As soon as Paisley flew out of the parking lot with his most cherished possession, the reality of what Asher had allowed to happen settled in, lodging a Ferrari-sized cannonball in his throat.
He had been thrown for a loop when she came storming into the shop like she owned the world. Since their steamy encounter, he had warred with himself. He wanted to track her down to finish what he hadn’t been able to finish. He wanted to hide under a rock so he would never have to face the shame of losing the ability to man up. He wanted to find her and lose himself in her. He wanted to pretend the ending never happened.
He figured he’d never have to worry about any of it. She had made it clear that their affair was a one-time thing and that she wasn’t looking for anything more than what they offered each other for those hours.
He couldn’t take care of one more person in his life, so her offer was too good to refuse.
Though he wasn’t one to pick up women in coffee shops, there had been something about her posture that screamed out to him. Not victim-like screaming, but a strong invitation he couldn’t refuse. At one glance, he could tell she was someone who didn’t need anyone to look after her. She oozed self-confidence and independence, and he had to admit that it made him hot beyond belief.
So hot that he had lost the ability to perform.
He had been humiliated plenty of times in his life, but that was a new low.
Every single woman he had ever dated had turned into a damsel-in-distress. He hated to admit that he had a “type,” but he couldn’t keep lying to himself.
So when Paisley the self-assured goddess reentered his shop, he couldn’t help but be attracted to the fact that she needed him.
And that’s how she ended up with his Ferrari.
He kicked an empty box out of his way as he returned to the shop. He would stay busy enough to not worry about what was happening to his car.
Though the Ferrari had never left Healing Springs, Asher had to tell himself that Paisley was a responsible adult—hell, she was a lawyer—she’d take good care of his baby.
He put the Accord he had been working on back together and brought Paisley’s car into the shop. He’d get her fixed up.
As he worked, he realized his cheeks were hurting.
He couldn’t stop smiling.
The woman had cast a spell on him. And he hated the realization that he was in no rush to break it.
Fantasies of what he wanted to do with Paisley next time he could get her alone had him so distracted that he hit his head on the lifted hood when bells chimed wildly from the whipped open door.
Rubbing his head—frigging rookie mistake—he scowled as his brother frantically bounced into the shop.
“What are you doing here?” Asher didn’t have time to deal with his younger brother’s dramatics. “You’re supposed to be making phone calls.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m good. I mean, I’m making calls.” Ricky pinched his nose with his fingers, then swiped it repeatedly. “I need money.”
“Go back and finish those calls.”
Asher turned back to the car, hoping his brother would disappear.
“Ash, come on. I’ll find a place. But I need money now.”
Asher turned and folded his arms over his chest. He had to stay strong this time. He had covered for his brother enough—he was ready to stop enabling.
“What could you possibly need money for? I’m paying your bills. I’m buying you food.”
“I’ve got people looking for money from me.”
“Get out.”
“Man, I need you to help me out. I’m not using. I swear.” Ricky looked to the ground before locking his eyes on Asher’s. “It’s from before. They’re pissed that I had to dump the stash when the cops were after me. I’ve gotta pay them back.”
Asher moved toward his brother. Ricky maintained eye contact.
“I will not be giving your junkie friends a penny. You got yourself into this mess. You need to go to the police if you need help.”
“Fuck that! You know what would happen then?” His hazel eyes blazed brighter than Asher had seen them for a while. “Just give me what you can. I promise I won’t ask again.”
“Forgive me if I find it hard to buy into your promises.”
“This is different. I’m different, Ash. I swear.”
“When am I delivering you to rehab?”
“I’m gonna find a place. It’s hard, you know.”
Ricky’s whine went straight to the part of Ash that wanted to pummel the hell out of his little brother.
“You know what’s hard? Working my ass off to support a brother who keeps throwing his life to the hellhounds. You know what else is hard? Being responsible for said brother’s teenaged daughter when I have no frigging clue how to raise a kid. You’ve got to get your shit together and man up the way you should!”
“I know, bro, I know. I owe you my life.”
“More than that,” Ash muttered.
“I know I do. I’d give you every last drop of my blood if it was worth anything, brother.”
