One Tiny Lie

Rolling my eyes, I can’t help but giggle. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“In four hours—no lie, Irish, four hours—the guy had a full rundown of my past and my situation. He made a bunch of phone calls to colleagues.” Nodding his head toward the house, Ashton explains, “The director of this place is a very good friend of his. He lined up a room.” He smiles sadly. “They don’t think she has too much longer now. Maybe another year or two. Her old place was nicer, but it didn’t make sense for her to be there anymore, with the expensive treatment and therapy. Nothing is going to bring her back. I’ve accepted that. She just needs a place where she’s safe and comfortable. She needs peace now.”

“Stunned” cannot adequately describe how I feel right now. I am bursting with emotion—a volcanic mixture of happiness and sadness and adoration—adoration for that insane doctor of mine who has somehow brought another person that I love back to me. I don’t bother to wipe the fresh set of tears as I frown, still working to make sense of everything.

“But how did you get her moved her? How did your dad—”

Ashton’s burst of laughter cuts my words off. “Oh, Irish. That’s the best part.” He wipes a tear that runs down his nose as his gaze drifts off somewhere, thoughtful for a moment. “It’s shocking what some people are willing to do when they know they can get away with it. It’s even more shocking what they’ll do when they find out that they can’t. My dad’s been getting away with abusing me for sixteen years. And the day after Stayner arrived, him, me, and Coach drove right to my dad’s office to end it. I’ve never been more scared in my life. But the fact that I wasn’t alone in this anymore . . .” Ashton’s voice cracks, and my heart cracks with it.

I pull him against me, squeezing my arms as tight as I can. I want to hear the rest. I need to. But for just a moment, I need to hold Ashton close to me as I come to terms with all of this. I may have lost my parents years ago, but I’ve had memories of a loving childhood to battle against the loss. Ashton has carried nothing but darkness and loathing. And the burden of protecting a woman who doesn’t even remember the little boy she once smothered with love.

“My dad is a powerful man. He’s not used to anyone telling him what to do. So when Stayner strolled into his office—uninvited—and took a seat in my dad’s chair . . .” Ashton chuckles softly. “It was like something out of a movie. Stayner calmly laid out the facts—the abuse, the manipulation, the downright scandalous blackmail. He didn’t dwell on it, he didn’t curse, or yell, or anything. He made sure that my father was fully aware of what he knew, what Coach knew. And then Stayner placed a note with this address on it on his desk and informed my dad that a room had been secured, that we would be transferring my mother here, that he would be maintaining the bills, and that she was not to leave this facility until the day she left her body.”

My mouth has fallen open as I try to picture the scene. “What happened? What’d he say?”

Ashton’s lip curls upward slightly. “He tried throwing some legal shit at Stayner, threats of a lawsuit, of getting his license revoked. Stayner smiled at him. Smiled and painted a very enlightening picture of what would happen if Dana’s dad found out why his daughter’s heart is shattered, how it would likely be much worse than simply losing him as a powerful client. That, added to the fact that I still had those emails about the nursing home—proof of his intentional malice toward his wife—well, it would be enough to damage that pristine image he’s worked so hard to uphold. Maybe enough to keep a good lawyer friend of Stayner’s busy for a few years. A friend with a penchant for taking on tough pro bono cases that he’s notorious for winning. Stayner dropped a name and my dad’s face went white. I guess there are more intimidating lawyers in New York than David Henley.”

He pauses. “We left after that. I turned my back on my father and walked out. I haven’t seen him since.”

“So . . .” I point to the house in amazement. “He did what Stayner told him to do? Just like that?”

A curious frown touches Ashton’s face. “Not exactly . . . The transfer did happen. They picked my mom up two days later and moved her in here. And then four days ago, a courier dropped off a bunch of paperwork with a letter of intent. My father is signing over power of attorney to me. I will have control of my mother’s well-being and her estate. It has all of her financial records. Remember, I told you she was a model, right?”

I nod, and he continues. “She had a lot of her own money. When she found out she was sick, she made sure it was set up to cover her care. She made sure there was money to cover everything since the beginning. It had never even come out of his pocket.”

“So, he’s just . . . letting you go?”

With a slow nod, Ashton says, “The one condition is that I sign a nondisclosure agreement about my . . . relationship with him. Our history, about Dana. Everything. I sign that and he guarantees that I will never hear from or see him again.”

The look on my face must ask the question because he confirms, “I’m going to sign it. I don’t care. It’s in the past. All I care about is what’s sitting in front of me right now.” Ashton’s hand slides down to my thigh to pull me closer against him, his voice raw with emotion. “I can’t ever undo all of the mistakes that I made with you, all the lies I told, all the ways that I hurt you. But . . . can we please just”—he grits his jaw—“somehow forget all of that and start over?”

This is really happening. I’m actually here, sitting with Ashton—the one thing I know that I want—and it may finally be right.

Almost.

“No,” slips from my mouth.

I see Ashton flinch against the single word as he fights against the tears welling in his eyes. “I’ll do anything, Irish. Anything.”

My fingers slip to his wrist, to that awful thing that I know is still there.

I don’t even have to say a word and he knows, sliding the sleeve of his coat up to uncover the glaring reminder of his abuse. He stares at it for a long moment. “My dad threw this belt out after that night. Trying to get rid of the bloody evidence, I guess,” he says softly. “But I found it in the trash and hid it in my room for years. The day I covered my scars with my tattoos was the same day I had this cuff made from a piece of the belt. My constant reminder that my mother needed me to hang on.” Glancing up at a window on the third floor—his mother’s, no doubt—he smiles wistfully. My heart melts as I watch his fingers deftly unsnap the band. Sliding me off his lap to stand, he takes a few steps away and then, with what appears to be all the strength in his body, he throws the last piece of his father’s control over him into the mass of trees.

He turns his back on it, a pleading look in those gorgeous brown eyes of his, mixed with that heat that buckles my knees.

Taking a step into him, I press my hand against his racing heart and close my eyes, memorizing the feel of this moment.

The moment I make a choice for me and only me.

A choice that is right because it is right for me.

The smile escapes me before I can give him my last stipulation . . .

Ashton has never been a patient guy. I guess he sees the smile and takes it as my acceptance. His mouth instantly crashes into mine in an all-consuming kiss that weakens my knees and explodes my heart.