One Tiny Lie

“That’s . . . nice of him to donate to the hospital.” Based on Gale knowing his name immediately, he must be a significant contributor.

“Tax savings. And for his image.” I look down to see him fingering the belt strap. I can’t help myself. I reach up and give his arm a squeeze.

The elevator doors open. Stepping in behind me, Ashton hits the floor button that I call out and murmurs, “It was either that or I take that nurse into a back room for a few minutes and—”

“Ashton!” I slap his forearm hard and flinch with the impact. Rowing has given him rock-solid everything. “Definitely a strike against your good traits.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t actually believe I’m serious, do you?” he says with a low chuckle.

“As a red sock on your door . . .”

A pained expression fills his face. “That night was to forget about you. With Connor,” he says softly. “And I haven’t done anything like that since.”

Do I believe him? “Why not?”

Turning to me with a heated gaze, Ashton’s hand lifts to cup my chin, his thumb stroking over my lip. “I think you know exactly why not, Irish.”

“Are you still with Dana?”

That hoarse tone is back, the one that makes my skin prickle. “What if I say no?”

“I . . . I don’t know.” I hesitate before asking, “Why did you say we can’t work?”

His lips part and I think I’m going to get an answer.

“Your tits look fantastic in that shirt.”

Not that answer.

He steps out of the elevator and holds the door while I hobble out, beet-faced. Typical Ashton evading. I bite my tongue and ignore him until we reach the playroom entrance.

A new wave of anxiety hits me, the same tightness in my chest that I feel every time I’m around these kids, only it’s amplified now. “Okay, there are a few ground rules before I let you near these sweet little boys.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“One”—I count on my fingers for emphasis—“no talking about death. No engaging in death talk, no hinting at death.”

His mouth slants into a tight-lipped frown as he nods. “No worries there.”

“Two—don’t teach them a bunch of bad words.”

“Aside from what they’ve already learned from you?”

Rolling my eyes, I say, “Three—be nice to them. And don’t lie. They’re just little boys.”

A cloud passes over his face but he doesn’t say anything.

I push through the door to find the twins on the floor with their LEGOs. Eric looks up first. Nudging his brother, they scramble to their feet and walk over to meet me. It’s been two weeks since I last saw them and I note that they’re both moving a touch more languidly, their voices a little less chipper.

“Hey, you guys!” I say as I force the sudden knot of nerves down, hoping the change in them is just the chemo.

“What happened?” Derek asks, his hand gripping my right crutch.

“I tripped and sprained my ankle.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Eric asks, pointing at Ashton.

“Uh, no. He’s a friend. This is—”

“You’re friends with a boy?” Eric cuts me off.

I glance up at Ashton, thinking about everything that’s happened between us. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

Ashton leans down and sticks his hand out. “Call me Ace. That’s what my friends call me.”

They both look up at me in question and I laugh, remembering just how young they really are, before I nudge my head slightly toward Ashton.

Eric takes Ashton’s hand first, gesturing him forward like he’s got a secret to whisper in his ear. Of course, a five-year-old’s whisper might as well be through a megaphone. “What’s wrong with you? Livie’s really pretty for a girl.”

I try not to laugh. Ashton’s eyes flicker to me and there’s a mischievous twinkle in them. A twinge of panic hits me. Of all the ways he could answer this question . . .

“I’ve tried, little buddy. But Livie doesn’t like me very much.”

“She’s your friend but she doesn’t like you? Why not?” Derek asks, a deep frown creasing his forehead.

Ashton shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve tried as hard as I can, but . . .” Then his shoulders slouch a bit and his smile falters, playing the role of wounded boy to Academy Award perfection.

The twins c**k their heads and stare at me in eerie unison. “Why don’t you like him, Livie?” Derek asks.

And I have turned into the villain here.

“Good question. Let’s try and figure it out, guys.” Ashton leads them over to a kids’ table as I catch Diane’s attention with a wave. “Gale said it was fine,” I call out, pointing at Ashton.

With a wink, she shifts her focus back to her kid, but I don’t miss the frequent and curious glances at Ashton. It’s the same kind of glance he earned from Gale, and from the nurses along the hall, the female parking attendant, and two doctors . . . one of them male.

I lean my crutches against the wall and gingerly step over to the table where Ashton has already made himself comfortable, his long legs stretched out and his leather jacket lying next to his feet. He pats the chair next to him for me. I take it, not because I want to sit beside him so much as I want to elbow him in the ribs if I have to. Hard.

The boys pull two chairs up to face Ashton, and by the serious expressions on their faces they think they’re about to uncover a major problem. “So, boys,” Ashton leans forward on his elbows. “Any guesses?”

“Do you like puppies?” Derek asks in a quiet voice.

“Yup.”

“Are you strong? Like Superman?”

“I don’t know about Superman, but...” Ashton flexes his arms and, even through his thin charcoal shirt, I can see the ripples form. “What do you think?”

Both boys reach up to touch his arms and they mouth “wow” at the same time. “Feel his muscles, Livie.”

“Oh, no.” I wave away, but Ashton is already grabbing my hand and placing it on his biceps. My fingers barely wrap around half of them. “Wow, strong,” I agree, rolling my eyes at him, but I can’t help the small smile. Or the heat racing up my neck.

“Are you rich?” Eric asks.

Ashton shrugs. “My family is, so I guess I am, too.”

“What are you going to be when you grow up?” Derek asks.

“Dude, he’s already grown-up!” Eric elbows his brother.

“No, I’m not yet,” Ashton says. “I’m still in school. But I’m going to be a pilot.”

I frown. What happened to being a lawyer?

“Does your breath smell?” Eric asks.

Ashton blows into his hand and inhales. “I don’t think so. Irish?”

“No, your breath doesn’t smell.” I smile, ducking to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and hide my blush. His mouth tastes like mint and heaven. Minty heaven.

“Why do you call her Irish?”

“Because she’s Irish, and when she gets drunk, she’s got a mean streak in her.”

“Ashton!”

The boys start giggling. By the snort of laughter from Diane, I’d say she heard that.

“Honestly.” I bury my face in my hands for a moment, which only makes the boys giggle more and Ashton grin more, and soon I’m laughing along with them.