One Tiny Lie (Ten Tiny Breaths, #2)(90)

My mouth has fallen open as I try to picture the scene. “What happened? What’d he say?”

Ashton’s lip curls upward slightly. “He tried throwing some legal shit at Stayner, threats of a lawsuit, of getting his license revoked. Stayner smiled at him. Smiled and painted a very enlightening picture of what would happen if Dana’s dad found out why his daughter’s heart is shattered, how it would likely be much worse than simply losing him as a powerful client. That, added to the fact that I still had those emails about the nursing home—proof of his intentional malice toward his wife—well, it would be enough to damage that pristine image he’s worked so hard to uphold. Maybe enough to keep a good lawyer friend of Stayner’s busy for a few years. A friend with a penchant for taking on tough pro bono cases that he’s notorious for winning. Stayner dropped a name and my dad’s face went white. I guess there are more intimidating lawyers in New York than David Henley.”

He pauses. “We left after that. I turned my back on my father and walked out. I haven’t seen him since.”

“So . . .” I point to the house in amazement. “He did what Stayner told him to do? Just like that?”

A curious frown touches Ashton’s face. “Not exactly . . . The transfer did happen. They picked my mom up two days later and moved her in here. And then four days ago, a courier dropped off a bunch of paperwork with a letter of intent. My father is signing over power of attorney to me. I will have control of my mother’s well-being and her estate. It has all of her financial records. Remember, I told you she was a model, right?”

I nod, and he continues. “She had a lot of her own money. When she found out she was sick, she made sure it was set up to cover her care. She made sure there was money to cover everything since the beginning. It had never even come out of his pocket.”

“So, he’s just . . . letting you go?”

With a slow nod, Ashton says, “The one condition is that I sign a nondisclosure agreement about my . . . relationship with him. Our history, about Dana. Everything. I sign that and he guarantees that I will never hear from or see him again.”

The look on my face must ask the question because he confirms, “I’m going to sign it. I don’t care. It’s in the past. All I care about is what’s sitting in front of me right now.” Ashton’s hand slides down to my thigh to pull me closer against him, his voice raw with emotion. “I can’t ever undo all of the mistakes that I made with you, all the lies I told, all the ways that I hurt you. But . . . can we please just”—he grits his jaw—“somehow forget all of that and start over?”

This is really happening. I’m actually here, sitting with Ashton—the one thing I know that I want—and it may finally be right.

Almost.

“No,” slips from my mouth.

I see Ashton flinch against the single word as he fights against the tears welling in his eyes. “I’ll do anything, Irish. Anything.”

My fingers slip to his wrist, to that awful thing that I know is still there.

I don’t even have to say a word and he knows, sliding the sleeve of his coat up to uncover the glaring reminder of his abuse. He stares at it for a long moment. “My dad threw this belt out after that night. Trying to get rid of the bloody evidence, I guess,” he says softly. “But I found it in the trash and hid it in my room for years. The day I covered my scars with my tattoos was the same day I had this cuff made from a piece of the belt. My constant reminder that my mother needed me to hang on.” Glancing up at a window on the third floor—his mother’s, no doubt—he smiles wistfully. My heart melts as I watch his fingers deftly unsnap the band. Sliding me off his lap to stand, he takes a few steps away and then, with what appears to be all the strength in his body, he throws the last piece of his father’s control over him into the mass of trees.

He turns his back on it, a pleading look in those gorgeous brown eyes of his, mixed with that heat that buckles my knees.

Taking a step into him, I press my hand against his racing heart and close my eyes, memorizing the feel of this moment.

The moment I make a choice for me and only me.

A choice that is right because it is right for me.

The smile escapes me before I can give him my last stipulation . . .

Ashton has never been a patient guy. I guess he sees the smile and takes it as my acceptance. His mouth instantly crashes into mine in an all-consuming kiss that weakens my knees and explodes my heart.

I manage to break free from his mouth. “Wait! Two more things.”

He’s breathing heavily, his brow furrowed as he gazes down at my face with confusion. “What else is there? You want my clothes too?” With an arched brow, he adds, “I’ll gladly give them to you when we get somewhere a little bit warmer, Irish. In fact, I insist.”

Shaking my head, I whisper, “I want you to get help. You need to talk to someone about all of this. Deal with it.”

Ashton smirks. “Don’t worry, I already have Stayner all over my ass. I have a feeling I’ll be taking up your ten a.m. slot on Saturdays.”

Relief pours out of me in an exhale. If there’s anyone I trust with Ashton’s well-being, it’s Dr. Stayner. “Good.”

With a small peck on my lips, he murmurs, “And that other thing?”

I swallow. “You said you wanted to forget everything. But . . . I don’t want you to ever forget a thing that happened between us. Ever.”