by B. Cranford
He couldn’t honestly believe he was saying as much as he was, and to Ashton. Though, he and Aaron hadn’t ever really done the heart-to-heart thing in college or in the time since. So, really, if he was going to open up to anyone, why not her?
Why not the girl who never completely left his thoughts?
Maybe he was grasping at straws. Maybe making more of those days than he should, or more of their night so far, but here, in her apartment over The Avenue, he felt more at ease than he had of late, despite the deep talk and the pregnancy bombshell.
“So, how long are you staying—and where?”
“I haven’t figured it out yet. I didn’t make many plans. I’m going to call Aaron tomorrow and see if I can crash with him and Simon for a bit.”
“Relive your college experience?”
“If by that you mean listen to them having noisy sex in the next room, then yeah, sure.”
“It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
He didn’t reply, quirking an eyebrow at her, noting with amused relief that he hadn’t endured a permanent injury when his brows had reacted so aggressively to her post-sex announcement.
“Okay, I see that.” She laughed, a happy sound that helped the tension that had been building and building since they sat down to loosen a little. “I lived with them when I graduated and you’re right. Noisy sex. Often.” She leaned in close, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “It’s a wonder they could talk for all the yelling and walk from all the pounding.”
Her hand finally uncovered his, only to slap over her mouth, as if she was shocked she’d said what she’d said. But her eyes were amused and playful, and he knew she didn’t regret it, so he laughed along with her, enjoying this moment, this break from their talk.
Through her laughter, she spoke again. “If it gets too much, you can stay here.”
He didn’t know if she was offering to be kind or because she wanted him here or out of obligation, so he simply nodded. “Thanks, Kitten.”
“I can’t believe you’re still calling me that.”
“I can’t help it. It stuck. You’ll forever be my Kitten.” My Kitten. He hadn’t meant it the way it came across, knowing from the way Ashton’s breathing stuttered that she’d caught the possessive, but he couldn’t deny how good it sounded.
Or how much harder making it a reality might be, now that she was expecting someone else’s baby.
Ashton cleared her throat, trying to work out how to navigate what came next. The plan was for him to spend the night—on the couch, she’d assumed, when he’d invited himself—but now . . .
“You tired?” Duncan’s voice pierced her thoughts, her dilemma over sleeping arrangements. “It’s late, and you’ve had a long day.”
Part of her bristled at the implication she couldn’t manage, but she had had a long day and the night had been a whirlwind of endorphins and emotions and, well, sex. “Are yo–you staying or . . .” She let the question trail off after stumbling over the words. She wanted him to stay. Maybe she hadn’t at first but now, she wanted him to curl up next to her in her sex-messed bed and just be there.
It had been so long since someone had just been there.
“I’d like to. If you’ll have me.” His reply was simple, giving her the chance to lay the ground rules.
But she didn’t. Instead, she nodded and stood from the table, walking around to his side and holding out a hand. The silent invitation was accepted without hesitation and, as she led him back to her room, she felt a shiver of anticipation.
Maybe it wouldn’t go anywhere beyond this night. Maybe it was just a blip on the radar and Duncan would realize that his life was still in the city.
Or maybe it was the start of something.
Whatever it might end up being, Ashton knew, in that moment, it was something she’d never forget—and always cherish.
Lord, the hormones are making me sappy. A snicker escaped her at the errant thought and Duncan’s hand squeezed hers.
“Ash?” he questioned, no doubt wondering what she was laughing at as they stopped at the end of her bed, their bodies facing one another, their eyes locking in contact, creating a spark between them.
“Sorry, I was just thinking about all the ways this pregnancy is making me act not myself.”
“So you don’t often bring old friends to your apartment and jump them?”
“Not often, no. Once, twice a month.”
His smile was wide and impossible not to return, but after a couple of beats, she began to feel a little strange. And not just because they were standing there, partially dressed in a room that still smelled like their earlier activities, smiling goofily at one another.
