One Tiny Lie: A Novel (30 page)

My eyes widen with shock. “What? How?” Four days later . . . That means he literally left me in Miami and flew to New Jersey.

“Apparently he tracked down Coach, figuring he’d find me that way.”

Of course
. “I . . .” I heave a sigh, feeling guilty for divulging so much of Ashton’s personal life. “I’m sorry. I told him things about you when I was in Miami. I needed to get it all out. I didn’t ever think he would come here.”
Why didn’t I think he would do that?

Ashton shushes me with a finger against my lips. “It’s okay. Really. It’s . . . more than okay. In fact, it has made
everything
okay.” Ashton’s head shakes as he laughs. “That guy is something else. He has a way of getting information out of you—you know you’re being interrogated but in a friendly way. I’ve never seen Coach defer to anyone like he did with Stayner.”

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.

I manage to break free from his mouth. “Wait! Two more things.”

He’s breathing heavily, his brow furrowed as he gazes down at my face with confusion. “What else is there? You want my clothes too?” With an arched brow, he adds, “I’ll gladly give them to you when we get somewhere a little bit warmer, Irish. In fact, I insist.”

Shaking my head, I whisper, “I want you to get help. You need to talk to someone about all of this. Deal with it.”

Ashton smirks. “Don’t worry, I already have Stayner all over my ass. I have a feeling I’ll be taking up your ten a.m. slot on Saturdays.”

Relief pours out of me in an exhale. If there’s anyone I trust with Ashton’s well-being, it’s Dr. Stayner. “Good.”

With a small peck on my lips, he murmurs, “And that other thing?”

I swallow. “You said you wanted to forget everything. But . . . I don’t want you to ever forget a thing that happened between us. Ever.”

The most gentle of smiles passes over Ashton’s face. “Irish, if there’s one thing I’ve never been able to forget, it’s a single second with you.”

EPILOGUE

“You know, I haven’t had cheesecake in almost year,” I murmur, dragging my fork along my plate as I watch the June sun setting over Miami Beach from the comfort of my lounge chair. “I don’t think I like it anymore.”

“I’ll eat it, then,” Kacey mutters, one step from licking her plate clean. “Or Storm will. I swear she puts back fifty thousand calories a day feeding that hog of a child.” As if baby Emily heard the magic word from her bouncy chair in the kitchen, the hungry wails begin. Again. Emily was born in early January, immediately affixing herself to Storm’s nipples and fighting to stay ever since. Things have not been easy for Storm, but she’s handling it with all the patience and love that you could ever expect from her.

With me back home, it’s given her a bit of respite. Emily is even taking a bottle from me now. Storm calls me her lucky charm.

I stayed to finish the year at Princeton after all, even managing to pull my overall average up to a solid B. It’s ironic that my English lit final mark ended up being one of my strongest of that first semester, given it was also the most difficult course for me.

Ashton was definitely a motivating factor in my choice to stay. Once all the confusion, the pressure, and the lies were gone, I was left with nothing but choices. Small, large, easy, hard—all of them mine to make. For me.

I started with the easy ones. Like choosing to be where I could see Ashton whenever I wanted. That was a no-brainer. He had less than a year to go for a Princeton degree and he decided that he wanted to see it through, regardless of his reason for being there in the first place. Plus he was committed to his role as crew captain through the spring season.

Eventually Connor, Ashton, and I reconciled. It didn’t take long for Connor to see that I wasn’t just another one-night stand for his best friend. Connor started dating the blond girl—Julia—who’d approached him that night at the eating club. We even went on a double date. It was weird, but by the end of the night, I think it helped our friendship. By the looks I catch Connor giving me every now and then, I know his feelings for me haven’t completely disappeared. I hope with time, he’ll see that we weren’t right for each other.

Ashton moved back into the house at the beginning of the spring semester. I stayed over a lot. That was also weird at first, but Ashton quickly made me forget about my nerves . . . and anything else that didn’t involve him.

