Chapter 14
CARSON
I stand at the same time as Ayla, ready to give her a hand to exit the hot tub, which is why I’m quick to catch her when she slips, saving her from crashing onto the concrete around the tub. “Jesus Christ. What are you…”
I realize from her dead weight in my arms that she’s passed out.
“Oh, fuck.”
My heart lurches in my chest and all I can think is that I have to make sure Ayla’s okay. Still holding her up, I manage to climb out myself and then lift her into my arms. I stride to a lounge chair and carefully lower her there, then jog over to the chair where we left our towels.
I cover her with one towel, then the other, crouching beside the chair.
She blinks her eyes. “What…”
I push hair off her face and let my hand rest on her forehead. “You fainted.”
She makes a small noise, opens and closes her mouth, and swallows.
“You need water. Just give it a minute and we’ll go back to the cottage.”
She closes her eyes. Christ, she’s white as the snow.
My heart is jackhammering in my chest. I stroke her hair again, then cup her cheek. I think she turns into my hand.
This happened once before, when she stayed in the hot water too long. I should have remembered that and made sure she got out sooner. I was distracted by seeing Ayla in a little red bikini and my resulting hard-on, and by our stroll down memory lane.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Sorry,” she says thickly. “I’m okay.”
“You will be.” I try to look reassuring despite the wild antics of the organ in my chest. “Let’s get you back in the cottage. You’re gonna freeze here.” I help her sit, then stand, and then pick her up again.
“I can walk,” she protests.
I ignore that and stride along the sidewalk. I also ignore the way my leg hairs are freezing.
Back in the cottage, I take her straight to the bed.
I push a pillow beneath her head. The towels wrapped around her are all twisted up, revealing her pretty tits in the bathing-suit top and her slender calves.
“Let’s get rid of these.” I tug the towels away from her, trying not to stare.
My hands want to touch her bare skin and I have to force myself not to.
I toss the towels aside and grab the soft blanket from the end of the bed. I tuck it around her. “Be right back.”
I hike into the kitchen for a glass of water for her, then help her sit with my arm behind her shoulders so she can drink. “Better?”
She nods, still pale, and pulls the blanket tight beneath her chin. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Good. Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” For the second time today.
“Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize; you couldn’t help it. I didn’t realize how long we’d been in there.”
“And it was so nice.” She sighs.
“It was.” I glance down at myself. “I need to get dressed.”
“You must be freezing.”
“I’m a little chilly, yeah.” I pause. “Will you be okay if I jump in the shower?”
“Oh yeah. I need a shower, too.”
Of course she does. “Come on, then.”
Her eyebrows tug together. “What?”
“Come shower.”
I take her hand and lead her into the bathroom.
“What… I can…”
I crank on the water. “I’ll shower with you. I’m not leaving you alone to pass out again.”
“You don’t need to do that. I’m fine.”
I shake my head and check the water temperature. “Get in.”
She’s still wearing her bathing suit, and so am I, so it’s not like we’re getting naked together.
Which we did many times in the shower, speaking of memories. Hot memories. Like the ones of our hot-tub adventures back home in Salmon Arm. Which doesn’t help my stiff cock.
I hold her hips while she soaps up and rinses off because she’s still pasty and a little shaky. She keeps glancing up at me, dropping her gaze, biting her lip. The steam in the shower is thick and the air charged. In this enclosed space, we’re hyper aware of each other.
She may be my ex, but I’m still attracted to her.
That’s… inconvenient.
She leans against the shower wall while I quickly wash up. I turn off the water, open the door, and reach for one of the big towels. “Turn around.”
She blinks. “What?”
I gently turn her by the shoulders. “Take off your bathing suit.” I hold up the towel to more or less block my view of her.
She doesn’t move at first, then reaches behind her back to unfasten the top. It’s a halter style and she pulls it over her head and drops it, then pushes her bikini bottoms down. They land on the wet floor at her feet.
Jesus Christ. I’m so hard, it’s amazing I haven’t passed out, too, from the blood rushing to my dick.
I drape the towel over her shoulders and she takes it and wraps it around herself.
“There you go.” My voice is low.
As she moves to step out of the shower, her gaze catches on the enormous erection tenting my shorts. Her lips part as she draws in a quick breath, then she leaps out of the shower.
Great.
I grab another towel for me and step out of my shorts. With the towel knotted on my hip, I pick up one more towel and pat it over Ayla’s shoulders and arms to dry them.
“Still doing okay?”
She gives a brief nod.
“Let’s get you back to bed.”
Christ. I swipe a hand across my forehead.
“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”
“Like hell you are.”
Hands on her shoulders, I direct her back to the bed. I yank back the covers.
“I, uh, need my pajamas.”
“Right.” I move around the bed to her suitcase.
“I can get them!” Her voice is sounding stronger. “Geez, Carson, I’m not helpless.”
I pick up the gray pants and long-sleeved top she wore last night.
“Here you go.” I turn my back and walk over to my own suitcase.
With my back to Ayla, I drop the towel and step into my plaid flannel pants.
I busy myself straightening a few things in the suitcase to give her time to get her pajamas on. Also for my boner to stand down.
