Page 65 of The Jilted Lovers Club
“I’d heard my dad say something like it once. She didn’t respond in front of her friends, just gave me a tight smile. But after they left, she stormed into my room, slapped me across the face, and washed my mouth out with soap until I gagged.”
I pause. “After that, I stopped pretending Steve was there.”
Ashton reaches over and gently places his hand on my back, running his palm slowly up and down.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly.
I shake my head, forcing a smile. “Hey, no sadness allowed. We’re eating Lucky Charms.”
“And watching Blue’s Clues,” he adds, nodding toward the screen. “There’s no crying in Blue’s Clues.”
“Actually, I think Blue has cried.”
“Okay, but it’s still a happy show. Steve is a damn hero. I mean, best imaginary brother ever.”
“The absolute best.” I lean into his shoulder.
There’s a quiet moment between us, warm and easy. Then I nudge him.
“Okay, your turn. What’s your trauma?”
He raises a brow. “Oh, you mean the obvious one? That I’m raising a kid on property owned by my ex’s parents, trying to rebuild after she completely ghosted us?”
“Sure, but that’s present-day trauma. I’m talking origin story—parents, siblings, where you came from.”
He sighs, then takes a long sip of wine. “Okay fine. I had two brothers and a mom and dad. My parents were good to us, but they weren’t good for each other. My dad was an alcoholic and my mom battled depression, though as kids we just saw it as Dad was always angry and Mom was always crying.”
I stay quiet, letting him tell it.
“Then my dad lost his job. Things got worse. Mom, despite everything, pulled herself together. She packed us up and left.” He shakes his head. “He didn’t even come after us. We moved in with my aunt, and my mom cleaned houses, putting away money until we could get our own place. But it wasn’t enough.”
His eyes cloud a bit, but he keeps going.
“I started stealing food … eggs, veggies, even a chicken once. We lived next to a farm, and the food seemed ripe for the picking. But I got sloppy, because one night, the farmer met me with a shotgun.”
My eyes widen. “What happened?”
“I froze, dropped everything, and begged him not to shoot. Well, he didn’t shoot. Instead, he fed me. Then he loaded his truck with food and drove me home, told me to show up the next morning to work off the debt. That farmer was Mr. Agers. He taught me how to work the land, and basically changed my life.”
“Is that what brought you to Oregon?”
He nods. “Eventually. I had to get out of Louisiana, too many ghosts. I found my cousin’s farm up there. Cody. Our dads were brothers, though I found out mine had passed a few years before.”
He pauses, then chuckles softly. “Before Sasha, there was another girl.”
I raise an eyebrow. “God, do you ever stop charming women?”
He laughs. “It wasn’t like that. She had a kid and a bad boyfriend, a real piece of shit—beat her, disappeared for days, cheated constantly. Cody told me to leave it alone, but all I could see was my mom, stuck with my dad. So one day, I took her and her daughter out for lunch, bought her groceries. I barely had anything to my name, but I spent about four hundred bucks just so they could eat.”
“That’s incredible. She probably thought you were her hero.”
He scoffs. “I wasn’t though. If I’d acted the hero, I would’ve broken that guy’s damn arms.”
His jaw is tight. I reach for his arm, running my fingers over the tense muscle. “Are you talking about her boyfriend? Or your dad?”
He freezes, then blows out a breath. “Whoa.” He looks at me, his eyes serious. “I never wanted to be like him. I still don’t.”
I lean in and kiss him. Slow. Certain. His hands find my waist, then my back. I press my forehead to his, breath mingling with his.