One of the harder decisions I had to make was whether or not to stay at Princeton beyond that first year. I’d applied for a transfer to Miami and, not surprisingly, it was accepted. There was nothing keeping me in New Jersey anymore, except Ashton. He would be done that year but his mother was still in New Jersey, and Reagan’s dad had offered him a position as assistant coach while he figured things out. I toiled over my own decision for weeks, not sure what would make
me
happiest.

Then one night, as I was lying in bed and outlining his Celtic symbol with my fingertip, Ashton told me he was following me to Miami if I chose to go. He had even started looking into hospices down there with Stayner’s help. Robert confirmed that the assistant coaching job would always be there for him.

That suddenly made my hard decision
really
easy. Which made me know that it was the right one.

I wanted to go home.

And I wanted to bring Ashton with me.

The sliding door opens behind us and two strong hands clamp over my shoulders. “You never told me it was so damn hot in Miami,” my gorgeous man grumbles, leaning down to steal the mouthful of cake off my fork, following it with a kiss on my lips. I squeal as drops of sweat land on my face.

My eyes drift over the sheen coating his bare chest. Ashton has taken to evening jogs without a shirt since moving down here, and it’s doing very bad things to my hormones on a nightly basis.

“The kid’ll get used to it,” I hear Trent mutter from behind as he steps out of the house, also sweaty and shirtless, with a towel around his neck. There’s about an eight-year difference between Ashton and Trent but their maturity levels seem to be equal, because they get along perfectly. I’m not sure yet what that says about either of them.

“What is this—the sweaty guy convention?” With a blanket over her shoulder to discreetly hide the baby latched to her boob, Storm joins us, followed closely by a third shirtless, sweaty man—Ben. And just like that, the deck has come alive with people.

“You’re too fast, Princeton,” the rugged blond mutters, high-fiving Ashton.

I smile at the nickname. Everyone has taken an instant liking to Ashton. Including the small group of women passing by on the beach. It’s the same group every night. They’ve discovered that if they swing past our house at this time in the evening, they’re likely to find fit, half-naked men lingering out on the back deck. That Kacey, Storm, and I are usually sitting here too is a minor inconvenience . . .

“Hello!” Kacey waves dramatically at them as she does every night, clearly enjoying the fact that her man is being drooled over. She points at Trent. “He’s five hundred for two hours!” Swinging her hand Ashton’s way, she adds, “Seven-fifty for him because he’s young. You should hear how he makes my sister scream!”

“Kacey!” I snap, but it’s too late. Everyone’s laughing and my cheeks are burning. Ashton bends down to plant a kiss on my neck, as if that will distract me from my mortification. As much as I’ve come out of my sexually repressed shell, so to speak, I still like to keep what’s private . . . private. Ashton respects that and he doesn’t tease me as much as they do. But he can’t resist when the rest of them get into it. They seem to have so much more material on me now, thanks to my welcome-home party, complete with too many Jell-O shots and thin walls.

“What about me? Am I not worth some coin, Madame Kacey?” Ben’s hands are held out in question, a mock look of insult on his attractive features.

“
I’ll
pay
them
five hundred to get you out of my hair for one night,” Kacey moans. But she follows it immediately with a wink.

“I can take a hint. I’m heading over to Penny’s for a beer, anyway. Hey, Princeton, you sure you don’t want me to hook you up with a job? Good money, lots of—”

“No, thank you!” I answer before Ashton can. There’s no way in hell my beautiful Mediterranean underwear model is working in a strip club. I don’t have my sister’s self-confidence.

Ashton shrugs and then, with a lascivious smile in my direction, says, “I’m good here. I’ve got my hands full with this one.”

“I think she might be worse than her sister,” Trent adds wryly.

