Written on My Heart Page 8

  My stool cushion makes a little hiss of protest as I drop onto it. “Look, I’m sorry. We’ve both had long days, and we’re both tired. The sooner we get done here, the sooner we can both go to bed.”

  She nods, her gaze still glued to her lap. “Okay.”

  Thank God. “Here.” I thrust the soda at her.

  She looks up and, maybe she wasn’t expecting to find me so close, but she lets out a startled squeak and her hand flies up. Her fingers hit the edge of the soda can and knock it from my grasp. Dr Pepper spirals through the air, raining across the chair and my lap until the can hits the floor, where the rest of the soda pools in a brown lake.

  I don’t move. Maybe because I’m the father of a young child, spills are nothing new to me. In fact, the look of horror on Ash’s face makes me crack a grin. “Well, fuck,” I say, laughing softly. I expect Ash to join in—I mean, my crotch is soaked in ice-cold Dr Pepper, making me look like I pissed my jeans. That shit’s comedy gold. If Harper were here, she’d be giggling her ass off.

  But not Ash. She doesn’t move for several seconds, doesn’t appear to breathe. The blood drains from her face until her skin matches the white paint on the walls. I stop laughing. “Hey. You all right?”

  She jumps to her feet. “I…I’m so s-sorry.” Her eyes are impossibly wide as her head whips back and forth, searching for— I have no idea what.

  What the fuck? I slowly rise to my feet. “It’s not that big of a—”

  “I’ll clean it up! I promise!” Her voice has risen to a shriek and she’s visibly shaking. She runs to the counter and rips handfuls of paper towels from a holder on the wall. In the process, she bumps a glass jar of alcohol swabs onto the floor where it shatters. She freezes, her eyes clenched shut.

  “Oh my God,” she whispers. The paper towels slip from her fingers and she falls to her knees, I’m pretty sure landing on top of broken glass.

  “Holy shit.” I’m momentarily frozen because I have no idea what to do. It’s like she’s coming completely undone before my eyes. I take a tentative step toward her and confirm that yes, she’s kneeling in glass. What I can’t figure out is how she hasn’t noticed.

  She reaches for the paper towel roll only to bump it further away with her shaking hands. “I’m so sorry. I can be so clumsy, so s-stupid.” She chokes and pulls her hands away. A flush burns up her neck and bleeds into her cheeks. Tears shimmer in her eyes and cling to her lashes. “I’ll clean it up. I promise. I’m just so sorry.” She covers her face.

  “Hey.” I walk toward her slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal, until I’m directly in front of her. “Hey!” I try again. “Ash, look at me.”

  But she only shakes her head and mumbles more apologies behind her hands.

  Okay, fuck this. I tried the gentle approach, but I’ll be damned if I let this girl continue to fillet herself. Before she can stop me, I bend down and scoop her up in my arms. She weighs practically nothing, confirming my suspicion she’s not eating enough.

  She lets out a small yelp and drops her hands. “What are you doing?”

  I don’t say anything as I carry her across the room and deposit her back in the chair. Honestly, I don’t know how to answer her question because I’m not sure myself. I point a finger at her. “I’m going to clean this mess up.” She opens her mouth as if to argue, but I quickly cut her off. “Do not move. I mean it.”

  Her eyes widen and she wipes at her tear-streaked cheeks. “I’m so—”

  “Sorry,” I finish for her. “I know. But it was an accident, Ash.” I grab the paper towels from the floor and look into her frightened eyes. “Don’t you get that? You don’t have to be sorry for accidents.”

  “I should be cleaning,” she says, and starts to rise.

  My anger burns like acid—anger not directed at Ash, but whoever made her this way. “Sit.” I growl through clenched teeth.

  She shrinks against the chair, her eyes unfocused. Whoever she’s seeing, it’s not me.

  I try again, this time gentler. “I got this.”

  Instead of answering, she wraps her arms around her chest.

  Moving as quickly as I can, I mop up the soda on the floor with the paper towels and use a brush and dustpan to gather the glass. Ash doesn’t move or make a sound the entire time. When I finish, I grab my first aid kit from the cabinet and scoot my stool next to her before sitting.