When I turn, she’s dressed and sitting on the side of the bed.
Those pajamas shouldn’t be that sexy.
“I feel bad,” she says. “I really was going to sleep on the couch.”
I move closer, assessing her. “You look like crap.”
Her bottom lip pushes out. “Gee, thanks.”
“Sorry. You’re always beautiful.”
Her eyelashes flutter at that.
“But right now, you look washed out and exhausted. Lie down.”
And when she does, I lie down beside her.
“Carson…”
“What do you need, angel?”
Crap. I just said that.
“Nothing. But…”
“It’s okay. Go to sleep. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
She settles and I have to smile at the familiarity of her habits; she gets into sleep position on her side. Then she brushes her hair off her neck. Tugs her pajama top down. Moves her hips to get more comfortable. Adjusts her pillow. Moves her hair again.
I used to tease her that she spends ten minutes just getting comfortable.
It’s only a few minutes before her breathing slows. I slip off the bed to turn out the lights. I look at the couch. Jesus. Last night was hell. My neck is better than it was when I woke up this morning, but it still fucking hurts.
I won’t touch her. And I’ll be near if she needs anything. So I climb into bed with her. And as if she senses me there, she reaches out a hand and clutches my arm.
* * *
I wake up in the morning with a warm, soft woman in my arms.
It’s been a long time and yet it feels so natural.
I also have morning wood. Dammit.
I breathe in the scent of Ayla’s hair. Is she still asleep? How did we end up like this? Probably our bodies recognized each other and just migrated toward each other.
I feel when she becomes conscious. She stirs. Then stiffens. Her head whips around.
“Oh my God. Carson.”
I wait for her to shove me away but she just sighs and relaxes, her back to my front.
“How do you feel?”
“Fine. Totally fine.” She pauses. “Just… well, a little embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say no more rum for me.”
“Noted. Although your boxing moves were pretty good.”
She chokes out a laugh. “Okay. I do enjoy punching a bag. It takes out my frustrations.”
“What frustrations?”
“Oh, you know. The usual.”
“Your family?”
“Yeah. Selling the house. Moving. Grief. Anger. Fear.”
Those all sound terrible. But… “What are you afraid of?”
“Lots of things. I’m afraid I’ll forget Kane. I’m afraid of being alone forever. Of losing people I love. Being a failure.”
“A failure? What the hell?”
“I am a failure.” She’s still turned away from me so I can’t see her face. “I have no direction for my life. Am I going to work at Uncle Ernie’s forever while I look after aging relatives?”
I don’t know what to say to that. I do know that I fucking hate she feels like that.
And it’s my fucking fault. I let her down.
I couldn’t fix her, or us. “You are not a failure. You are kind and compassionate and generous. Smart. And beautiful. You can do whatever you want in life. You have to know that.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment.
“I guess I have to figure out what I want from my life.” She sighs.
“I’m not like you. I never had big ambitions that I spent my whole life working on.
Or loads of talent. I just kind of wandered through life.
I thought I wanted to be a teacher, but then I had to drop out of school to look after Nonna.
I wanted to be a mother and have a family of my own. ”
That hits me in the chest like the butt end of a stick. I knew that about her, of course I did, but it feels like a punch to hear her say that her dreams were all shattered in the blink of an eye.
“You could go back to school.”
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that.”
“That’s good.”
“But first, I’ll go to Paris.”
I huff a laugh. “Yeah. You should definitely do that.”
Now she extracts herself from my arms and sits up. “We better get going. Everyone starts arriving today.”
“Yeah.”
She disappears into the bathroom and I roll to my back and blow out a long exhalation.
How did our lives get so fucked up? She’s not the failure.
I’m the failure. I’m supposed to take care of my family.
After my dad died, I was the man of the family.
My mom needed help. My sisters needed guidance.
Someone telling them the guy they had a crush on was a douchebag, or defending them when they were being bullied for being gay.
When I became a father, I took that responsibility seriously. But… that didn’t help save our family.
I don’t want to think about shit like this. I thought about it enough. It just made me angry and sad. So I stopped thinking about it. I couldn’t fix our marriage. So I moved on with my life. That’s what you have to do, right?
And right now, I’m going to play a little five on one in the shower and deal with this persistent hard-on. I roll out of bed as Ayla emerges from the bathroom and take my turn in there.
* * *
After coffee and breakfast, I help Ayla set up a few more things in the pavilion. The resort provides an easel and she sets up the big schedule she made that says, WELCOME! And family start arriving.
Some of these folks I’ve only met once: at our wedding. They’re spread across the country and don’t all get together that often. Others I know better: Ayla’s parents, Uncle Ernie, of course, and his wife Angie, and Rachel.
“Your parents know the truth about us,” I remind Ayla in a low voice at one point.
She gives me a tight smile. “Yes. They know this is just an act.”
I didn’t think about this until now. They know the truth, but what if… what if I get handsy with Ayla? If I touch his daughter, will Steve Cavaggioni chop off my hands? Even though I’m just trying to make it seem we’re still married? Jesus.
What contest in hell did I win to end up here?