Page 47 of Asher

Libby sat down beside her. “Mark and Alex are on their way. Mark wants to know if you’d like to visit Asher tonight. He’s in the medical wing at TEAM headquarters now. We could stop by on our way home.”

“He’s not in ICU, is he?”

Libby put a hand on Marlowe’s. Marlowe looked down at the friendly gesture. Her knuckles were white. She was clenching Kelsey’s tablet like a lifeline. So much for redirecting negativity.

“No, he’s next door to the room you were in. Alex is sure the danger is over, but he’s got agents on guard there and here, too.”

“Why does he do that?”

Libby cocked her head. “Do what?”

“Post guards if he doesn’t have to?”

“I guess” —Libby shrugged— “because sometimes it’s hard to move on after trauma. It takes time for our brains to accept that we’re safe again. Once we all settle down, I’m sure he’ll reduce what he calls overwatch.” She squeezed Marlowe’s hand. “You’re okay, girlfriend. And tomorrow—”

“Tonight. I want to see Asher tonight.”

“Of course, you do. I was just going to say that tomorrow we should all get together for lunch. The pressure’s off and we’ll feel more like ourselves, you’ll see. But if that’s what you want to do tonight, then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll take you to Asher.”

Marlowe sucked in a full breath. “Yes. Please. That’s what I want.”

“Okay then, as soon as—”

The playroom door opened.

Damn.

Alex was home. Without acknowledging Marlowe or Libby, he went straight to Kelsey and pulled her into his arms. She melted against him with a soft cry. Her arms circled his neck and she pressed her face into his chest. She was openly crying and he was comforting her. His arms slid around her waist. His eyes closed and he dipped his nose to the top of her head.

Marlowe couldn’t make herself stop watching. The tortured expression on this big, tough man’s tanned face proved how much he adored his wife. They didn’t speak, just held each other, standing there as if they were the only ones in the world. It was the tenderest, most beautiful sight she’d ever witnessed.

So that’s what true love looks like.

Her gut ached at the painful contrast between her life and theirs. She hadn’t witnessed a full-body hug before, not ever. The single constant in her childhood was the complete and utter lack of affection. Her parents had never hugged each other, much less her. Hugs were foreign, and when they had happened, impersonal, something your teacher did because she had to. Leaving Marlowe to believe that she was the problem; that something was wrong with her. That she wasn’t worth loving.

In the end, it was easier to believe love only happened in fairy tales and reality shows. It was fiction. In her house, booze, cigarettes, alcohol, and drugs ruled. They were real. The only time her parents touched each other was to fight. After their last screaming, slapping match, her dad had walked out, and her mom had yelled, “Good riddance.”

Marlowe had just stood there, torn between two people who’d never loved or hugged her, yearning to be wanted by at least one of them. By someone. Anyone.

But here, in this house, love was everywhere. The Stewarts were rich in ways that mattered, in ways Marlowe had never known. Even Lexie treated her baby brother like he was her best friend.

A sense of rightness settled over Marlowe. She wanted what Kelsey had, what Marlowe had foolishly thrown away in Harley’s barn.Thathug. Asher’s hug. She’d made him feel stupid like her mother always did with her dad. He’d usually been strung out on something, sure, but maybe he’d just wanted a hug—

Err, no. If her dad ever wanted anything, it wasn’t a hug.

Seconds later, Mark arrived and the scene replayed. Only this time, Libby flew across the room, jumped into his arms, and wrapped her legs around his waist. He tugged her into the hall, and the door closed behind them. Marlowe didn’t need to see to know Libby was being ravished by tall, dark, and handsome Mark, on the other side of that very secure door. Or maybe she was doing the ravishing.

It was awkward and lonesome, this girlfriend thing. Marlowe was happy for Kelsey and Libby, she truly was. Their men were home. They were treasured women again, and all was good. But no one was coming for her.

Mustering her courage—again—Marlowe refocused on the view of Kelsey’s kitchen in the tablet. The lights were off and the cleaners were gone. A huge flower arrangement now sat in the center of the table. White flowers. It’d be nice if they were Easter lilies. Lilies looked like tiny delicate trumpets, made by angels toherald in spring. Baby animals and birds. Butterflies and longer days. Beauty. Sunsets. Stars—

Oh, what a load of rubbish. Marlowe ran a hard hand over her stupid head and prepared to be disappointed again. Once Libby left with Mark, her chance of seeing Asher tonight went with them. She was stuck in limbo. Dependent and useless and—

“You waiting for an invitation?” Alex asked, still standing there, proud and strong, a true warrior, one arm around his woman. He was not the same tough guy she’d met in the barn. Surely not the stern, pissed-off boss he’d been in his office. This Alex was soft around the edges. He looked content. His sharp blue eyes were mellow as they darted to Lexie, then to his baby son, then back to Marlowe. “Well?”

“Excuse me?” she asked.

He jerked his head toward the door. “Mark and Libby are in the hall waiting for you. Can I help with that walker? Need a jacket? It’s chilly tonight.”

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