Heart of Ash Page 7

  He hadn’t wanted her.

  He’d only wanted sex.

  He’d used her.

  As she neared her room, her sanctuary, tears pricked at her lashes. She fought them back. She was a grown woman. She should have seen it. She should have expected it.

  She should never have allowed her dreamy fantasies to intrude on a harsh reality.

  This is what men were like. This was the way they behaved.

  She should have known better.

  When the door closed behind her, she could no longer keep her grief at bay. And she didn’t care to. She needed to cry. Wail. Mourn.

  Kaitlin understood. She wrapped Emily in a tight hug and held her as she wept. Railed at the world, at men, at her own idiocy. It seemed like she cried for hours, but it couldn’t have been that long. When she lifted her head, Kaitlin’s shoulder was drenched.

  “I’m sorry,” she snuffled, scrubbing at her cheeks.

  “Don’t be silly. I’m here for you.” Kaitlin thumbed away a stray tear. “I am so sorry, Em.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s a jerk.”

  Emily laughed through a sob. “He is. But I thought… I thought…”

  “I know.” Again, a warm hug.

  Which elicited another flurry of weeping. And hugging. And patting.

  When Emily was exhausted, when she was completely and utterly drained, she pulled away and murmured, “I thought he was the one. I really really did.”

  “I know. I know this was a big step for you. Think of it that way, Em. Did you enjoy it?”

  Emily hiccupped. “Yes.”

  “Then focus on that, darling. Be thankful for that. You had a wonderful first time with a very sexy man. Put him in your rearview mirror and move on.”

  Move on?

  “I…I don’t think I can move on.”

  Kaitlin smiled. It was a sad smile, but one full of love. “I know it hurts right now, but it will get better. I promise. And one day you’ll meet a guy who is worthy of you.”

  “I was so sure…”

  A strange look flickered over Kaitlin’s face. “I know. I know you thought he was the one, but—”

  “Did you?”

  Kaitlin blanched. Pressed her lips together.

  “Did you?”

  “You know I don’t read my friends. My own hopes for them, my own expectations get in the way.”

  “Right. But when you met him, did you think he was the one for me? Or was I just imagining this sense of…rightness.” Emily tugged on Kaitlin’s hand. “Please. I need to know.”

  Kaitlin sighed. Her lashes fluttered. It was clear she did not want to answer.

  Emily tugged again. “Please.”

  “All right. Yes. Okay? Yes. I thought he was the one for you.” And then a flush rose on her cheeks.

  Because Kaitlin was rarely mistaken about something like that.

  But this time she too had gotten it wrong.

  Somehow that gave Emily a tiny bit of comfort.

  She wasn’t the only one he’d fooled.

  Chapter Eight

  The rest of the weekend was a bust. Both Parker and Devlin disappeared for the better part of Saturday, leaving Ash alone with Richie. Then Richie got swimmingly drunk that night and started a fight at the bar by grabbing Bella Cross when she came out of the ladies’ room and shoving his hand between her legs.

  What an idiot. Bella was Holt Lamm’s girlfriend, and Holt didn’t take any shit off anybody.

  None of them did. Not Holt. Not Cam Jackson. Not Drew Boone.

  After Holt decked Richie, the three of them all turned and glared at Ash, bristling, fists flexing, as though they wanted to do the same to him.

  So when Darby suggested he and Richie leave, and tout de suite, they complied. He tromped back to his house, supporting Richie’s staggering weight, and got drunk—well, drunker—there.

  On Sunday, he stayed on his deck and watched his neighbors take turns running their speedboat. He caught a glimpse of Bella, the redhead and a brunette. But there was no sign of Emily, and he was glad. He wasn’t looking for her. He didn’t want to see her again. He didn’t.

  It was bad enough that every time he closed his eyes he could see her wounded expression. At night he awoke in a sweat with a raging hard on, thinking about her. He pushed her from his mind, brutally evicting any and all memories, fantasies, ridiculous hopes. And somehow, she kept slipping back in.

