Series: Fever Falls Series by Riley Hart
Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
He shoved his hands into his pockets as we walked. There was something different about him… Well, I was sure there were a lot of things different about him, but the most noticeable one was that he seemed sadder. That made sense—it wasn’t a secret that he hadn’t gotten a contract for another team.
We got into the truck, and as Ash struggled to buckle himself in, he said, “Sorry. I’m not usually like this. It’s just…been a few tough months. Not sure why it’s hitting me all of a sudden.”
With a sigh, I helped him buckle in, took care of my own, and started the truck. “Where are you staying?”
“Home,” he replied.
The answer made my pulse run circles. “How?”
Someone had purchased the house right after Ash’s parents had passed. We never knew who it was, and no one ever moved in, but cleaning and yard workers came. It had always struck me as odd, but Ash wouldn’t have had to buy it; he would have inherited it. And what would he have needed with a house in town he never saw?
“It’s mine. It’s always been mine. We just made it appear otherwise so it didn’t look like Ashton Carmichael’s home was empty.”
I looked over at him, felt the corners of my mouth tip downward.
“Stop frowning at me.”
Shit. “Stop being psychic.” Or maybe I was predictable. That’s what Linc would say. “It’s not you. I frown at everyone.” Other than Kenny, I guessed.
“Yeah, but you do it to me more.”
“How would you know when we haven’t seen each other in ten years?” Did he remember the kiss? Had he ever thought about it? Wished he still knew what I tasted like?
“Call it a good guess.”
“I don’t hate you,” I found myself saying. But I wanted to. Part of me wanted to hate him now, and I’d definitely wanted to back then. Maybe because even before I’d admitted it to myself, I’d known I was gay and that I was attracted to Ash. It wasn’t something I struggled with anymore—the out-and-proud part. I loved being gay and wasn’t ashamed of that, but back then I likely had been.
“Okay,” Ash replied, and we were quiet the whole way back to his house.
When we got there, I realized he had his head against the window and had fallen asleep. What in the hell was going on? Who was the man with me? When he first arrived, he’d been just like the Ash I remembered. He still was in many ways, but there was something else twined in; the sadness, yeah, but I thought maybe even more than that.
“Ash,” I whispered, reached for him, almost brushed the back of my hand against his cheek. “Ash?”
His thick lashes rested on his cheek, but after I said his name again, he startled and his eyes jerked open. “Shit,” he groaned. “I don’t feel so great.”
This was where I wanted to give him hell about drinking, make some kind of sarcastic remark, but then the last time we’d been together when Ash drank, he’d kissed me.
And…there I was, back at that again.
“Come on, I’ll help you inside.”
“Okay,” he replied. “But only because I don’t want to go in there alone.”
My chest got tight, and I forced myself to hold back a frown. Was it just because he wasn’t used to being alone? Always had someone there? Probably a woman. The thought made my skin itch, and I hated that Ash had that effect on me, that I cared either way how he spent his life or who he was attracted to.
I got out of the truck and walked around just as Ash opened his door. He stumbled slightly when he got down, and on reflex, my arm went around him. He was strong, solid, his muscles hard and defined. Ash was about two inches taller than I was, not quite as stocky but equally muscular, if not more. Questions ran through my head. I wanted to ask him why football hadn’t been enough to keep him happy. Why all the partying? If it had all been a joke to him.
If he remembered that night…if it had been a first for him or if it ever happened again.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I had no fucking business thinking that way. Not about Ashton Carmichael.
“Dude, I’m going to be so embarrassed in the morning.”
Not when he called me dude.
He fumbled his keys out of his pocket, and I took them. The moment we stepped into the house, it was as if we’d walked into the room ten years ago—the same furniture, the same photos on his walls, his past completely intact.
Ash had been adopted. That wasn’t something he’d ever kept a secret. We’d all known that, and it had always been one of the things I respected him for. He’d obviously loved his parents, felt like they were his, and seeing the house now, I saw how he’d tried to honor them. Maybe that wasn’t the right word, but Ash’s love for them was apparent everywhere…as was their love for him.