  “I’m going to look at your knees now, okay?” I say in the same voice I use to soothe Harper when she wakes up from a nightmare. It must work, because Ashlyn’s eyes meet mine and for the first time since spilling the soda, they’re clear and focused.

  “Why?”

  How the hell is it possible she doesn’t know? “Just look at them.”

  She glances at the torn fabric of her jeans and the blood seeping into the denim. “Oh my God,” she whispers. “I didn’t…I just…I’m so sorry. I’ll clean up the blood. I swear.” Her face crumples.

  Fuck. This was not my intention. “Ash, please don’t cry. It’s just a little blood. We’ll get it cleaned up.”

  She shakes her head and chokes on a sob. “I’m so sorry.”

  Seeing her fall apart like this does something to me I can’t explain. Maybe it’s my desire to live up to my dad’s honor, maybe it’s because I’m a father, or maybe it’s something else entirely. Before I realize what I’m doing, I set the first aid kit aside and pull her into my arms, cradling her head into the curve of my neck. I have a split second to think, what the fuck are you doing, Lane? before I decide to shut down my brain entirely. God, for once I don’t want to analyze every fucking thing. I just want to do what feels right, regardless of the repercussions. And this feels right. I don’t know why, I don’t want to know why, I just know it does.

  “No one is going to hurt you,” I whisper against the top of her head. “Not while I got you.” And I mean every fucking word. In this moment, while cradling this broken girl, I would rip the arms off anyone who tried to lay a finger on her.

  Her shuddering stills, and Ashlyn loops her arms around my neck and claws her fingers into the fabric of my T-shirt. Her tears trail down my neck and bleed into my shirt collar. Her grip on my neck is almost choking, but I don’t say a word. In this moment I will be whatever she needs me to be—even if that’s just something to hold onto.

  I wrap my arms around her and pull her tight against me. She feels too skinny and too frail in my grasp. A small voice in my head screams at me to stop, to let her go and walk her straight out of the shop, locking the door behind her. But the strength required to release her is more than I can gather.

  I’m not sure how much time passes. Minutes? A half hour? Gradually, her sobs die down and her grasp loosens from my neck. I can feel her head shift beneath my chin so that she’s looking up at me, but the moment I lean back to look down, she averts her gaze.

  “I feel like such an idiot,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “Y-you don’t even like me.”

  “That’s not true,” I say. I reach for her face and use my thumbs to wipe the tears from her eyes.

  Irritation pinches lines above her nose. Damned if it isn’t adorable. “Please.” She pushes against my chest, forcing my arms open, and slides off my lap. I suddenly feel hollowed out, and I grip my knees to keep from reaching for her.

  “Look,” she continues. “I don’t need your pity. This situation is awkward enough without that.”

  “You think I pity you?”

  “Of course,” she says matter-of-factly. “Why else are you being so nice to me?”

  I sigh and rake a hand through my hair. I’m not sure how to answer. A moment of weakness? Hormones? Who the hell knows? “Not out of pity,” I mumble.

  “Right.” She rubs the heels of her hands against her swollen eyes. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a liar, Lane.”

  I know exactly what she’s doing because I’ve done it myself, too many times. She opened herself too wide and I got too close, so now she wants
to push me away before anything else happens. I should be happy she’s pulling away, something I should have done all along. But instead, my fingers curl into the denim of my jeans as anger swells inside my chest. “You’re calling me a liar?”

  She stops rubbing her eyes and makes a face. “I may be many things Lane, but I’m not stupid.”

  “Good.” I slide my hand behind her head, entwining my fingers in her hair so there’s no escape. Her eyes fly wide. “Then you’ll have no trouble at all deciphering this.”

  “What are you—?”

  Before she can finish, I pull her to me until I feel the heat of her startled gasp against my lips. I tell myself it’s because I can’t stand to be called a liar. I tell myself it’s because I want to prove her wrong. But in the end, it doesn’t matter what I tell myself. The second our lips touch, a fire ignites inside of me and I know exactly why I kissed her—because I fucking wanted to.

