“Then you’ll have to let me take care of your wounds and clean you up,” I tell him. “The cut above your eye looks serious.”
“I cleaned him up a little,” Drew starts, but I whirl on him, sending him a look, and he goes quiet.
Drew has been there for this boy from the start. It was Asher Davis’s raw talent that had convinced my husband he needed to volunteer as a coach for the team, besides preparing our son to eventually be on the football team. Now Drew is the offensive coordinator for the varsity team, and I still can’t believe how lucky our little local high school is to have this former Super Bowl champion as their coach, yet here we are. Living our best life with Drew the Do-Gooder.
I love my husband more than words can say, but sometimes he does so much for others that I feel selfish. I want him for me, for us, for our family, and no one else. He’s mine. Ours. No one else gets him.
But all sorts of people get him, including this poor child who’s currently dripping blood on my thousand-dollar chaise lounge cushion because his mom doesn’t give a shit about him. And that makes me furious.
“I’m fine. The cut’s no big deal. Might give me a cool scar,” Ash assures me, tilting his head back farther, and that’s when I see them. The fingerprint bruises on his neck. I raise a hand to my mouth, stifling the cry that spills, and he immediately hangs his head, knowing I spotted them. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles to the ground.
Without thought, I kneel in front of him, resting my hands on his knees gently, so I don’t hurt him if he’s injured there. He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t move at all. Just keeps his head bent, his dark hair just long enough to fall forward and obscure his face. He’s like an injured puppy. An animal who’s been kicked and beaten again and again. I bet if I got him to take off his shirt, I could find some old scars. Others might not recognize them, but I could. I’ve seen that sort of thing. On myself.
On my brother, Owen.
The scars eventually fade to nothing, but the wounds remain. And seeing Ash like this opens up all those old wounds, filling me with pain. Pain for him. Pain for myself.
“Asher.” He doesn’t so much as twitch when I say his name. “Ash. Will you let me take you inside and check your injuries? Then you can take a shower and once you’ve cleaned up, I can apply some bandages if needed.”
Oh so slowly, he lifts his head, until his black-as-night eyes meet mine. He’s scared. His entire body is trembling, and his face is covered with a thin sheen of sweat. It’s colder up here, close to the lake, and maybe that’s why he’s shivering, but I don’t think so.
I think he’s terrified. And the shock of what’s happened to him is starting to wear off, leaving him a mess.
If I knew he’d go willingly, I’d probably pull him into my arms and clutch him tight. Tell him everything’s going to be okay, even though I don’t know if that’s the case. I don’t want to lie, but who knows what’s going to happen to him?
Drew and I will just have to take care of him as best we can.
“I don’t want to go to school tomorrow,” he whispers, his voice still raspy, as if it hurts to speak. “I don’t want anyone to see me.”
“You don’t have to go to school for a few days, but eventually you need to get back there. You don’t want to get behind in your classes.” I glance over my shoulder to see Drew nodding in agreement, his hands on his hips. The frustration is coming off him in waves, and I know he feels helpless.
I do too.
“Whatever. Everyone will know by tomorrow morning anyway. They’ll probably say I’m dead.” His mouth quirks into a half smile that doesn’t reveal any teeth, but then he groans in pain. “Fuck, my lips hurt.” He sends me a look. “Sorry.”
“I’ve said worse,” I reassure him, making his eyes go wide. Reaching out, I gently place my hand on his head, ruffling his hair. He ducks away from my touch, like it’s a habit, and I’m afraid this boy is going to steal a part of my heart. I thought my heart was full enough with my four children and my husband.
But I have a feeling I could end up loving this one as my own too.
Eighteen
Autumn
Mom is with Ash until past midnight. I scramble back upstairs by the time the back door opens and they all come inside the house. Mom sends Dad upstairs, and I hide in my room with the door wide open while he fetches extra clothes from Jake, who’s close in size to Ash.
Meaning Ash has to be spending the night. In our house.
I can’t believe it.
Once I hear Dad running back down the stairs, I came out of my room to find Jake’s door open. He spots me and frowns. “He’s staying here.”
“Ash?” I whisper, needing one hundred percent confirmation.
“Yeah. He’s in the guest bathroom shower now. Dad asked if I could loan him a couple sets of clothes to see him through the next few days until he can get back to his place and pick up the rest of his stuff.” Jake shakes his head. “What the hell is going on? Are they going to let him move in here?”
Jake doesn’t seem too happy about this. “Maybe? I’m guessing he has nowhere else to go.”
“Yeah, but why do they have to bring him here? So he can be our new family charity case?”
“That’s mean, Jake.”
“It’s true, and you know it. Dad likes to have projects. Now Ash can be his.” Jake punches the doorframe, curses under his breath, and then slams his bedroom door.
Well. That was interesting.
I argue with myself over going downstairs and then finally decide screw it. I live here. I can go in the kitchen and get myself a glass of water if I want. So I go running down the stairs, my steps extra heavy as a warning that I’m coming.
When I enter the kitchen I find Dad already standing there, a neutral expression on his face. “Hey princess. You’re up late.”
I grimace. “Don’t call me that.”
He raises his brows. “Sorry. How’s, hey Autumn?”
Smiling, I make my way to the refrigerator. “That’s much better.”
“I don’t know how much you heard earlier…” His voice drifts and I shut the fridge door, turning to look at him with complete innocence.
“What are you talking about?” I don’t want him to know Ava and I were spying. I want to see exactly what he’ll tell me, and if he’ll be one-hundred percent truthful.
He blows out a harsh breath before bracing his hands on the edge of the counter. “Ash was—abused today. By his mother’s boyfriend. He didn’t show up to practice and after no one could get a hold of him, I went over to his place to find him tumbling out the front door of his apartment, kicked by that asshole who beat the hell out of him. Sorry.”
I smile gently, touched he’d want to apologize to me for cursing. “It’s okay, Daddy. You’re mad.”
“I’m mad as hell,” he agrees with a ferociousness I’ve never heard from him before. “If I could, I’d go personally kick that animal’s ass myself. But I don’t want to go to jail, so there’s that.”