No, it was because—
“Oh, dammit, not again,” she blurted, dropping Duncan’s hand to raise it to her mouth and sprinting for the bathroom. Her throat burned, her stomach bubbled and her mouth flooded with saliva—all sure signs that she was about to pray to the porcelain gods.
She made it in just enough time to throw up the toilet lid and drop to her knees, leaning over the bowl as her dinner made a reappearance. The sound of splashing coupled with the acidic smell didn’t help her situation, causing dry heaves and watery eyes.
Kill me now, she begged, hating that the sickness could hit hard and fast and whenever it chose. But when a cool, damp cloth was placed against the back of her neck, the thought dissipated. For the first time in weeks—since she found out she was pregnant—she wasn’t by herself in her apartment when morning sickness possessed her body and turned her into the exorcist.
Of course, it was also the first time in weeks—no, months—that she hadn’t been alone in her apartment. And there was something to be said for the warm, comforting presence of another person.
Especially when that person was currently running a hand up and down her back, not speaking or asking if she was okay or commenting on the admittedly gross way she had just defiled the toilet. He was just there, and she was just realizing that this was only one of the things she’d be missing as a single pregnant lady and then again as a single mom.
I could get used to this. It was a fleeting thought and one that made her wonder—not for the first time—if she was cut out to do this alone.
No, she scolded herself, no. You wanted this, you want this and you don’t need him. It’s nice, yes. But you’re strong and you’re smart and you’re going to kick ass at this pregnancy thing.
The inner pep talk did wonders for her flagging confidence. She did want to do this, alone or not. It had been the right choice for her.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to enjoy this moment for a little while longer.
She’d been silent for about fifteen minutes when Duncan decided it was probably time to get her to move to the bed. The cool, hard tile of her bathroom floor wasn’t exactly a soft place to land after a long day, and they were both tired.
Well, he knew he was and he assumed she was too, given the way she’d started yawning after the Technicolor yawn that had led them into her bathroom.
“Are you ready to get up, Kitten?” he asked, stopping the rhythmic rubbing of her back. It wasn’t an entirely altruistic action—he enjoyed touching her and watching the goosebumps rise on her skin as he did. “We can’t sleep in here.”
Her “yeah” was soft and sleepy, so he stood, holding out a hand for her to grasp. He pulled her to her feet, but she overshot the mark and landed squarely in his arms. Which was just fine by him. She tilted her head up just enough to be able to look at him, and smiled, a wordless thank you.
“Come on,” he said, letting her go reluctantly, but she didn’t move. “Ash?”
“I, ah, need a second.” Her smile held but turned sheepish, as she gestured first to the toilet and then to the sink. “I just need to take care of a couple of things.”
He closed the door behind him, giving her privacy, before making his way to the bed. Pulling the scattered covers back over the mattress and giving the illusion of a made bed,
he propped himself on the edge, waiting. When she stepped back into the room, his eyes glided over her, wanting to take her in. He’d held her and kissed her and fucked her, then he’d watched her vomit and dry heave, and he still thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Ready for bed?” he asked, unnecessarily. She was, he was, they were. It was just a matter of getting between the sheets. “Which side?”
“Left.” She confirmed what he’d already suspected based on the half-read book on the bedside table, and walked over to slip beneath the covers.
He waited until she was settled before he joined her in the bed, easing closer to her by degrees, giving her a chance to move away. Her body started to shift and Duncan froze, thinking that she was telling him with her movements that she didn’t want him too close, but instead, she settled on her side, her back facing him, and asked him to spoon her. “Do you mind?” she asked, softly, as if he’d turn down the request if she spoke it too loud.
He moved into position behind her, acknowledging the press of her ass against his dick—a dick that was stirring to life again, just because she was near—and wrapped an arm over her waist to pull her closer, to erase that last centimeter of space separating them.