  It was damned annoying.

  He had a rule. He lived by his rule. It had never bothered him before.

  Why did it haunt him now?

  When he and the guys tromped onto the home-bound ferry, Holt and Cam and all of them were already camped in the corner booth. Emily was with them, but surrounded, as though they were protecting her.

  Not that it mattered. He didn’t want to talk to her or see her.

  Ever.

  Every time he so much as thought of her, the gap in his soul opened up a little more, letting in the cold, howling wind.

  On Monday, his mother called to cancel dinner…and to let him know she was leaving for Monaco and, by the way, she was divorcing George and probably marrying Rafael.

  Ash pretended the news of her newest impending divorce didn’t launch him into an even deeper depression. His mother had married and divorced more men than he could remember. At one point, he’d kept a spreadsheet, but then, after number eight—or had it been number nine?—he’d realized it was a pointless effort.

  Some people just couldn’t stay married.

  He hated that he was one of them.

  On Wednesday, his father called and invited him to dinner. His first inclination was to cry off. He wasn’t in the mood to be civilized, but Dad had insisted. They had news, he warned.

  Ash was certain he knew what it was.

  And damn. He liked Michelle.

  She was a bit young for Dad, but she was a nice person. He’d really hoped their marriage would work out.

  He’d spent his life living in two homes with revolving doors. One spouse out, another in. By now, he should know better. He should have expected the romantic bubble Dad and Michelle had been frolicking in would burst sooner or later.

  It always did.

  He drove up the driveway to the mansion with a ball in his belly and a nice bottle of Grenache cradled in the passenger seat of his M6. What kind of wine did one take to a divorce? He wished he knew. By now he should know. He hopped out and tossed Vickers the keys to his BMW. Holding the wine bottle by the neck he stepped into the expansive foyer and nodded to Halsey.

  “They are in the small sitting room,” the butler intoned. Ash nodded and headed down the hall. He paused at the open door to the intimate parlor, taking in the scene. It was just family, Dad and Michelle on the loveseat, his sister Trish and her husband Sal on the sofa and Effie on the floor at their feet, sucking on her fingers. Sam was building a house of cards on the coffee table, explaining physics in a pedantic tone.

  Sam was pretty pedantic, for a seven-year-old. He glanced up and saw Ash, and waved madly. Then he slapped his forehead as the tower of cards came crashing down. “Dang,” he howled.

  “You can build it up again, little man,” Dad said, clapping him on the back.

  Dad did that a lot. Clapped them on the back, his sons. Built them back up again.

  But Ash didn’t feel like anyone could build him back up again. Not after the week he’d had.

  “Ash.” Michelle met him at the door with a kiss to his cheek. She was pretty and petite, but a force to be reckoned with. He didn’t envy his father the battle to come. He attempted a smile as he handed her the wine. She grinned. “Oh, thank you. My favorite.”

  “Hey Ash,” Trish blew him a kiss. Apparently she couldn’t bear to be separated from Sal enough to come say hello. Now those two were in love. Had been since the day they’d met. His sister hadn’t even wanted Ash to do a background check on the guy.

  He had of course.

  Sal had passed. Squeaky c
lean. He was a cop for a local small city. He did charity work. And his family had old money. When Ash had asked him why he was a cop when his family was richer than shit, Sal had laughed and said something about making the world a better place.

  At the time, Ash hadn’t understood what he meant by that. Donating money and supporting charities did make the world a better place. It was only recently that he’d been itching, aching, wanting more in what now seemed like a pointless life.

  But he didn’t want to be a cop.

  “Sit down. Sit down,” Dad said, after pulling him into a long hug. “Everyone’s here. Now we can share our news.” He and Michelle exchanged a glance. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?”

  Ash steeled himself.

  “I want to tell them.” Michelle glowed.

  His brow knit in confusion. Why would this announcement make her so damned happy? Unless she was getting a huge settlement?

  “We—” She shot a beatific look around the room. “We’re pregnant.”