  Her hands go rigid on my chest, like she might pull away, and I might have to let her, then they soften, sliding up the fabric of my shirt, leaving a trail of shivers in their wake. Her mouth is hot, a delicious burn of sweet candy on my tongue. I know I should let her go, that no good can come of this, but then her slender fingers crawl along the back of my neck and curl into my hair. She’s not going anywhere.

  I wind my fingers through the belt loops in her jeans and tug. Ash responds by swinging a leg over my lap, straddling me. The heat of her skin melts into mine, tightening things low inside me with need. A growl spills from my throat and Ash swallows it with her kisses. They become frantic, devouring. And for a moment, I consider letting her consume me.

  Her hands slide from the back of my head and trace my jaw. She rises up a fraction, rubbing against my jeans and the throbbing ache locked behind the zipper. A hiss spills from between my teeth as I run my fingers under the edge of her shirt to the silky skin beyond. I slide them slowly upward until I find the lacy edge of her bra. Gliding my thumb along the curve of her breast, I hear her gasp, a sound which drives me wild and makes me dizzy. I want to make her cry out again and again.

  I free one hand from her shirt, wind it into her hair, and gently pull her head back, exposing her throat. My dick pulses in time with her heavy breaths. I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself from exploding.

  I run my lips along the arc of her throat, and her fingers fall to my shoulders. Her nails dig into my skin just to the point of pain. I’m seconds from crying out when she thrusts her hips forwards, grinding along my lap and sending a wave of heat surging through my body. Without meaning to, I bite down on her neck.

  Ash moans and bucks against me, building the ache inside me to an unbearable level. This time I can’t fight the groan building in my throat. I know we should stop, before we reach the point of no return. But for once in my life, I’ve lost complete control. I grab the edge of her shirt and rip it over her head.

  Her breasts, like the rest of her, are absolutely perfect. I run my hands along the swell of them, feeling the way she quivers beneath my touch. She takes the hem of my own shirt in her hands and, with my help, tugs it from my body.

  She pulls on her bottom lip with the edge of her teeth as her gaze roams appraisingly across my chest. The hunger in her eyes rips through me, pulling every muscle in my body taut with need. “Ash—” I need to warn her, need to make sure she wants this as much as I do, because we’re dangerously close to the edge.

  She traces a finger across my collarbone. A feeling like satin ribbons trails after her touch. She slowly leans closer; her swollen lips part. I tighten my hold on her in anticipation.

  But our lips never meet.

  I shift back to find her staring at something specifically. At a point on my chest. “Ash?”

  “Oh my God.” She shakes her head. “I’m such an idiot.” Before I can ask her what she’s talking about, she slides from my lap and skitters across the floor for her T-shirt.

  I’m still tight with desire, so I can’t move as fast as her. It takes me several seconds before I’m able to stand. By then, she’s already got her shirt on and is moving for the door. She’s not making sense. One second we were all over each other, stripping off our clothes and the next second, not. “Ash, wait. What’s going on?”

  She shakes her head. “I was just confused and upset—you made me forget that. But I just can’t be that girl for you, Lane. I have more respect for myself than that.” The darkness that had disappeared from her eyes a moment ago is back.

  She’s not making any fucking sense. “What do you mean, that girl?”

  She points a finger at my chest and I follow her gaze to where Harper’s name is etched on my skin.

  “The other girl,” Ash says and brushes past the curtain. A moment later I hear the front door chime and I know she’s well and truly gone.

  Alone, I sit on the edge of the tattoo chair and run my fingers though my hair. “Fuck.” I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. In fact, I should be glad Ash had the strength to end it because I clearly didn’t.

  So fucking weak. I sigh and shake my head. Not to mention stupid. This never could have worked out. Ash has a thing about kids. And so do I. I place my hand over Harper’s name. I can’t believe I allowed someone to get to me, to break down the walls I’ve carefully constructed. I’d told Ash what Harper and I have is special, that it’s forever, and it is.

