Page 117 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

“So, Collin,” Ash’s mom starts when the bathroom door closes. “How did you meet our Ashlyn?”

“Actually, my name’s Colt,” I correct her. “ And we met when Ash was my tutor for a while.”

“Colt?” She frowns, her expression flooding with embarrassment. “Yes. I apologize. I’m terrible with names.”

“It’s fine. Ash warned me you aren’t the best with them.”

“It’s awful. Wade got me this necklace to help me retain information.” She toys with a white and orange crystal hanging on a gold chain around her neck. “Unfortunately, names still seem to slip my mind despite the calcite’s healing properties. What was her last boyfriend’s name again?”

“Lucas?” her dad chirps. “Or was it Landon?”

Tapping her finger against her chin, she narrows her gaze. “Lockland?”

“No,” Ash’s dad returns, shaking his head. “That wasn’t it.”

“Logan,” I answer. “His name was Logan.”

“Right!” Ash’s mom snaps her fingers and smiles back at me like I correctly answered the final question on a game show. “I’m impressed you knew that. We didn’t have a chance to meet him, but I guess it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

“It did,” I agree.

“But she brought you home,” she adds. Her long blonde hair has strings of silver woven through it. It swishes to one side and almost reaches her hip as she tilts her head, and looks me up and down. She’s pretty in a free spirit kind of way. No makeup. A long, flowy skirt. She’s a flower child through and through, and her husband isn’t any different. But if they think I’m not serious about their daughter––or I’m anything like Logan––they’re wrong.

“Or, I guess since you’re the one who called, you invited yourself,” Wade clarifies.

“I did,” I announce, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “I love Ashlyn.”

The sentiment feels foreign on my tongue, but good, too. Like I was made to say it. To love her. I probably should’ve told Ash before blurting it out to her parents, but it’s too late now. They need to know my relationship with Ash is the real deal. I’m not going anywhere.

“As do we. She’s our strong, independent daughter,” Wade announces, tucking his left hand into his tan linen fisherman pants as his eyes light up with pride.

And I think he’s telling the truth, which leaves me with a hell of a lot more questions than answers.

It doesn’t make sense. How they perceive their relationship versus how Ashlyn does. Not to mention my brief conversation with Angelica yesterday. It felt like pulling teeth to get her to agree to let us stay for a night.

My attention shifts to the still closed bathroom door where their strong, independent daughter is collecting herself after their shitty comment. It’s painted with black, yellow, and gold, and the walls on each side of it are decorated with two massive portraits of Native Americans in their traditional headdresses, their faces painted with courage and determination.

I siphon a bit for myself and blurt out, “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Not at all,” Wade returns.

“Why don’t you ever call her back?”

Angelica’s brows pinch. “Excuse me?”

“When she calls. When she reaches out. You never call her back. You never ask about her day or how she’s doing. You don’t even bother to remember her boyfriend’s name.”

“I––excuse me?” she stutters. Probably surprised by my audacity.

Then again, so am I.

“We even showed up a few minutes ago, and you said you were going to a vegan place, only inviting us to join like it was an afterthought,” I continue.

Wade’s jaw clenches. “Listen, Collin––”

“Colt,” I correct him. “My name’s Colt. Although, honestly? I don’t give a shit what you call me because I don’t care. All I care about is your daughter and her happiness.”

“And you think we don’t care about our daughter’s happiness?”

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