Chapter 23 #2
I turn my head away. “She didn't even ask if I was okay. Marcus came after me. He was going to hurt me. Ashland, the chef in the restaurant, who didn't even know my name, tried to protect me more than my own mother did.”
I'm on the brink of tears. Figuring out that my mother's been using me all along was not part of my plan today .
Ashland kisses my cheek. “We need some alone time, lass, soon. Erin, do what you do best.”
I don't know what Erin does best, but her firm nod is reassuring. She doesn't look at me as if she doesn't even realize the distress I'm in. Kyla averts her eyes, too, her jaw tight. These women are stoic.
But Bronwyn and Caitlin—Bronwyn reaches for me. “I can't tell you how good it is to see Ashland with someone like you,” she says quietly. “He'll take very, very good care of you, Bianca, if you let him.”
Ashland sets me on my feet in front of him and takes my hand.
“I'll show you the room,” Caitlin says. “Now listen, you're going to be here for quite some time.
Who knows when this will pass, but we'll see.” She smiles.
“This is what we're going to do though. You have free run of this house.
There's a pantry here I keep well-stocked because my children are always ravenous. Even as adults, Cavin still comes and raids the pantry at all hours.”
“We buy plenty of food on our own, but it's not the same as raiding your pantry,” Erin says with a smile as she flicks from one screen to another, and it's like watching a genius at play. This woman knows things other people don't. It's kind of amazing to see.
“Well, you do spoil us,” Bronwyn says with a wink to me.
“I'm always cooking, so there's plenty of food in the kitchen,” Caitlin continues .
“So at least I know I'll be well fed here,” I say as a joke. But I feel heat creep up my cheeks when they all laugh.
“Aye, you will,” Caitlin says. “That's important, isn't it?”
Ashland gives me a discreet pinch to the arse that nobody sees. “Aye,” he says, his voice husky. “It is.”
“So down this way, there's an exit to the garden, but I daresay, until we know things are safe?—”
“You're not to go without a guard,” Ashland insists. “Which will be me.”
“Unless Seamus has you on a job, Ashland?” Caitlin corrects.
“We're not leaving the house without permission.”
“Down through this way,” she says, showing me around the house. “I'll have to give you a proper tour later, but this is a bit of a sanctuary here. Down this hallway is the library.”
“Library,” I breathe out. “You have a library in your house?”
“Aye,” Caitlin says. “When I was your age, it was my favorite place to go. Now I've started reading on, what do they call it, an e-reader? It's a little easier on my eyes, the older I get.” She winks. “But please help yourself to all the books you want.”
“Aunt Caitlin,” Ashland says. “Bianca’s got a cat. ”
Why is it so fucking adorable to hear Ashland call a woman aunt , as if he were a little boy again? It's adorable.
“Aye?” she says.
“Oh, Ashland, a cat,” Caitlin says. “I’ve always wanted a cat. Your uncle’s not a fan, but he’ll agree if I persuade him. Yours, Bianca?”
“Aye.” I nod. “Ashland's not the biggest fan, but you’ve been very good to him, haven't you?”
Bronwyn's eyes dance at me. I get the distinct feeling that nobody sees the softer side of Ashland like I do.
“You want to bring him back here?” I say.
“You know, I think for now it's probably best we leave that alone. Lancelot's safe at my mam’s. And I don't want to risk any contact.” It hurts me to say it, but it's true. “I don't want her to suspect that I'm here.”
“I know,” Ashland says quietly.
“But if the time comes when you do feel like you want to bring your kitty here,” Caitlin says, “he's welcome too, of course.”
She walks us to a staircase. Kyla and Bronwyn are speaking in hushed tones behind us as two men round the corner—Cavin, I think he said, and Seamus. I've heard of these men. They were older than I am, so they were not in school at the same time I was. But Cavin likes to play in the ring too .
“I need to go talk with Erin,” Cavin says. “Ashland, let's chat later, shall we?”
“Aye,” Ashland says.
“I'm going to take your fight tonight,” he says.
“I don't think it's wise for you to go into the ring tonight, lad,” Seamus says.
“Ashland works his job,” Cavin agrees.
“Do you fight in a ring, Ashland?” I ask, surprised.
Everyone practically guffaws in unison.
“Ashland, fight in the ring?” Caitlin says. “My god, you haven't told her.” She shakes her head. “He's been crowned champion for three years in a row, love. It's what he does best. He and Cav put the McCarthy family on the map.”
“Aye,” Ashland says with a quiet shrug. “I like fighting.”
“Well, now that doesn't surprise me,” I say, which makes them laugh again.