  Ash’s jaw dropped.

  Dad nodded madly, and grinning like a loon. “Yup. We’re pregnant.”

  “Oh Dad.” Trish jumped to her feet and wrapped them both in a huge hug. “Congratulations.”

  “Congratulations.” Sal shook Dad’s hand.

  Ash mimicked the actions, but it was as though he reached out through a long dark tunnel.

  His father was having another baby.

  His mother was getting a divorce and maybe marrying Rafael.

  And there was Ash, caught in limbo, in the middle of nowhere. A no-man’s land. Alone.

  Forever.

  Why Emily’s face flickered through his mind just then, he had no idea.

  “I don’t like seeing you like this, son,” Dad said.

  Ash turned away from the window, where he’d been staring at the darkness, out into the yard toward the tree house they’d built when he’d been ten. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t heard his father come up behind him.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Really?” Those eyes, so like his own, resonated skepticism. “You don’t seem fine.”

  Ash sighed. “Mother’s getting another divorce.”

  “Ah.”

  Ash raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know why it surprised me.”

  “Sandra was always…a restless spirit.”

  “It just…I don’t know, validates my lack of faith in marriage.” All over again.

  “Marriage isn’t a thing independent of us, Ash. It’s a relationship between two people. Each marriage is different. Driven by the participants. It can be whatever you want it to be.”

  “But there are two people involved. That’s the sticking point. You can never trust the other person’s motives.”

  “No. You can’t. Sometimes you have to go on faith.”

  “Every time I’ve done that, I got burned.”

  “Not all women are like your mother. Or Jillian.” Ash winced at his ex-wife’s name. “There are good women out there.”

  Ash snorted. “Like Teresa?”

  “You haven’t had the best luck. That doesn’t mean you quit trying.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “You’ve gotta kiss a lot of frogs…”

  “Frogs? Really Dad?”

  Dad grinned. “You know what I mean. You weren’t meant to spend your life alone, son. None of us were.”

  “I’d rather be alone than go through that pain again.”

  “Because there’s no pain whatsoever in being alone.”

  Ash glared at his father, not appreciating the sarcasm.

  “I got lucky with Michelle. We love each other deeply. And completely. But Ash, it wasn’t an easy road for me. There were some missteps along the way.”

  “Was Mother one of those missteps?”

  “I loved her. I did. But we are better apart. It was better for you for us to separate. Trust me on that.” Ash didn’t respond. He couldn’t see how that could be true. When his parents had split, he’d been devastated. “And even though it didn’t work out in the end, I can’t regret being with her. I wouldn’t change that decision for the world. Because it brought me you. I feel the same about Elaine and June.” Trish’s and Sam’s mothers. Yeah, Dad had been through a litany of wives. He was hardly someone to give advice. That didn’t stop him. “Sometimes you gotta take risks.”

  Ash swallowed a laugh. “Don’t let Bradley hear you say that.” Their family lawyer was all about risk mitigation.

  “At the end of the day, whose face are you going to see in the mirror? Bradley’s?” Dad chuckled. “Because that would be a bad day.” Bradley was a surly old coot. “My point is this, Ash. When you’re my age, and you’re looking back at your life, what kind of landscape do you want to see?”

  Ash turned away. A band tightened around his chest.

  “Do you want it to be filled with love and warmth and children, and maybe sprinkled with a regret or two? Or do you want it to be pristine and sanitized and sterile? Because that’s the kind of choice you’re facing right now.”

  Ash blanched. “What do you mean?” Could his father know? Read his inner turmoil?

  “You’re nearly thirty, Ash.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Dad sighed. “Nothing. But I was thirty once. Yesterday.” He glanced over at the sofa, where Trish dandled his granddaughter on her knee. “Life passes pretty quickly, son. We think we have all the time in the world, and then one day, we wake up and realize we missed it. Missed so much.”

  Something unpleasant coiled in Ash’s gut. “What are you saying, Dad?”