Another round of laughter heats my cheeks. “How about you go fill your hands with a long shower, by yourself?” I retort, slapping his hard stomach for emphasis. And then I realize what I’ve implied and I’m burying my face in my hands as they all burst out in laughter. Again.

Truth be told, Ashton is in no rush to find a job. We didn’t end up moving his mother to Miami after all. She died peacefully in late April, just before exams. I was with Ashton the morning that he got the call. I held him close to me as he cried quietly—tears of both sadness and relief, I think.

There’s enough money left to buy Ashton some time while he figures things out. He’s not rich by any means but it’s enough for the short term. Storm insisted that he move in with us, so he’s not burdened with rent. He’s signed up for flight lessons already, and is deciding for the first time what he wants to do with his life. I think he’s savoring every second of the process.

Looking back over the past year, I can’t believe how Ashton and I came from such different family situations—mine a place of love, his a place of pain—and yet we ended up in exactly the same spot at exactly the same time: learning how to make our own choices.

The only thing both of us seem to agree on is that we want each other there every step of the way.

I know, in my gut, that med school is not the right path for me, regardless of my academic capability. I kept in touch with the children’s hospital until I knew that Eric and Derek had finished their chemo and were released. And then I laid that part of my life to rest. I’m giving serious consideration to social work. While it won’t be easy—some of those kids face situations worse than what Ashton faced—I know that I want to help children in a meaningful way. So Dr. Stayner has lined up some volunteer work at a foster care center to see if it’s something my fragile nature can handle. And if it’s not? Well . . .

Life’s all about trial and error.

Dr. Stayner and I talk frequently. Dr. Stayner and Ashton talk even more frequently. Stayner jokes that he’s our household shrink. I’ve told him he should just move in with us. I’m still searching for the right way to express the adoration that I feel for the man and all that he has done for us. All that he continues to do for us.

Giving him my firstborn child is starting to sound like a reasonable option.

“When are your friends coming down, Livie?” Storm asks as she adjusts her top. Emily’s chubby cheeks finally make an appearance from behind the flannel curtain, with a content burp.

“Tomorrow afternoon.” The guys and Reagan are flying in for a few days.

They were shocked when they found out that Ashton’s mom had been alive all this time, but they simply stood by their friend that day in late April and then celebrated her life with him at Tiger Inn until the wee hours of the morning. While Ashton can never disclose all of the details because of his agreement with his father, I think the guys have come to realize that their captain’s life was far from the ideal exterior.

And Reagan? Well, aside from the three-week-long pout I had to deal with when I told her I wasn’t coming back in the fall, Reagan has been the best roommate and friend I could ever ask for. She’s still madly in love with Grant. Maybe enough to tame her wild streak.

“All right! So we’re getting lit tomorrow night,” Ben exclaims, clapping his hands together. He bends down to kiss Emily on her cheek.

“You stink!” Storm pushes him away with a giggle and a crinkled nose.

“On that note . . .” Ben lays a sloppy kiss on Storm’s forehead and then heads into the house with a holler of, “Goodbye!”

Trent stretches his long, muscular arms over his head. “The Grill tonight?”

“Yes! I need a night out!” Storm exclaims, a sudden frenzied look in her eyes. Like she’s a caged animal. She kind of is. “Dan’s going to be home in an hour and then me and these milk bags are ditching this joint. Lemme go empty them.” She’s gone with Emily in a split second to pump.

The guys follow, arguing about who gets first shower, leaving Kacey and me alone on the deck once again.

We sit silently for a long moment, as I listen to the seagulls and watch the calming waves roll in. “You know it’s been almost a year since that night?” God, everything feels so different! I’m still me. And yet I’ve changed so much.

“Huh.” Kacey pauses as she scoops my plate out of my hand. “You mean since the night I told you that you’re completely fucked up?” I see the tiny curl of amusement in her lips as she polishes off the last chunk of my cake.

“Yeah, that’s the one.” I stretch my arms back and nestle them behind my head.

And I smile.