Until Ashlyn Read online

  “Baby, look at me.” Opening one eye then the other, I focus on Dillon’s worried face above mine.

  “Stop snarling at everyone,” I whisper, and his eyes slide closed while his forehead drops to my chest. Running my fingers through his hair, I pull back, forcing him to look at me. “I’m okay. It’s just a cut. I’ll be fine.”

  “I know,” he agrees softly.

  “Ashlyn.”

  “Could this morning get any better,” I groan, knowing the person attached to that voice.

  “What’s going on?” David, my ex, asks.

  I look at him and then Dillon as he mutters, “Fuck me,” while resting his hand against my chest, keeping me down when I attempt to sit up.

  “Are you the doctor on duty?” Dillon asks, and David looks between Dillon and me.

  His brows snap together as his chest puffs out, making me roll my eyes. “I’m a doctor at this hospital,” he informs us, like we don’t know, when of course we do. Everyone in town knows he’s a doctor, because he brings it up any time he’s got a chance. But that’s not why I broke up with him. Nope, we broke up because he thought any woman lucky enough to snag him would praise Jesus for her good fortune. Not so much. He was rude, condescending, and a big, fat cheat.

  “Get someone else.”

  “Pardon?” He narrows his eyes.

  “You heard me.”

  “Dillon.” I try to sit up again, and his eyes snap to me.

  “He’s not touching you.”

  “Dillon,” I warn as Jax comes in, narrowing his eyes on David.

  “Why the hell are you in here?”

  “I’m a doctor,” he grumbles, tugging on the collar of his dress shirt.

  “Find someone else to take over for you,” Jax says, and Dillon grunts in agreement.

  “Christ.” I cover my face, letting out a breath of annoyance. “I’m going to fricking bleed to death in a damn hospital.”

  “Just move and let me have a look at her,” David snaps as Dillon’s hand on my foot tightens.

  “David, what are you doing in here?” A woman wearing a doctor’s coat frowns at him as she comes through the open curtain, followed by the nurse who left earlier. “You’re supposed to be off duty.”

  “Yeah, David. You’re supposed to be off duty.” Dillon glares as I rub my hands down my face in frustration.

  “We’ve got this covered. You can go,” the new doctor dismisses him, taking a step toward me. “I hear you’re going to need some stitches.” She smiles softly, putting on a pair of gloves as the nurse rolls over a cart with supplies and begins to set up things on the top.

  “I don’t know, but there’s a lot of blood,” I tell her, and she nods then moves her eyes from the hands wrapped around my foot, up the arms attached to those hands, and blinks when her eyes meet Dillon’s.

  “Lord, save me,” I mutter as her eyes widen, and she blushes.

  “My wife needs a doctor. Are you a doctor?” Dillon grumbles, and she clears her throat.

  “Ye… yes, of course,” she stutters out as her blush grows deeper, and her eyes drop to my foot. I can’t even blame her for her reaction, since I had the same one when I saw Dillon for the first time. “Foot injuries tend to bleed a lot. It may not be as bad as you think,” she continues after a moment, unwrapping the towels that are swaddling my foot, but she’s wrong, it is that bad. And it’s not until an hour and four stitches later that I’m finally sent home with an extremely annoying overbearing man, who also happens to be my husband.

  Chapter 3

  Ashlyn

  “Mom, I’m fine. It’s just a few stitches. Dr. Woods assured me I’ll be up and about in just a few days.” I put my cell on speaker and set it next to me on the bed as Dillon grabs the pillow on the other side of me. Leo, who isn’t happy about having his sleep interrupted, stands and hisses, batting his paw in his direction. Placing the pillow carefully under my foot, he reaches over my legs and runs his hand down Leo’s hairless back.

  We got home from the hospital a little less than an hour ago, and when we got back to my house, Dillon deposited me on the couch while he and Jax cleaned up. While they were cleaning, I could hear them talking but couldn’t make out much of anything, which was annoying, since I knew they were talking about me. Jax was still mad when he left, but there was nothing I could do about that.

  “Maybe we should come home,” Mom says, cutting into my thoughts.

  “No!” I shout then lower my tone. “That’s not necessary.” I lean back against the headboard, taking the remote from Dillon when he hands it to me. I don’t know if my karma is taking a turn for the better, but my parents’ trip to Florida couldn’t have come at a better time.

  “Fine, I’ll send a message to Jax and let him know I expect him to look out for you while we’re away,” she says, and I pray that if she talks to him he keeps his mouth closed. I told him before he left, after helping Dillon clean up the mess in my room, that if he said one word to Mom or Dad about Dillon and I, I would never talk to him again and I meant that.

  “I’m here with Ashlyn,” Dillon says, and I feel my eyes widen before narrowing on him as he shrugs, picking up his bag from the floor and setting it on the end of the bed.

  “Dillon’s there with you?” Mom whispers, and I let my head fall back as my eyes squeeze tight.

  “He’s here,” I confirm with a sigh, since I obviously can’t say he’s not.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me?” she questions softly. “I mean, you two were just in Vegas together, and now he’s at your house?”