  “I’m planning to retire.”

  Shock rippled, making his vision blur. “What?”

  “The corporation is run by the board for the most part, but I’d like you to start taking over the reins of the foundation.”

  “Dad…are you… Is everything okay?” He seemed healthy as a horse, but sometimes you could never tell.

  “I’m fine. Fine. Really I am. Well, a little high blood pressure and some diverticulitis, but you don’t want to hear about that. It’s just, with Michelle and the baby coming… Trish and Effie. I want to spend more time with the people I love.” He gazed at them, there by the fire, his love in his eyes. “So, will you? Take over some of the foundation responsibilities?”

  “I…” Warmth flooded Ash’s veins. He had trouble forming the words. This was what he needed. This was what he’d been searching for. A chance to make a difference. A chance to do something that mattered. Something beyond his art. “I would be honored.”

  It could have been a meaningful moment. A bonding between father and son. The passing of the torch. But Dad just chortled, slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Great. I’ll have my secretary shoot you a list of upcoming events.”

  Ash had the sneaking suspicion he’d just been played.

  And somehow, he didn’t care.

  Michelle called them all into the dining room then and Ash enjoyed a lively dinner surrounded by his family. The conversation as the courses were served was engaging and funny and it warmed that cold place in his heart. It was quite a departure from his typical lonely meals in his penthouse apartment, and he found himself wondering why he didn’t do this more often. He loved his father and his siblings. Heck, he even loved Michelle.

  And Dad was right. Life was short. He should spend more time with the people he loved.

  Sal had just cracked a joke that had them all in stitches when Ash looked at his father and stilled. Foreboding prickled at his nape.

  As laughter wreathed the room, along with the sounds of cutlery and chatter, Adam Bristol went white. Confusion flickered over his face and he stood, gripping his left arm. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Nothing but a muffled groan.

  And then he fell to the floor.

  Chapter Nine

  There was nothing to do.

  Nothing to do but wait.

  Ash impatiently checked his Rol
ex and growled when it was only thirty seconds later than the last time he’d checked it. He repressed the urge to leap to his feet and charge to the nurses’ station and demand information, because they hadn’t known anything two minutes ago. They probably didn’t know anything more now.

  He glanced at Michelle, who was huddled with Trish in a bank of seats by the window. Cold coffee in Styrofoam cups sat before them on the table. Sal had taken Effie and Sam home for the night. Between them, they’d tried to convince Trish and Michelle to go get some sleep, with no luck.

  Honestly, Ash couldn’t blame them. There was this sense—sitting in the sterilized waiting room listening to nurses’ shoes squeak on the floor and wincing at the disembodied tones announcing a “Code Blue”—that if one left, it would give disaster the opportunity to move in.

  It was an illogical notion. Ash was the guardian, the protector, of nothing.

  As he sat and waited, he stewed. He thought about what his father had said to him, a mere hour before he’d collapsed, and he wondered…would that be the last conversation they ever shared?

  “Sometimes you have to take risks, son. When you’re looking back at your life, what kind of landscape do you want to see?”

  What did he want? He knew he wasn’t satisfied with the way his life was now.

  Which was ludicrous.

  He could do anything he wanted. Have anything he wanted.

  But there was a problem with a life like that. It lacked structure. It certainly lacked meaning. When he woke up in the morning, he had no plan whatsoever but to please himself.

  He should be happier than a pig in shit.

  But he wasn’t.

  He ached.

  And that emptiness, well, it echoed inside him.

  Sure, he had his friends. He had a great family. He had hobbies and cars and, for fuck’s sake, a Rolex. But deep, deep down, he had nothing.

  Deep, deep down, he was utterly alone.

  And he was damn tired of it.

  Why Emily’s face popped into his mind just then was a mystery. Thankfully, it wasn’t a vision of her expression when he’d told her the brutal truth, exposed his dark heart. It was the memory of her wonder as she gazed up at those eagles, perched high in the pines, calling to their mates.