“I like this,” she whispered, and the words made his heart speed up. He liked it, too, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He was holding back, he knew it, but nothing was settled. Not even close, given the fact that he still lived states away and she was having a baby in a matter of months.
Instead of answering, he settled on kissing the back of her neck, her hair still swept up and away. Her sigh, and the way her body relaxed in his arms, added further speed to his heart, the pounding becoming so insistent, it was a wonder she didn’t comment on it. After all, her back was pressed firmly against him.
She fell asleep long before he did, her breaths becoming steady and even and peaceful. Laying there, holding her in his arms in her bed, was the last place he was expecting to end up tonight, but as he finally drifted away, he couldn’t help but think that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
The light streaming under the door told Ashton that Andrew was just beyond. She smiled at the taste of his name on her tongue, still so new and such a wonderful novelty, as she called out to him.
“Andrew?”
No answer. Which was strange, but perhaps he was listening to music or watching a movie or . . .
That couldn’t be right. The door didn’t lead to a recreation room. That was the nursery, where the baby slept soundly. So, why was he in there? Did the baby need her and she didn’t realize?
God, she’d been so tired when she went to bed, exhausted from she-couldn’t-remember-what.
She walked up to the door on silent feet, not making a sound. She didn’t want to wake the baby, after all. Just the thought made her cringe, then smile. A crying baby, her crying baby wasn’t her favorite thing but any excuse to cradle the little one close and inhale that delicious baby scent was welcome.
Pressed up to the door, she listened carefully, but no noise met her ears. “Andrew,” she repeated, a whisper-shout that heeded no answer.
Where is he? She was sure he was supposed to be there; it was one of those certainties that she’d never question. This was his place, with her.
Wasn’t it?
Doubt crawled up her spine, sending a wave of uneasiness over her. Her hand moved to the doorknob, gingerly turning it to make as little noise as possible, but when the door opened, the room was empty.
Except for the cell phone resting in the center of the crib where the baby should have been sleeping.
“Baby?” she called out, panic overtaking the uneasiness and making her entire being vibrate.
But no, she wasn’t vibrating.
The phone in the crib was.
She raced over to it, determined to find out what was going on and where her family—her baby and Andrew—were. The screen was lit but blank, like the image that should have been there had been erased. Still, she swiped at the screen and raised the phone to her ear, her voice a high-pitched plea as she answered, “Andrew, hello? Where are you?”
No answer.
She tried again, forcing a calm into her words she didn’t feel. “Andrew. Are you there?”
Still no answer, but as she opened her mouth to ask, again, if it was him, if he was there or anywhere, she heard a voice she’d nearly forgotten.
It was feminine and somewhat brittle. It held contempt and anger and a bitterness that felt wrong, wrong, wrong.
“A single mother is a disgrace. You’re a disgrace. You are no longer my daughter, Ashton Marie Andrews.”
Her mom. “No, Mommy, no, wait.” She began begging, hating that the need to have her mother’s approval still existed but feeling so . . .
Lost.
She was lost.
The baby was gone.
Andrew was gone.
Her family . . . was gone.
Ashton jolted awake, sitting upright and staring into the dark of her room. She was alone; Duncan was nowhere to be seen, and a quick scan of the floor surrounding her bed told her his clothes were gone, too.
He’d left. Why? She didn’t know but if she were to guess, she’d assume it had something to do with the whole “I’m pregnant” thing. And honestly, she didn’t blame him. She knew through her brother that he’d been caring for his sister for years and was now on his own, so he probably didn’t want to take on another woman in need.
Except Ashton wasn’t in need. She was just fine doing it alone, so she wasn’t going to lose any sleep over him.
That dream, though. She might lose sleep over it.
It had been a long, long time since she’d thought of, let alone dreamed of, her mother. They didn’t speak. Exchanging Christmas cards wasn’t on the agenda either. There was no contact at all. And she was fine with it, mostly.