  I will love that little girl with my last dying breath. I will do anything to protect her from being hurt, and I will never get involved with a woman who might leave us wounded all over again.

  And if Ash proved anything to me tonight, it’s that she’s a runner.

  Chapter Ten

  Ashlyn

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  The words run on a loop through my head as I exit my car and walk to my apartment. What the hell was I thinking? Well, I know exactly what I was thinking. Every time I close my eyes, or even blink, Lane fills the darkness. I bring a hand to my lips to find them still swollen from his kisses. It’s as if I can still feel the heat of Lane’s fingers trailing along my ribs, and the hardness of him swelling between my straddled legs. A shudder ripples through me and I sway slightly.

  Fuck!

  I shake my head as if to rid myself of the memories. Yes, he’s unbelievably sexy, and yes, with just a look he can tighten things inside of me to the point of snapping, but that doesn’t make him any less unavailable. I’ve been used before—too many times before—and I’m done. I made a promise to myself after Chris, that I was going to get my life in order before I even considered a relationship.

  I open the door to the building and am greeted by the thump of a bass beat. Dread twists inside my gut as I walk down the hall. I know which apartment is hosting the party before I even reach the door.

  I grip the knob but can’t bring myself to turn it. Beneath the pulse of music I hear voices rising in laughter. Wisps of smoke waft from under the door. If I had any tears left in me, I might cry. All I want is a quiet night alone in my bed to get my head straight. The last thing I want to deal with is Selena’s drunken, doped-out friends. I consider turning around, but where would I go? Besides, there’s Hank, and the odds Selena even remembers she has a puppy are slim to none.

  I suck in a gulp of air and brace myself as I push the door open. As expected, a wall of smoke barrels out at me, an acrid fog of cigarette and pot that I’m forced to inhale when I can hold my breath no longer.

  “Ash!” Selena shouts over the music. She waves a cup at me, the contents sloshing over the plastic rim. The sickly-sweet smell of alcohol permeates the air, making my stomach roll in nauseous waves, reminding me of my drunken escapade the night before.

  “Hey.” I keep my eyes trained on her face so I don’t have to look at the mess.

  Selena’s on the couch, sitting on a guy’s lap—he’s new, and so are half the other people in the apartment.

  “Hey, sexy.” A skinny, long-nosed guy leans against the wall next to me. “Where’d you come from?”


  I brush past him. So not in the mood for that.

  “Where you going?” he calls behind me.

  “To find my dog,” I answer. It takes me a minute to realize what I’ve said—my dog. But as soon as I speak the words, I realize it’s true. It doesn’t matter that I never wanted a pet and I can barely take care of myself. Both of us were dragged into shitty situations and forgotten by the very person who was supposed to look out for us. I know what it’s like to be left to fend for yourself, to be tossed aside the second you become inconvenient, and I won’t turn my back on Hank.

  “The pit bull?” the guy asks. “Little shit pissed on the floor so somebody threw it in the bathtub. You should leave it there so it learns its lesson.”

  It takes everything in me not to grab the guy by the throat and lock him in the bathroom. Instead, I push past him and open the door. The smell of shit smacks me in the face as I enter the small room and find Hank cowering in the back of the tub, his eyes wide in terror.

  Several piles of his runny stool streak the bottom of the tub, run through with paw prints.

  The guy laughs behind me. “Told you he was a little shit.”

  Without responding, I slam the door in his face and lock it behind me. Even through the pulse of music I hear him call me a bitch. As if I care.

  I turn to the shivering puppy. “Oh Hank, I’m so sorry I had to leave you alone here.” Guilt rips through my heart. I know exactly what it’s like to be locked inside a room, alone and scared. I kneel beside the tub and the puppy hops along the side, desperate to get to me.

  I turn the water on warm. “I’m going to get you cleaned up and then we’re going to go… ” I really have no idea where. After giving Hank a thorough scrubbing and towel drying, I gather his bowls, food, and leash, as well as a change of clothes for myself, and head for the door.

  “Hey!” Selena calls out to me. Her eyes are glassy and red-rimmed. “Where are you taking Diesel?”