“Alright, enough of this chatter,” Ashland says gruffly. “We need to have a talk alone now. Let's go.” But he doesn’t scare me the way he did at first.
Declan's in the hallway, and I hear him make a snide remark to Cavin. “ Have a talk, ” he says, using air quotes.
Ashland shoots him a look that makes Declan fairly run for his life.
I love watching him around people who love him.
It's like an entirely different side of Ashland I've never seen before.
He has cousins, aunts and uncles, and a brother.
I'll meet his parents eventually, but he speaks highly of them.
It's funny to see Ashland shy or self-deprecating, and the way he shields me, even from their gentle questions.
Then all thoughts of his family come to a screeching halt because we're alone. He shuts and locks the door behind him, then turns me around to face him, framing my face with his hands.
“How are you doing, lass?” His voice is rougher than usual, like the words cost him something.
I open my mouth to lie, to say I'm fine, that I just need a minute, but what comes out is a broken sound that's half laugh, half sob, like I’ve gone mad. We’re all mad here.
My throat closes up tight, and suddenly I can't breathe right. The tears are already burning behind my eyes, and I know that if I let even one fall, I won't be able to stop.
“I'm not so good,” I manage, and my voice cracks on the last word.
“Shh, love,” he says, holding me close.
That's all it takes. The dam breaks.
I'm crying freely, and it’s not the pretty, silent tears from movies, but ugly, gasping sobs that shake my whole body.
The kind of crying I haven't done since I was eighteen and woke up screaming from nightmares I couldn't remember. The kind that empties you out and leaves you hollow, that makes my nose runny and my head feel like it’s been stuffed with cotton.
I don't remember moving, but suddenly my face is buried against Ashland's shoulder, my fists twisted in his shirt. And he feels… safe.
His arms come around me, solid and sure, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other spans my back. He doesn't shush me or tell me it's okay. He just holds me together while I fall apart, his chin resting on top of my head, his heartbeat steady against my cheek.
I cry until there's nothing left.
“Let it all out. It's good for you. I cried like my heart was broken when my brother died,” he says in my ear. “And it felt much better after. Let it out. Here.”
He picks me up and carries me, and I no longer protest. It doesn't hurt him. He's as strong as an ox. He likes carrying me, and truth be told, I like being carried.
We make our way to an overstuffed chair in the corner, nestled under the soft light of a lamp. He settles me on his lap and nuzzles my cheek. I put my head on his chest, and his fingers come to rest in my hair.
“Let it out,” he says. “It's been a lot, hasn't it?”
“Aye…” Then I'm crying again. “All those years, Ashland, she lied to me. All those years, she thought—she told me it was my duty. Even now, she doesn’t even care that he tried to hurt me. All she cares about is the money, the family, and whatever responsibilities we have. I just?— ”
I cry until his tee’s soaked, and I’ve bunched tissues in my hands, trying to mop up the mess.
“Oh god, I'm sorry.”
“Don't you dare apologize,” he says quickly. Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he pulls it off in one tug.
Once more, I glance at the hard planes of his muscles, the ink and scars, before he balls up his T-shirt and gently dries my eyes. He reaches across me and plucks the square box of tissues from the side table.
“Here, blow your nose for me now. C'mon.”
I mop my face and blow my nose, then release a shuddering breath.
“There,” I say, feeling lighter.
“Good. Aunt Caitlin's right. A steaming cup of tea, a good, rich biscuit, and a good cry are what's needed to soothe the soul. And then later,” he says, as if we're talking about the weather and what to order for dinner, “I'll take you to the bath.
We'll take a nice shower together, won't we?” His voice is low and dark. “I’ll kiss your breasts and worship your curves, then lay you on the bed and eat you out until you forget your own name.” He kisses my cheek. “How does that sound?”
“Ashland,” I say, even as heat thrums through my veins. “Oh my god.”
He’s true to his word about the tea first.
I sit curled on the couch, wrapped in one of his massive sweatshirts that swallows me whole, sipping from a ceramic mug while he watches me with those silvery eyes. My eyes are still puffy, my nose red, but something in my chest has loosened.
“Better?” he asks in that low rumble that does things to my insides.
I nod, setting down the empty mug. “Better.”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and the intensity radiating off him makes my breath catch.
“Good. Because I meant what I said, Bianca. Every fucking word.” His accent is thicker now, rougher. “I'm going to take you to the shower and worship every inch of your body. Going to make you forget everything but how good I make you feel. Understand?”
Heat floods through me, pooling low in my belly. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” His eyes bore into mine.