Tears filled Ricky’s eyes and quickly spilled over his cheeks. Asher tossed a rag to him, embarrassed for his vulnerable brother.
“Look, Ricky. You’ve got to get yourself cleaned up. I can’t do this anymore.”
Ricky wiped his running nose with the back of his hand.
“I know, yeah man, I know. You’ve given me everything, Ash. I wish I could be half the man you are. The man you’ve always been.”
Asher preferred the combative side of his brother to this overtly emotional side. Normally he’d be trying to comfort Ricky. Not now. Not after risking everything to cover for the fool.
This was Ricky’s last chance with Asher. He had to get cleaned up. If not, Asher had to wipe his hands clean of him.
“Get back to your apartment. Make the calls. I don’t want to hear from you again until you have a location and a check-in date.”
“Okay, I’m on it. I promise. I’m not going to screw up again.”
“Think of your daughter.” Asher was willing to pull the guilt card if he had to.
“She’s all I think about. I’ve screwed up so bad. My Izzy deserves better than me.”
Asher put his hands on Ricky’s shoulders. “Your daughter deserves—and will get—a clean father. You are better than this addiction. Get your shit together and be that man.”
Ricky sniffed.
“Okay. I’m listening. I promise I won’t screw up.”
“Good. I’m counting on it.”
Ricky wiped his face with the cloth.
“Just twenty bucks? Please.” Ricky twisted the soiled rag in his hands, jittery as hell.
“Get out of here before I throw you out.”
Asher knew his brother wanted a fix. Even if people were after him—and they probably were—Ricky would use any money Asher was stupid enough to give him to get his next fix. No doubt.
Asher worked hard to believe his brother. He also worked hard to see the truth so he could help him.
“I’ll be checking the phone logs to be sure you called.”
“You can spare twenty bucks. Fine. Ten.”
Asher shook his head. He wouldn’t give him a damn nickel.
“You’re a greedy fucker, you know that? Half of this business should be mine. He was my dad, too.”
“Out.”
“Screw you. You don’t want to help me. You want to control me.”
Ricky spat on the floor and slammed out the door. Asher’s body shook at the anger he suppressed as he watched his addicted brother struggle to balance himself on the bicycle he had to ride back to the tiny apartment above the garage that used to belong to their father. The garage their father passed down to Asher, since Asher had gone into the same field of work and their dad hadn’t wanted his junkie son to screw over lifelong customers. Asher busted his ass keeping his father’s legacy strong, in addition to his own.
An hour later, when Asher was just calming down after his altercation with his brother, a frantic call came in from his niece, Izzy.
“Calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”
“My dad. He left here a while ago and said he’d be back, but I think he’s using again.”
Izzy’s voice trembled. Asher shoved his short hair back and bit back the nasty things he wanted to say about his brother. His young niece shouldn’t have to worry about things like her father using drugs.
“He stopped by here, love. He’s fine. He just needed some advice about which numbers to call to get into rehab.”
“He didn’t look fine. I think he’s in trouble.”
“Let me worry about your dad, sweetie. You worry about…” he paused, racking his brain to come up with something innocuous for her to worry about. “You worry about what color nail polish to wear.”
“I don’t wear nail polish. My nails are too short to bother.”
“Then worry about how to stop chewing on your nails. You’re thirteen. You don’t have to worry about big person things.”
“I’m not a baby, Uncle Ash.”
He begged to differ, but knew he’d offend her if he argued the point. She had been moody and difficult since being forced to live with him three weeks ago. He wasn’t crazy about the arrangement, either, but he was crazy about her. He had loved her since the first moment he held her.
“How about you worry about what I can pick up for dinner tonight.”
“Chinese.”
He laughed. “That was quick. Chinese it is. I’ve got to let you go—the call waiting is beeping at me.”
By the time he switched over, the caller was gone. He returned to work.
Less than one minute later, it rang again.
With the way the day had fluctuated from upbeat to insane, he was surprised that he was capable of smiling when he saw the Massachusetts cell phone number on his caller id.
His smile quickly faded as he listened to Paisley’s words.