Page 106 of Desiring an Angel

It had taken me a night of no sleep on the uncomfortable couch while staring through the darkness with gritty eyes to realize not communicating feelings wasn’t smart or a sign of strength.

It was stupid, an almost unforgivable weakness.

Stifling emotions equaled withholding the truth, thus a lie. And I’d been dishonest in that regard almost my entire life.

Casting blame on my parents would be easy, but that would be feebleness as well…and I could prove myself strong in other ways.

By owning my shortcomings.

Claiming the title of selfish asshole aloud for both Ash and Skylar to hear.

Begging forgiveness without excuses for my dickhead behavior.

I rolled off the cushions that had refused to cradle my back all night and sat on the edge of the couch, face in my hands. Scruff scratched my palms as I groaned.

I had amends to make, but coffee first.

Then a slow drive home while figuring out what the fuck to say to make things right.

Would Ash even give me the chance to explain and apologize for the shit I’d been bottling up inside?

Would Skylar?

My cell rang, my mouth drying at the thought of having a conversation I hadn’t yet planned out.

I didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway.

Processing the words of the female voice took me a few seconds, but when their meaning slammed into place in my exhausted brain, my breath seized, tightening my chest.

Ash had been in a bad car accident and was in the ER.

Exhaustion fled as a rush of adrenaline took over my system. Heart rate jacked, I shot off the couch, grabbed my keys, and sprinted out of the office.

Head trauma, she continued—no coma thank fucking Christ, but the doctors were running further tests.

What the fuck for, I didn’t wait to find out.

I hung up, tossed my cell onto my car’s passenger seat, and screamed at every asshole on the road with me. Slow drivers got in my way. Twice, no turn signals almost caused accidents. Fuckers cut me off—then went into goddamn granny-mode while putting ahead of me and wasting precious moments.

My insides twisted like a coiling snake, a python determined to steal the air in my lungs and swallow me whole.

He’s going to be fine. Just fine.

But that word had been a lie my entire life, and I couldn’t trust its meaning anymore.

Head trauma—what sort? And would there be permanent damage? Was it amnesia? Would he know who I was? Remember all we had, all the shit I’d done in my desperation to not lose his heart?

I made it to the hospital without smashing up my own car, my hands and knees shaking as I rushed through the sliding doors.

“Ashton Blackwood,” I rasped to the woman at the ER’s front desk. “He was in a car accident and brought in about an hour ago.”

I swallowed hard at the words, determined to stay strong.

Whatever the fuck that looked like.

I felt like a first-class mess inside. Without doubt, I appeared the same with my dress shirt unbuttoned halfway and wrinkled by attempted sleep on a couch, my hair probably mussed from trying to rip it out by its roots thanks to every asshole driver on the goddamn planet.

He’s going to be fine…

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