Keep On Loving you (24 page)

“Say what?”

“Your mother told me I was the one who'd have to tell you,” his father muttered. “And maybe I should wait, but seeing you with that young woman...”

Ash had never seen his father like this. Stressed-out and strung-tight. Something big had surely pushed him to the edge. “Tell me what?” Ash demanded. “What's going on, Dad?”

Then his father spoke, revealing information that rocked Ash's world. When the other man walked off, Ash felt angry, betrayed and literally ill. Standing there alone again, his only cohesive thought was that the designs for the life he'd been anticipating ten minutes before had completely evaporated.

Because how could he plan for a future when his past was a complete fraud?

* * *

T
ILDA
HEARD
A
SH
'
S
footsteps approach their booth and looked up. Everything inside her went colder than her apartment at midnight in midwinter. She put off questioning him for a moment, holding on to the day, the rightness of the two of them together for another fifteen seconds. The elevator experience had been funny and fun, the helicopter flight exhilarating, but the best part was, by Ash giving those to her, he'd told her something important.

That he'd seen her.

For months, she'd been the household help who cleaned up after other people, soundlessly, efficiently. Mac said their goal was to give homeowners the impression their houses were tended by magic and they did this by not leaving so much as a fingerprint on stainless steel or a footprint in a plush rug. If the homeowners were in residence, they put their phones on vibrate and returned calls away from the house so the sound of their voices wouldn't be in the air.

Working the catering gigs had been the same. She'd been paid to be a convenience in the life of the host, like an appliance or a piece of furniture.

With Ash, it was different. He'd seen her and heard her. Knew her.

They're the walls of your world
, he'd said about the mountains.
But there's more to see and do and discover outside the gates.

Thanks to him, she'd begun dreaming of that other world. She'd begun to truly believe she wasn't trapped by poverty and circumstance and that another life awaited her, all because he'd found value in her.

Now she knew if she had that life, it would be without him.

Because she could see, too, and that fact was written all over his face. Dread formed a lump in the pit of her stomach, joining the ever-present guilt that she'd been trying to ignore since he'd returned to her bed. “What's wrong?” she asked. She had to say something.

“Every fucking thing,” he muttered. Then he drew in a deep breath. “I have to take you home.”

Of course Tilda didn't protest. There was no point. Hadn't she always known, in her heart of hearts, that it would come to this? So the ride back was silent. When they reached her apartment's parking lot, she slid a look at him, committing to memory the classic handsomeness of his face, the burnished golden-brown of his hair.

The tires of the car crunched on the gravel, then all went silent as he braked. Ignoring the burn behind her eyes, Tilda gathered her belongings and reached for the door handle.

“Wait,” he said. “I...I should explain.”

“You don't—”

“I should. I have to.” He lifted both hands, then slammed the heels of them against the steering wheel. “Fuck! This is all so fucked up.”

“Ash...”

He turned his head and his tension was clear in the way his flesh seemed stretched over the elegant bones of his face. “I don't even know who the hell I am anymore.”

Her temples pounded. “What happened?”

“What I know is I've been an ass.”

“No—”

“Yes. I thought my life was so golden. I thought decent and deserving Ash has all this great stuff going for him.”

“You are decent and deserving.”

“I said I didn't look down on you, Tilda, but...shit, of course I did.”

Directing her gaze to her lap, Tilda twined her fingers around each other there, meshing them so tight her knuckles turned white.

“Mr. Fucking Perfect was going to share with you all the good things he had because of the good people who had raised his fucking golden self. I was going to persuade you to go to Europe with me.”

Her head came up. She stared at him.

“Yeah. Where you could have an opportunity to better yourself.”

“You thought that?” she asked, her face going hot.

“Not in so many words. But boy, was I feeling magnanimous. Ready to share with you all the glory that was Ashton Robbins, son of John Fucking Robbins.” His laugh was short and raw. “But in truth, John Robbins was fucking another woman. The man I've admired and wanted to emulate my entire life has been fooling around behind my mom's back for years. He confessed to her today, and then he told me.”

“I...I'm sorry, Ash.” What else could she say?

He stared out the windshield, his expression stony. “I feel dirty just knowing it. I feel stupid, too. Betrayed and bitter and fucking tainted by him, John Fucking Robbins.”

“It's not your fault. It has nothing to do with you. It doesn't change
you
.” All phrases she'd said to herself, over and over and over.

“Like hell it doesn't change me. Because you won't want to look at me again once I tell you...” He glanced away from her again, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

She swallowed. “Tell me what?”

His fingers curled into fists, and then he faced her again. “The woman my old man had an affair with—an affair that began, by the way, when I was sixteen years old—was
your mother
.”

Tilda recoiled. Not because the news was new, but hearing Ash's vitriol toward his father and the words
your mother
in the same tone stabbed deep. Guilt shot from her belly toward her throat, choking her.

Ash's eyes widened. “Shit. I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have said anything to you about it...”

She bolted from the car. It wasn't Ash or his apology or even her own misery she was trying to escape.

It was the glimpse of a shiny future she'd been given that had now been so cruelly snatched away.

* * *

T
HREE
NIGHTS
LATER
, Ash took the stool at the end of the bar at Mr. Frank's. The man on the other side didn't even bother asking what he wanted. For the third night in a row he slid him a draft beer, one of the first Ash planned on drinking. Thank God there was a taxi service to take his drunk ass home.

The bartender had been making those calls on Ash's behalf. Yeah, so blotto his fingers wouldn't work on his phone.

He was doing his best to silence the thoughts that spun in his head like a carousel. A few beers and he hoped he wouldn't be plagued by the decision that had to be made.

His mom wanted him to continue with his plan to go to London.

