She raised her left hand in the air, studying her fingers. “I want at least a one-carat diamond, just so you know. Maybe two.”
Even if I wanted to get married, I had no idea how much a ring like that would cost. Any money I had to my name was tucked away in a trust from the sale of my parents’ house and stuff. Aunt Em had power over the funds and I don’t think “big diamond ring for that chick you can’t stand” was going to convince her to let me access the money before my twenty-first birthday.
“Where do you think I’m gonna get the money for that?” I blurted out when I realized she was still describing her “dream ring.”
“You’re smart and you have two years to figure it out. It’s supposed to represent our lifetime future commitment to each other, so it has to be special. Oh!” She grasped my arm with excitement. “You should propose at my graduation party. Daddy promised to make it a huge event. With fireworks and everything. Won’t that be perfect?”
I glanced at her, studying her face. Did I want to wake up next to this girl every day for the rest of my life?
If I did, the answer should be a no-brainer, right?
That instantly made me feel shitty. If my mom were watching over me, she’d be pretty disappointed in how I’d turned out so far. Would she have liked Ashley? Or would she have sided with Aunt Em?
Don’t go there.
“…then I can start college as Mrs. Logan Randall.” Ashley raised her hand like she was spelling it out in neon lights. “We’ll get an apartment near campus and it’ll be perfect…”
As her voice droned on and on, I slowly tuned out.
Mrs. Logan Randall.
I’d had a few years to get used to the new name. I liked Randall better anyway. It gave me a connection to my mom as well as Uncle Boone and Aunt Em. Even though it had all been done legally when they’d officially adopted me, sometimes, I still felt like a fraud or a criminal in hiding.
The warm way Ashley described the life we could have together thawed my heart. I could almost picture what she described. Almost.
Ashley was trying to plan our future—although I wasn’t sure I wanted the picture she was painting—and she didn’t even know my real name or anything about me deeper than my jersey number.
All right, she knew more than that. But not much. It was all superficial stuff.
I cleared my throat, halting her description of the perfect wedding dress.
“Randall isn’t actually the last name I was born with.” The awkward words poured out of me slowly.
Her restless movements stopped. “What are you talking about?”
“My aunt and uncle adopted me and gave me their name after my parents died.”
“Why didn’t I know this?”
Because it wasn’t any of your business.
I shrugged off her question, already starting to regret opening my mouth. I should’ve let her keep going on about diamonds, dresses, and wedding cakes. “I don’t like to talk about it much.”
She rested her chin on my chest and stared up at me with wide, interested eyes. “Well, what is your real last name?”
“Randall’s real and legal. I’m just saying I had another one.” I never should’ve brought this up.
“How’d your parents die again?”
Shame, thick and rancid as used oil, slid over my skin. Ashley’s family was picture-perfect, right down to the golden retriever and white picket fence around the mayor’s mansion.
Why should I be ashamed? I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was nothing like my father. I hated him and what he’d done. I’d never turn out like him.
I wanted a deeper connection to someone. Wanted her to know who I really was.
Was I in love with Ashley? Did I even know what love was?
Sure I did. Uncle Boone showed me in thousands of different ways the things you do for the woman you love. The way he’d get up early when it snowed and make sure Aunt Em’s car was cleaned off before he left for work. Didn’t matter if she planned to leave the house or not, he always made sure it was ready for her to drive. He wasn’t a flowers kinda guy. Boone Randall was into practical but thoughtful gifts and gestures. And he didn’t wait for special occasions to spoil his wife. If she mentioned a book she wanted to read, he’d come home with it the next day. A restaurant she wanted to try, he’d have a reservation that Friday night.
There was also the tender way he cared for her when she was sick. And how he never let her see him cry when her symptoms got really bad.
I wasn’t sure I was in love with Ashley. But her carefree manner had a way of helping me forget. Her presence in my life buried the pain of my past deeper every day. Her beauty pushed the ugliness away. Her constant chatter dulled the noise in my head.
It wasn’t fair to keep holding her at arm’s length. If I didn’t let her in, I’d never figure out if I loved her.
So I decided to open up.
I pulled her closer, took a deep breath, and started talking.
By the time I finished an abbreviated version of the story, Ashley had gone pale and silent. I didn’t recount every ugly detail but there’s no pretty way to say, ‘my dad blew my mom’s head off then turned the gun on himself and left me to find them after school one day.’
Her terrified eyes instantly filled me with regret. Why couldn’t I have said they died in a car accident or something normal?
What made me think I needed to form a deeper connection or that baring my soul was the way to do it?
She rolled off the mattress and pulled on her clothes. “Wow. What a shockingly violent thing for a kid to go through.”
Yeah, no shit.
She stopped and ran her gaze over me. “I guess you better go so you can make curfew.”
Was she serious? After I just bared my soul?
Usually, Ashley was begging me to stay.
But I couldn’t sleep over. Not because of my aunt and uncle. I’d made up the lie about a curfew because it was an easy excuse.
The real reason? I still had nightmares. Not every night like right after my parents died, but often. It was embarrassing enough to have Jensen overhear them, but since he was still wrestling with his own nocturnal demons, we were good at pretending we didn’t hear each other’s suffering. There was no way in hell I'd risk Ashley waking up to me yelling and thrashing around. And tonight's conversation was sure to invite the monsters into my brain.
“Sure.” I dressed quickly and kissed her cheek.
She pulled away.
That was also new. Ashley was always clingy when I had to leave.
Lead continued to settle in my gut.
All the way home, I replayed the conversation.
“What’s wrong?” Jensen asked. “Thought you’d be in a better mood after Ashley sucked you dry.”
“Look who’s talking about being moody.” I punched his shoulder. “Besides, she doesn’t do that.”
“No? You just stick it in, pump a few times, and flood her womb with your seed?”
I gagged at his description. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
No matter how he distracted me with our gross conversation, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d made a huge mistake.
Chapter Twelve