Page 58 of Asher

He blinked a couple times, then swallowed and took a full step back. His palms came up and forward. “Shit, I’m sorry, Marlowe girl. I’m not mad at you. Jesus. I still have triggers.” He shrugged those big shoulders. “I didn’t mean to cuss at you. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just can’t believe no one’s ever told you how great you are. Forgive me?”

Running a finger under her nose, she nodded quickly. Triggers, she understood. She just hadn’t realized what she’d looked like when she went off at people like Beau just did.

“Don’t know what your folks were like, sweetheart,” he continued calmly, “but no, I never would’ve run away from my real parents. Ever. I was kidnapped. Stolen by a pimp and his whore out of my dad’s truck at some rest stop, in Nevada, I think. I was just a kid.”

She shook her head at the connection sizzling between Doc Fitz’s husband and her, needing to run back to Asher where she knew she’d be safe. Beau was angry because he’d been kidnapped. Scary angry. So angry she was afraid to look at him.

“You need me to kill somebody for you, sweetheart?” he asked, his head cocked quizzically and his dark brown eyes glowing with tenderness she didn’t deserve.

Gah! She lifted her chin to the ceiling to get away from his gentle gaze. “No. I… I shouldn’t have said anything. Never mind.” She sniffed, refusing to cry. She was not a weakling.

But she was a drama queen. How ironic was that? Yet there Marlowe stood, about to fall apart just because she’d hit a target—once. And because the man she’d thought she hated was kind, and he knew her. Beau not only saw her, he saw through her. He knew precisely what she’d lived through. That she’d been made to feel like nothing all her life. Like trash.

Until Asher… The TEAM… Alex… Beau…

Her world was spinning. Nothing in America was what she’d expected. People here were kind. Everyone she’d met here went out of their way to help her. They’d all been nice. They had money, sure, but only because they’d worked their butts off toearn it. They weren’t all assholes. The TEAM wives cared, and they helped vulnerable women and children and—

“Deep breath,” Alex murmured, his hand suddenly on her shoulder. “I located your parents. I know what they did to you. You’re safe now.”

She shook her head, her eyes still closed. That was not why this particular panic attack was attacking.

“I hate to break this to you,” Alex continued, “but your father passed away seven years ago. I’m so sorry.”

Talk about a thunderclap of useless information. Marlowe had no idea what to do or say. Her dad was dead? So what? Was she supposed to cry? Be sad? Why? Because he was an addict, and addicts were just sick, and couldn’t help themselves, and needed rehab, and encouragement and food and a clean place to sleep at night? What about the little kid they left behind? She didn’t know how to feel. Relief? Grief? Good riddance?

Marlowe ran for the elevator. It was dinner time. Asher should be awake. Fumbling with the lighted buttons inside the car, she didn’t escape in time. A big hand kept the elevator door from closing and—

“Fuck!” she yelled as Alex and Beau stepped in beside her. “Leave me alone!”

Alex was on his phone, but Beau grabbed her hand before she could slap him or Alex, or both of them. Anyone. Beau held her hand against his chest as he pressed the correct buttons with his other hand. Sure enough, the door closed like it was supposed to. He made it look easy. Why couldn’t she do that?

“Hold on, Marlowe girl. Just hold on tight and trust me. I’ll get you back to Ash in no time.”

“I’d rather hate you,” she squeaked, going for honesty and trying to pull away from him. Marlowe needed distance. Her world made sense when she hated everyone. It was black and white then, no shades of gray. But now? The elevator was too small, the short ride was too long, and by the time the elevator stopped, she was hyperventilating. On the verge of screaming. Just in time, the door slid open and Beau escorted her down the hall. He rapped on Asher’s door once, then opened it and gestured her inside. At last.

“Hey,” sleepy Asher muttered from where he lay, propped against his pillows. “I was just… What’s wrong? What’d you do to her, Beau?”

Marlowe ran to the bed and climbed in beside Asher. Sweating and shaking, with stupid tears in her eyes. She buried her face in his neck. Darn it. She was stronger than this. What was happening to her?

“She just found out her dad died,” Beau explained sadly.

“My fault,” Alex announced from somewhere near the door.

“No,” Marlowe rasped. “It’s not that. It’s because…” She didn’t want to admit it but away her big mouth went. “He was an addict. Never held a decent job. Was always gone, and my mom’s a drunk. There. Are you happy now? My parents hated me. We lived in a dump because low-income housing still needs to be kept clean. Dirty dishes need to be washed. Clothes, toilets… Shit! Who gets to do all of that when moms and dads don’t care? Their kid. Me! And who gets to drag her mom home when she’s too drunk to walk? When she forgets where she lives? When sheforgets… me?” Marlowe sucked in one long, painful hiccup as that last truth squeaked out between her lips.

“Aw, honey,” Asher crooned, pressing her closer, letting her hide. “Sweetheart, I had no idea.”

“Why’s everyone always being so nice to me?” Marlowe didn’t mean to yell that question into him, but the dam she hadn’t realized she’d been holding back her whole life broke. There was no stopping the flood pouring out of her. She tried, but ended up hiccupping like a hysterical nut. Her. Hysterical? Ha. Marlowe and hysteria were polar opposites—until now. Tears literally poured down her face and soaked into Asher’s warm shoulder. His good shoulder.

She had no idea she could cry that hard for so long, but by the time her crying jag ended, she was sweaty and alone with Asher. The door was closed. Alex and Beau were gone. Peering out from beneath Asher’s scruffy chin, with her arm still wrapped around his neck, she sucked in a quavering breath and huffed out the last of her weakness.

There. All done. All gone. I’m strong again.

She tried to roll away. Her parents didn’t want her. Why would Asher? But he didn’t let her go. Marlowe was caught and this time she didn’t mind. He hadn’t yet asked anything, just kept smoothing his good hand over her shoulders, up and down her spine. Holding her close. He was there for her. Him. The right man. Not Kelsey’s husband. Not Doc Fitz’s husband. Just Asher. Just him.

Trembling like a ninny, she focused on his heartbeat. For a man who’d recently died, his heart was amazingly strong. Ker-thumping like it hadn’t been shocked back to life just daysago. Swallowing hard, Marlowe tapped her fingers lightly on his chest. He kissed her forehead. She loved when he did that. It wasn’t passionate or lustful or pushy. Just endearing. He did that because he was there for her. Had been since he’d first seen her in that cave.

Gradually, the complete story of her miserable childhood came out. She told him everything. More than the slice of life she’d shared with Alex and Beau, or Kelsey, Libby, and Judy. Marlowe’s heart finally stopped pounding. She stopped panting. Settled down. Asher was nice and warm, and she was exhausted. There was nothing more to tell. No more lies to hide. No more secrets and no more pretending she was stronger and meaner than everyone else. With Asher, she didn’t have to be anything or anyone but herself.

---