Page 76 of Puck to the Heart
Did she read my fucking mind? With a scowl, I crossed my arms over my chest, kicking the leg of the table, more petulant teenager than grown ass adult.
Fire ignited in her eyes, the blue sparking like a lit match. Shoving a final sad fry in her mouth, she stood and crossed to me. When she settled herself in my lap, her weight was a grounding comfort. One arm settled over my shoulders, and with her other hand, she ran her fingers through my hair.
Instead of admitting how much it relaxed me, I made a grumpy sound at her instead.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want me to stop?”
As if they had a mind of their own, my arms snaked around her waist, and I shook my head.
“Hmm.” She hummed in response, her fingers sliding through my hair again. Relief slowly trickled down the back of my neck and into my limbs until breathing came easier again.
Olivia’s familiar citrusy vanilla perfume enveloped me when she leaned my head to rest on her chest. The long curtain of her hair fell over her shoulder, blocking out the rest of the world.
A long sigh pulled all the hard-won air out of my lungs.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“It’s okay, you know.”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” A snap in my voice I rarely used cracked the space between us.
“Okay.” With a flick, she slung her hair back over her shoulder.
I should tell her how much I’d fucked up being captain for the first time. I should tell her how shitty it felt to let everyone down, at how badly I screwed up. At how certain I was this was my last chance and now I’d be stuck as Asher the Basher forever. Never getting the chance to be something greater.
Words caught in my mouth, refusing to speak about the failures plaguing me.
“Alright, come on, get up.” She pressed a soft kiss to my cheek and stood, holding out her hand.
I took it, and she pulled until I stood, rumpled and dejected, before her. Her arms wrapped around me, holding tightly, and she held me there until I did the same.
A few moments later, the waiter returned with more food. Olivia tipped him, ushering him out the door.
“Okay, Wilder. Change out of your fancy pants.”
When I didn’t move, she gave me a gentle push toward my suitcase. “Come on, before the food gets cold again.” Weirdly grateful for her bossiness, I did as she commanded. “We’re eating this in bed and watching a sitcom. They’re always on this time of night.”
“You don’t have to stay.” My voice muffled as I pulled the grey t-shirt over my head, not wanting to see her face when I spoke.Ididn’t want to be around me right now, so I didn’t imagine she did either.
“Absolutely not.” I raised a brow at the command in her voice. “We’re lying on the bed, stuffing our faces, and debating the merits of Ross and Rachel or Chandler and Monica. The age-old debate. Even though Ross is the literal worst.” A moment of silence while she poured water into a glass. Ice clinked. “It’s what I do when I’m—I don’t know… sad. Tired. Mad at myself. All of the above.” Earnest blue eyes reflected the glowing yellow lamp light, her wide-eyed gaze all concern and awareness. Her understanding and acceptance of my mood rather than trying to pep-talk me nearly knocked me off my feet in relief.
My original plannever included staying overnight with Ash in the hotel, eating questionable amounts of room service and binging old TV shows. But watching him sink so deeply into his melancholy concerned me. In the catalog of Ash Wilder emotions, forlorn wasn’t one I’d experienced. Logic would say of course, I hadn’t seen him so despondent before; we hadn’t known each other long enough to go through something so strenuous.
But.
But it was concerning. The depth of his despair felt oceanic and insurmountable rather than a puddle eventually drying up in sunshine. And usually, he was so quick to brush things off, but it settled on him, still sinking its claws deep in his mind. Even after sleeping, his demeanor was dimmer than usual.
My heart ached for Ash. If he would let me carry some of the weight for him, I would. But he wouldn’t. And I didn’t know how to help, either. The inability to fix a problem stretched beneath my skin, an itch too deep to scratch.
All I came up with was, “Breakfast!”
He grumbled and rolled away, and for a moment, I watched him. Vining tattoos climbed the length of his arms, stark against the white sheets where they rested, the lines of muscles visible through the clinging grey fabric of an athletic shirt. He really was beautiful, even when he was ignoring me, and I was hungry.
“Come on! Omelets, Wilder. Coffee.Bacon.”
“Mmph.” Ash pulled the pillow over his eyes.
