Page 75 of Crash
“Loves it.”
“Good,” I murmured, opening a cupboard and looking inside.
“You look happy,” he declared.
I gave him a look and closed the door gently. “I am happy.”
Leaning against the kitchen counter, he asked, “I gather things are going well with you and Lincoln?”
“As well as they can be, I guess.”
“He treatin’ you right?”
“Ash.” I scowled at him.
“You knew I was gunna ask, squirt.”
I pretended to throw up. “What did we agree about you calling me that?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Old habits die hard. Just don’t settle for anything less than amazing.”
“You owe Lincoln an apology,” I said, and Ash rolled his eyes.
“He should be happy I didn’t knock his head off.”
“Ash, seriously?” I complained.
He crossed his arms over his chest, a defiant look on his face. “It still stands, Vee. He hurts you and he’s dead.”
“Then you better teach me how to throw a punch.”
Ash narrowed his eyes and gave me the once over.
“He was the one who did all of this,” I said, gesturing to myself.
“All of that was already in there, Vee.”
“Yeah, maybe, but he gave me the courage to bring it out.”
He stilled and sighed, his shoulders rising and falling. “Are we finished with this deep and meaningful conversation?”
“Am I making you embarrassed?”
He shook his head and was silent for a moment. Just as I was beginning to worry, he spoke. “A while ago, you said to me that I wasn’t your father,” he murmured, casting his gaze across the room.
“Ash, I didn’t—”
“I know I’m not, but after they left us like that…” He shook his head and sighed. “You may not think it, but I do. I wanted to be the people they were supposed to be for you. Maybe I deserved it for how I handled things, but you never did.”
Striding forward, I threw my arms around him, fighting back tears. Damn it all to hell. Why did he have to be an ass one second and totally amazing the next?
“Anything you need, you’ve got it,” he said firmly. “You’ve just gotta ask.”
I already knew he would take care of me, but he obviously needed to hear me acknowledge it. “Okay.”
“Now get back to work,” he declared, letting me go. “I’ve got a bathroom to plan.”
“Slave driver,” I retorted.
