“You could say that. Dad’s going to meet us at my apartment tonight. I tried to put him off until tomorrow, but well, you know what parents are like.”
“Does he know what the police in Las Vegas are saying?” Ash asked cautiously.
I winced.
“Uh well, they wanted to question us,” I said carefully. “The theater usher reported seeing a man with a gun.
Ash’s eyes widened and he glanced away from the road to stare at me.
“They think that was me?”
“No! No, but they’re not happy we left the scene.”
Ash’s hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, and his skin looked pale beneath his tan.
“If your dad sends me back there, they’ll kill me.”
I rested my hand on his bicep, hoping my touch would reassure him.
“That won’t happen. I promise.”
The look he gave me seemed to say he didn’t believe I had the power to keep my promise.
I was horribly afraid he might be right. But I’d do everything I could.
It was frustrating. Dad hadn’t listened to a word I’d said, which didn’t bode well. But I had an idea of how to handle my father: I’d been watching my mother do it for years, and I’d learned from the best. So instead of trying to change his mind while he ranted at me, I picked up my phone again and started typing out everything that I’d seen and heard, from arriving in Las Vegas to this moment. I asked Jo to send me the photo she’d taken of Ash’s back, and added it to my file. Then I emailed everything to Dad. Hopefully, given time, he’d see how wrong he was.
Ash was driving across the undulating foothills of Nebraska before we spoke again.
“I was wondering about your tattoo,” I began.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ash twitch, as if he’d been so lost in thought that he’d forgotten I was there.
“Does it mean anything?”
Ash looked affronted. “Of course! Why would I mark my body without meaning?”
My thoughts flew to his scarred back.
Ash sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . .”
His sentence trailed off and I shook my head.
“It’s okay. But people do get tattoos because they like the picture or the words. After all, you can go into a tattoo parlor and choose one out of a book.”
“Have you got a tattoo?” Ash asked, raising one eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Because it’s not on your legs or your arms. It’s not on your neck. Where would Laney put a tattoo?”
I threw him a warning look, but Ash just grinned. I liked this Ash: playful, sexy.
“Nope, no tattoos,” I answered. “I never found anything that meant so much that I’d want to get the ink. What’s yours about?”
Ash frowned, the playful expression disappearing.
“It’s a . . . map,” he said hesitantly, struggling to express his thoughts. “A map of my life. Things that happened, important things. When I have a new part of the story, I add to it.”
He shrugged.
“I got my first when I was 16 after my mama died.”
I kept the questions light after that. We talked about music and about dancing. Endlessly about dancing. I was fascinated by this brave new world that I’d never entered before. Ash’s eyes glowed, and I saw again the man who’d claimed his place center stage in Vegas.
We talked about my work, writing student guides for school texts, and we talked about Chicago. It was a little bit like a first date; one of those tell-me-about-yourself’ conversations. And unlike a lot of guys I’d met, Ash was as interested in finding out about me as I was about him.
He was eager to see the city too, but edged with nerves because the end of the journey meant . . . neither of us knew what it meant.
As dusk fell, we stopped somewhere in the middle of Iowa. Ash could barely keep his eyes open and we were both hungry.
He climbed wearily out of the driver’s door, stretching his tall frame with a grimace. As he went around to the trunk to get my wheelchair, I called out to him.
“I think I can manage. If you’ll help me.”
“Sure,” he said, changing direction, walking around to my door and opening it.
Collin would have argued. He would have insisted on a complete and exhaustive questioning of my physical capacity, and then he’d have gotten the wheelchair for me anyway. Because he knew best.
I used to think of that as him caring, and it was, but it was controlling, too. Ash simply believed me when I said that I could walk.
His arm was warm as I held onto it. He steadied my elbow with his hand, and the distance between us was only a few inches. I could feel the heat of his body in the cool air.
Once I was standing upright, Ash slid his arm around my waist, and together, we walked toward the diner.
It occurred to me that we probably looked like a couple, so much in love we couldn’t bear to be apart for even a second.
I wondered again what would happen to us when we arrived in Chicago.
Ash
“We’re here.”
I felt Laney’s small hand on my thigh, shaking me awake.
“We’re here,” she said again.
My whole body felt drugged with sleep, but then a sharp shot of adrenaline made me sit up straighter.
Chicago!