She was trying to work through all the facets of her dream when her bedroom door opened, Duncan’s body filling the frame and making her heart trip over itself. Her voice took on a breathy tone that she was mildly impressed by.
Who else but Duncan could make her sound like she was Marilyn Monroe after completing a full marathon?
“I thought you’d left.”
“Where would I go? Your brother doesn’t know I’m here, nothing worth doing is open yet and also, I’m not an asshole. I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. And asking if the bacon in your fridge is any good.”
She laughed at that. “It’s probably fine. It’s been”—she counted back the days on her hand, trying to remember the last time she ate bacon—“you know what? Maybe don’t eat the bacon.”
“Noted. Since it’s only a bit after eight, maybe I’ll just come back to bed?”
She nodded, lying back on the bed and feeling the mattress dip as he joined her. His hand met hers over the covers and their fingers intertwined easily, naturally. She sighed, slipping back into slumber quickly.
Duncan grinned at his friend across the table. He and Ashton had gone back to sleep that morning, waking close to lunchtime, and now he was catching up with Aaron. He’d called him as he was leaving Ashton’s apartment and hadn’t quite mentioned that he’d already visited his buddy’s sister.
And by hadn’t quite, he meant he hadn’t at all.
He was going to work his way up to it.
“Man, you sure know how to surprise a guy. When’d you get in?” Aaron carefully unfolded the napkin he’d plucked from under his cutlery, and dropped it neatly on his lap.
“Last night. Late-ish.”
“Where’d you stay?”
The question was one he wasn’t ready to answer yet, mainly because he wasn’t sure how Aaron would take it.
At your sister’s place. I invited myself, she jumped me, we had what was undoubtedly the best sex of my life, she told me she was pregnant and then, this morning, I kissed her goodbye but made no promises because I don’t even know what’s going to happen.<
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Yeah, Aaron could be completely fine. Or he could lose his shit. And since Duncan was hoping for the first and trying to avoid the second, he decided to evade the question by looking down at the menu and asking, “What’s good here?”
“Ashton’s, huh?”
Duncan’s eyes flew up. “I—you—no?” The answer was unconvincing, likely because it came out as a question and because he had stayed there. “What makes you think that?”
Aaron rolled his eyes while shaking his head, disbelief practically oozing from his pores. Pores Duncan was sure his friend took extra good care of—he’d often heard how important skin care was when they’d lived together. “Because I’m not an idiot.”
“I never said you were.” Which, technically, he hadn’t. Though he kind of wished Aaron was an idiot. But, oh well, he may as well as just get it over with. “Yeah, I stayed with her.”
“Thank you, Jesus.” A flashy display of mock prayer followed. “It’s been a long fucking time coming, and then, bam! You move fast for someone who moved so slow.”
Duncan cocked his head, trying that statement on for size. Moved slow? It wasn’t like he’d been pining over Ashton for years, biding his time before making his move, so what the hell was he on about?
“I might not be an idiot, but you sure are.”
Aaron’s words were mocking, and Duncan couldn’t help but bristle. “And you figure this because?”
“Um, let’s see, shall we? You two were practically inseparable when she stayed with us, and the way you looked at each other—I mean, if you hadn’t been you and she hadn’t been a girl and my sister, I think I would have exploded from the sexual tension in the air. It was ridiculous.”
“It was no—”
“It. Was. Ridiculous.”
“And, so what? That was years ago. I moved on and so did she.”
“She hooked up with a tiny-dicked cheater who made her put everything on hold for him because he was a dickless wonder.”
“Wait, was he tiny-dicked or dickless?”
“Doesn’t matter, you idiot.” Aaron rolled his eyes again, his exasperation increasing. “What I mean is, you moved on to a job you pretty much hate and the care of a sister who is, I’m sorry, gone now. And she moved on to Nathan”—he punctuated the name with a shudder that shook the table between them—“but neither of you landed in something serious. Relationship-wise,” he added hastily, clearly not wanting to lessen the impact of Kennedy’s illness and care.