazz and Lilah stare at me and then look at each other.
"Should we help him?" Lilah finally asks Jazz.
"Depends." Jazz turns back to me. "You love her?"
"More than anything."
"Are you going to make her cry again?"
"Fucking probably," I groan, already hating the thought. "As we've already established, I'm an idiot."
"Well, at least you're smart enough to admit it," Jazz sniffs. "Are you ashamed of her?"
"Hell no," I growl. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me."
"Maybe you aren't a complete idiot if you're smart enough to know that." Jazz cracks a tiny smile. "I don't care how famous you are. She is the best thing that ever happened to you. And if she decides to forgive you, it'll be more than you could ever possibly deserve."
"I know," I rasp. "Believe me, I know."
They exchange looks again.
"Fine," Jazz finally says. "I guess we'll help you.
But just so you know, if she doesn't forgive you, I'm going to spend the rest of your life torturing you.
" Her lips curve into a diabolical smile.
"And when you finally drop dead, with my help, of course, I'm going to dig up your bones and bury them in the backyard of her house so you have to spend eternity watching her be happy with someone who actually deserves her. "
Jesus Christ. Loralei told me Jazz was a handful. She did not tell me that Jazz was legitimately terrifying. I'm honestly impressed.
"If she doesn't forgive me, you have my full permission to torture me to death," I say, meaning it.
Frankly, if Loralei doesn't forgive me, I'm not going to fucking care what happens after that.
My whole world is going to crumble because the one thing that matters—the only thing that matters—will be gone.
"I'll call Lincoln," Lilah says, pulling her phone out of her pocket.
"I'll call River," Jazz says.
I'm not entirely sure who either of those people are, but if they can help me get a tux and get into that gala to show Loralei that there's nothing I won't do for her, even if it means begging on my knees in front of half this town, then I'll gladly accept the help.
Whatever it takes.