  “Um.” I feel my stomach twist. I don’t want to lie about this to her, but I know the truth will have her and my dad on a plane back to Tennessee within hours.

  “Ash and I are seeing each other,” Dillon cuts in rudely, and I swear if I had the ability to get out of bed, I would kick his ass. Instead, I open my eyes back up and glare at him.

  “Did… did he just say you two are seeing each other?” Mom whispers, apparently losing the ability to speak above that decibel.

  “Sorry, Mom, hold on a second.” I hit mute and glare at Dillon, holding up my hand. “Do not say anything else.”

  “I’m not hiding us from them, or from anyone,” he replies, not even looking up from his bag as he digs through it.

  “I’m not hiding us,” I lie, and his head lifts. His eyes meet mine, narrowing, making me fight the urge to squirm. “I don’t want to tell them about us over the phone.”

  “Fine.” He shrugs, but he doesn’t look fine. In fact, he looks pissed.

  “Fine,” I mutter back.

  Shaking his head, he lifts his hands over his shoulders, pulls off his shirt, and then kicks off his sneakers and shorts before he heads for the bathroom naked, without another glance to where I’m seated.

  “You’re really flipping annoying!” I yell, hearing the shower turn on. Gaining no reply in return, I take my phone off mute. “Sorry about that, Mom.”

  “So…”

  My bottom lip goes between my teeth, and I grumble, “Yes, we’re dating.”

  “Honey—” I look at the phone to make sure I didn’t lose the call when she doesn’t say more.

  “Mom?”

  “You know I adore Dillon, but this is not okay. He’s engaged to another woman,” she murmurs, and I roll my eyes toward the ceiling, letting out a long, frustrated breath.

  “He’s not with her. He hasn’t been for a while.”

  “Are you sure?”

  God, I hope so. Otherwise, Dillon is going to die a very tragic death, I think, running my fingers over Leo’s head when he presses against my side.

  “I’ll explain everything when you’re home,” I mutter, leaving out the fact I plan on getting her drunk before I tell her, in hopes she doesn’t remember anything the next day.

  “Okay, honey, I trust you.”

  Shit.

  “Mom.” I fake yawn. “My pain pill is starting to kick in. I’m going to take a nap. I love you, and tel
l Dad I love him.”

  “I will,” she agrees softly. “Love you.”

  Hitting end on the call, I stare at the bathroom and listen to the shower while I wait for Dillon to reappear. I feel like he’s made it perfectly clear that he wants everyone to know about us, but what about his family? I’ve never even heard him mention them. Hearing the water turn off, I watch him step out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist a minute later. I lose my train of thought for a moment as I watch him put on a pair of gray boxers and walk across the room to my closet, sliding open the mirrored doors, where he stored some of his clothes last night.

  “Why did you cut your hair?”

  His eyes come to me over his shoulder, and the look on his face makes my stomach twist with unease. “Is that really what you want to ask me right now?”

  Actually, it isn’t. But I’m not sure I want to know the answer to my real question, since that would make this thing between us even more real.

  “I’ve been wondering.” I shrug, and he mutters something I don’t catch then pulls a pair of his dark slacks off a hanger and steps into them, grabbing a dark gray button-down shirt and shrugging it on.

  “Are you mad?”

  “Nope.”

  “You seem mad,” I mutter as he buttons up his shirt, then grabs his belt that is hanging over the back of the chair in the corner of my room before he loops it through his waistband, tucks in his shirt, and buckles his belt. Taking a seat, I watch him put on his shoes without sparing me a glance then watch him stand and grab his wallet off the dresser near the door, I’m at a loss. This would be the moment in any of my previous relationships where I would say, ‘Fuck you,’ and never talk to the guy again. But Dillon was right. I can’t do that with him now, not without a crap-ton of paperwork and maybe even a broken heart.

  “I’ll be at the office. Your pills are there; take one and try to get some rest.” He nods to the bedside table, where he left me a bottle of water and pills, then heads for the door. My stomach twists uncomfortably as I watch him turn to leave.

  “When are we going to tell your parents about us?” I blurt without thinking, and he turns to face me, the pain in his eyes catching me off guard.

  “Both my parents are dead,” he states evenly, and before my brain catches up and his words register, he’s gone.

  Feeling the bed shift, I blink my eyes open and find Dillon sitting in the crook of my lap, softly gazing at me. I called him multiple times after he left, but he didn’t answer his cell. And when I called the office, Matt, our new receptionist, told me he was with patients, but always made sure to ask if I was okay or if it was an emergency. I knew that was Dillon, not Matt. I knew if I played the ‘it’s an emergency’ card, Dillon would have rushed back to the house.

  “Hey.” He lifts his hand and slides his fingers softly across my forehead as his eyes follow the path of his touch.

  “Hey,” I reply softly, studying him. He doesn’t look angry anymore; he looks apprehensive, making me wonder what he’s thinking. Scooting back, his hand drops to rest on the bed near my hip, and his eyes scan my face before meeting my gaze once more.

  “I didn’t know about your parents. I’m really sorry for being insensitive,” I whisper, and his face softens.