They hadn't hashed over the details of his father's affair. She said she wanted to keep him out of the middle and that she didn't want to do or say anything that might damage his relationship with his dad.

Ash didn't know if they'd ever have a relationship again. His father had been what Ash considered the model of integrity and loyalty and now he didn't think he could even look at his dad.

But then again, he couldn't look at himself.

Avoiding the mirror hanging over the back of the bar, he downed half the beer in one long swallow. Then a voice called his name and he closed his eyes, wishing he could avoid
her
, too.

“Go away, Tilda.”

“I have some things I need to say.”

The air around him moved and he knew she'd taken the empty stool beside his. Eyes still closed, he heard her ask the bartender for a Diet Coke.

“The evening's not going to get better if you stick with that, sweetheart,” he murmured to her.

“How's all that beer working out for you?”

He opened one eye and rolled it her way.

She shrugged. “Mountain grapevine.”

Instead of answering, he downed the rest of his beer, then indicated to the bartender he'd take another. “Tequila chaser.” It was going to be that kind of night, unless Tilda took her pretty ass out of the place.

When her cola came, she settled more firmly onto her stool.

“I'm sorry,” he said, keeping his gaze on the bar where his shot of blue agave–based alcohol should show up any second. He owed her that apology. “I can be a hothead, and I just spewed all that out without thinking about your feelings. Maybe if I'd given it a second thought, I would have broken things off more...gently. At least I would have found a better way to tell you the truth.”

Her deep breath was audible. “Don't blame yourself for that.” She took in another. “That's why I'm here, to tell you things
you
should know.”

That drew his complete attention. Those beautiful green eyes were big in her face. Her bottom lip looked swollen, as if she'd been worrying it. She looked as if she'd been worrying, period.

“Tilda,” he said, “I messed up.
I
was messed up after what my father told me, then I messed up when we talked. None of this is on you.”

“It's all on me,” she whispered. “It's all on me...and more.”

His shoulders cramped with tension, his muscles prepping his body for blows he could sense in the offing. “What? No, don't tell me.” Hadn't he had enough crappy news? “I don't think we should talk about this.”

She ignored him. “First, you need to know that you did share good things with me. You gave me pleasure and acceptance and you made me feel beautiful in my dollar shoes and discount clothes.”

“You
are
beautiful.”

“I thought you were out of my league, but you made me believe I could be a member of any one I want. You did that just by listening to me, Ash.”

His head started pounding and a vise clamped down on the back of his neck. “Tilda—”

She held up a hand. “Let me have my say, please.” Her fingers reached for her drink, curled around it. “My mother...”

Ash saw that his tequila shot had been delivered and he didn't hesitate to knock it back. “Let's not go there. I don't blame her—”

“She poured drinks at the yacht club on Tuesday and Thursday nights. That's where she met your father. I don't know if he lied to her about being married, but I can tell you she wouldn't have cared. He wasn't her first lover who was someone else's husband. She wanted attention—I guess to be seen in her own way—and she liked the presents and the cash she was given by men like your dad.”

Ash frowned. “Wait—”

“She didn't have much of anything, including self-esteem, though that doesn't excuse her having an affair with your father. I...I'm ashamed of her.”

“Are you...” He blinked. Blinked again. “Are you saying you knew?”

“And I'm ashamed of me, too. Deeply. I'm so, so sorry.”

The tequila was moving in his belly like a fire-breathing monster. “You knew. When—”
Fuck.
Was it so? It had to be so. “You knew that night last May.”

“You introduced yourself. I never met your father face-to-face... I tried to stay out of sight when he came to the apartment, but the walls were thin, and I heard him talk about his son on occasion. His son, Ash.”

The walls were thin.
Ash thought he might be sick. He pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. “Why the hell did you go back to the hotel with me?”

“Last spring my mother was getting too clingy with your dad. I heard it in her voice, I heard them argue. He broke things off and she...she stopped caring for herself as she should. She got sick and that sickness turned into an infection that caused her death.”

Groaning, he let his head drop back.

“It wasn't your fault. It wasn't even your dad's fault. Not really. But that night... I wanted to punish someone and it turns out I did it to both you and to me.”

“Yeah,” he said, putting it all together now, the whole series of events coming into painful, nauseating focus. “No wonder you didn't want to see me again when I came back here. I thought we'd made a connection and you thought...” Christ, he didn't know. What the hell
had
she thought?

“I thought I was finding some way to ease my hurt and loneliness and... I don't know, Ash. I was grieving and upset.”

“And I was a fool.”

“No,” she said quickly. “That night you were fun and game for dancing and I liked you, truly. You didn't deserve what I did.”

“Fucked me so hard I passed out?” he asked bitterly.

“What I did after that.”

His body went rigid again, bracing. “What did you do after?”

“I made there ever being an us impossible. This last week, I've been kidding myself that we could somehow get past everything, and that I could give you something as powerful as you've given me and we could...could go somewhere with that.”

If he didn't feel the darkest of dark clouds hanging over his head, maybe he'd be gratified to know that the past week had been good for her, too. If he could believe her about that. If he could believe anyone about fucking anything.

His father was an adulterer.

His girl was a liar.

“Even while I was trying so hard to believe we could be something, guilt has been eating me up inside because...” She hauled in a breath. “Because I stole from you that first night, Ash.”

His girl was a thief?

He turned his head and his whole body went cold. “What do you mean?” Because yeah, his belief in other people's honesty was gone, gone, gone.

“That money...the four hundred dollars you thought you'd tipped the room service person?” She didn't flinch from his gaze. “I took that before I left. I can't explain why. I've never stolen anything in my life. But it was sitting on the dresser and when I grabbed up my purse...I just grabbed the stack of twenties, too.”