Page 55 of Resist

But now, it occurred to her there were a million things she wanted to know about him too. Like basically everything. “Did you always want to play in the NHL?”

If Coulton thought her question had come from left field, he didn’t let on. “I think every kid in the world dreams of growing up to be a famous singer or actor or professional athlete. I was no exception. Of course, I was blessed with a generous helping of common sense, so while I wanted to play professionally, there was that little voice in the back of my head reminding me it wasn’t a realistic goal.”

Ainsley reached out to place her hand on Coulton’s waist, thrilled when he mimicked the touch. “But you must have found a way to ignore that voice,” she pointed out. “Because look at you now.”

“I don’t know if I ignored it as much as I didn’t let it hold me back. It was there more for protection than as a barrier.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t stop going for my dream because it was unachievable. But, if I hadn’t succeeded, I had that little voice to reassure me that it was okay if I failed, because my goal was a hard one. As long as I tried my best and did everything possible to achieve it, then I could still hold my head up high if I didn’t make it. I think it’s human nature to dream big, Ains. It’s fun to win, but it’s also important to be able to accept losing without letting it destroy your self-confidence or happiness.”

Ainsley pondered that, letting it sink in. “That’s a cool way to look at it.”

“What about you?” Coulton asked. “What did you want to grow up to be when you were young?”

Ainsley wasn’t sure how to respond to that question. Probably because there wasn’t an answer. Or at least not a good one.

“I don’t remember.”

Coulton narrowed his eyes. The guy was scarily good at recognizing when she was lying. “Try.”

“I didn’t really think about what I wanted to be as much as where I didn’t want to be,” she finally said.

Coulton reached over her shoulder, his finger tracing the skin where her birdcage tattoo was. “You dreamed about escaping?”

“When I was younger, yeah. Whenever Mick would smack me around or lock me in a closet, I would dream about the day when I could get out, away from him and Eli and all of it. But that dream died in high school.”

Coulton frowned. “Why?”

“By that point, I was old enough to understand that I didn’t have the luxury of dreaming.”

“Explain that to me,” Coulton insisted, running his fingers through her hair.

She tried to concentrate on her response, but when he touched her—something he did a lot—it was hard to focus on what she was saying over how he was making her feel.

“I was a mediocre student, Coulton, so it wasn’t like I was going to ever go to college. I didn’t have the grades to get a scholarship, andwithouta scholarship, I didn’t have the money. I don’t have a driver’s license because we’ve never owned a car, so my employment options were limited by public transportation. I applied to work as a cashier in a local grocery store when I was in high school, but Mick flipped his lid. Said if I was going to work, it was going to be for him, because he’d had enough of me freeloading on the rent and food.”

Coulton had an expression she was starting to call the Mick scowl. “He’s your fuckingdad. Those things are his responsibility.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do I really need to point out our different upbringings again?”

“No. I’d rather you didn’t,” he said darkly. “Not sure I can stand to hear it anymore.”

Ainsley pushed forward, planting a quick kiss on Coulton’s lips, touched by how angry he was on her behalf. It was a novel experience for her, and she liked it way more than she should.

“Anyway, that was when I started working in the tavern,” she continued.

“Pretty sure you weren’t old enough to be a bartender.”

She smirked. “I started out washing dishes, serving the crappy food, cleaning the place. Not that it helped much, because the tavern has always been a pit, disgusting as shit. And don’t even get me going on the bathrooms. The only thing that would improve that place would be some gasoline and a match.”

“So you’ve been working at Mick’s since high school?”

She shook her head. “No. I thought I’d managed my escape from Mick and Eli with Jagger. I moved into an apartment with him and found a job as a waitress at a chain restaurant near the Inner Harbor. The tips were good enough that I could pay the rent and buy groceries, but not enough that I could save anything for a rainy day. Savings accounts are a rich person thing,” she said, giving Coulton a playful grin. Ever since he’d discovered she’d never had a bath, she’d started making him a list of “rich” things, something that seemed to amuse and upset him in equal measure.

This jest did the same, as he smirked and shook his head in unison. “Why did you quit the restaurant job?”

“Refer back to me stabbing Jagger. I missed three shifts in a row without calling because I was locked up. The manager had a zero-tolerance policy, so when I went back to explain… Well, let’s just say my boss didn’t think being in jail for stabbing someone made me a person he wanted to retain.”

---