“Why do you keep talking to him, then?”
“He’s cheap?” I joke feebly. In truth, I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times. There’s only one answer I can come up with. “Because he feels it’s important and I owe him for my sister’s life. You don’t understand what . . .” My words drift as I swallow the sharp lump in my throat. “My sister was in the car accident that killed my parents. It was bad, Ashton. Four other people died. And she almost did.” I pause to study my entwined fingers in my lap. Talking about it is still hard for me. “In a way, she did die that night. She was in the hospital for a year before she was strong enough to be released . . .” I can’t help the derisive snort and shake of my head, still bitter with the doctors who discharged her. Strong enough . . . What was she strong enough for? Lifting bottles and bongs to her lips? Pleasing more guys than I ever want to know about? Beating the hell out of a bag of sand? “My sister was lost for a long time. Years. And then Dr. Stayner—” I swallow as tears well in my eyes, trying to keep them at bay. A few slip out anyway. I rush to wipe them away but Ashton’s hand somehow beats me, his thumb brushing against my cheek quickly and gently before it pulls back to rest on his thigh again. “Dr. Stayner brought her back to me.”
There’s a very long but easy silence as I gaze out at the blue skies above and the bridge that will take us to Manhattan. “Wow, we’re already here,” I murmur absently.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t shut up,” Ashton mutters dryly, but he throws me a wink. “So that was who you were talking to before I picked you up?”
“Yeah.”
“What was so weird about it? What were you talking about?”
I sigh heavily. “You.” I notice his one hand grip the steering wheel tightly when I admit that and I quickly confirm, “I didn’t tell him anything about . . . that.” My eyes flitter to the leather strap around his wrist. “I promised you I wouldn’t.”
His Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow. “Well, then why were you talking about me?”
I look out the window with a groan. “This is so embarrassing.”
“More embarrassing than what you’ve already told me?” Ashton leans forward in his seat, fully intrigued, a curious smile on his face.
“Maybe.” Do I tell him? I stall by scratching my neck and tucking my hair behind my ears, and rubbing my forehead until Ashton finally grabs my fidgeting hand and rests it on the low console between us.
I clear my throat and I can’t help but notice that my hand is still in his. When he sees me looking at it, he squeezes tight.
“I’ll let go when you tell me.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then good luck explaining why we’re holding hands to Connor.”
“Holding hands is the least of my worries,” I mutter, before I look him straight in the face and admit, “I’m supposed to find five good qualities about you.”
His face twists up into an is-that-all look. “Why is that embarrassing?”
Looking up at the ceiling, I mutter, “Because I also have to tell you everything I’m thinking.”
There’s a long pause. Ashton adjusts himself in his seat, sliding his pelvis down so he’s slouching more, his leg bent a little more steeply. And then a wide, mischievous grin spreads across his face. “This is going to be fun.”
I’m already shaking my head in response. “No, it’s not, because I’m not doing it.”
“What?” Ashton sits up straighter, glancing at me with wide eyes. “You have to!”
“No . . .” I pry my hand out of his and fold my arms over my chest. “I don’t.”
“Well, then, how are you going to know what my five best qualities are?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me,” I answer in a wry tone.
He shrugs as if pondering that over. “You’re right, I could. Let’s see . . .” He runs his tongue over his teeth, and the knot in my stomach warns me that I’m going to regret this. “There’s the way I make a woman scream when I slide my—”
“Shut up!” He grunts as my fist flies out to punch him in the shoulder, hard.
“Seriously, Irish. Come on. This will be fun!” Ashton’s eyes sparkle, and his face beams with genuine excitement. I’ve never seen him this happy before, and I’m about to agree to anything, including Dr. Stayner’s insanity.
Until he asks, “So, do you dream about me?”
My teeth immediately clamp down on my tongue. Hard.
“You can let me out in front and I’ll just hop out,” I say as I realize he’s planning on parking.
He frowns. “Oh, no. I’m coming in.”
“Oh, is your appointment here?” Is Ashton sick? Does he need a doctor?
“No. I have a couple of hours to kill.” There’s a pause. “I figured I could meet these kids you come all the way out here to see.”
“You can’t.” I feel as if there are two worlds colliding that need to be kept separate.