  “You weren’t being insensitive. You didn’t know, and I don’t talk about them often… to anyone,” he confesses gently and I nod, chewing the inside of my cheek.

  “Will you tell me about them?” I question delicately when he doesn’t say more. His face softens further, and he kicks off his shoes and climbs up next to me on the bed, tucking me into his side.

  “My moms name was Lacey and my dad was Paul, they met at summer camp when my mom was fourteen and my dad was sixteen. They disliked each other from the moment they met. My mom was outgoing, happy, and the center of attention, while my dad was uptight, high-strung, and slightly antisocial.” I hear the smile in his tone, and I smile a little myself, thinking they sound a lot like us. “Both their parents sent them back to the same camp every summer, and every summer, the animosity between my mom and dad grew a little more.”

  “And then they fell in love?” I tilt my head back and look at him, and he shakes his head.

  “No, they eventually got too old for summer camp and forgot about each other.”

  “Oh,” I mutter, thinking that’s a total letdown. His arms give me a squeeze and I hear him chuckle before his lips touch the top of my head.

  “When my mom was twenty-two and my dad was twenty-four, they met again at a party. My mom was going to Wellesley, and my dad was going to Harvard, when they ran into each other. Mom was drunk and spilt her drink on him,” he says, and I giggle, pressing my forehead to his chest, picturing his dad’s face and imagining it looked a lot like Dillon’s. “My dad hadn’t changed at all. He was pissed and demanded my mom pay for his shirt to be dry-cleaned.”

  “Did she tell him where to shove it?” I smile.

  “Yeah.” He laughs, running his hand over the top of my head. “That did not go over well with my dad. He left the party and went back to his dorm. The next day, he took his shirt to the dry-cleaners then tracked down my mom’s address and sent her the bill.”

  “Oh, Lord, I see where you get your personality from,” I murmur, feeling his chest shake under my cheek.

  “The day she got the bill in the mail, she went to his dorm.”

  “Go Mom.” I whisper, tucking my hand under my cheek. “They had a blowout fight in the middle of campus. My dad, hating the attention, gave in and told her just to leave, that he didn’t want her money. She did leave. She took off, only she didn’t go back to her school right away. Instead, she went to the dry-cleaners and picked up his shirt.”

  “Your mom was awesome.”

  “She was,” he agrees softly, running his fingers through my hair. “When my dad went to get his shirt, he found out it had already been picked up, and he knew it was her. He thought she was insane.”

  “But he liked her, didn’t he?”

  “He didn’t know how he felt about her until the fall, when my mom graduated from Wellesley and started at Harvard Law School, and they ran into each other again. My dad swore my mom did everything within her power to annoy him. She would always stop to talk to him, always do crazy things to get his attention or bug him.”

  “And he fell in love with her.”

  “He did, but my mom was having none of it. She gave him a run for his money. It took a year for him to catch her. She wasn’t exactly easy to hold onto, but my dad persevered and one thing led to another. They started dating then moved in together, got married, graduated college, and had Parker and me.”

  “Parker’s your brother?”

  “Yeah, you’ll meet him.” He squeezes me again and my stomach fills with butterflies. “He’s five years older than me and lives in Chicago with his wife and sons. He was a doctor, but after he and his wife had twins, he decided to stay home, and his wife, who is a plastic surgeon, works.”

  “What about your dad? Your mom was in law. What was he?”

  “My dad was a dentist.”

  “Is that why you wanted to be a dentist?” I ask, tilting my head back catching his smile.

  “No.” He chuckles. “I wanted to be a lawyer.”

  “I could see you as a lawyer.” He smiles, and I question, “So why did you become a dentist then?”

  “After he and my mom passed, I got into Harvard. I decided law wasn’t for me, so I followed in Dad’s footsteps instead.”

  “I’m sure both of them would be proud of you.”

  “I’m sure they would too,” he mutters, dropping a kiss to the top of my head.

  “Can I ask what happened to them?” I question after a moment, and his hold on me tightens.

  “They were coming home from a New Years Eve party. My father had been drinking and insisted he was sober enough to drive. He wasn’t, or maybe he was. Their car hit a patch of black ice, went off the side of the road, and rolle
d down a ravine. They both died instantly.” Hearing that, I wonder how much that changed who he was. I can’t imagine how a tragedy like that would affect someone.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too.” He rests his mouth at the top of my head, then whispers, “Your family reminds me a lot of how my family was before.”

  That makes heart hurt for him. I don’t say anything else or ask any more questions. Instead, I lay there holding him for a long time, with my ear to his chest, listening to the sound of his heart so long that my pain pill wears off completely and my stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten anything since the few crackers I had this afternoon.

  “Do you want to order in?” He laughs, hearing another loud growl come from my stomach, and I nod against his chest.

  “Chinese, if that’s okay with you.”

  “That works. When did you take your last pill?” he asks when I wince as he gets off the bed.

  “A little after you left this morning,” I admit, watching him strip off his dress shirt and slacks and put on a pair of loose workout pants.

  “You shouldn’t wait so long between to take them.”

  “It’s not that bad. Just a little pain, nothing I can’t handle.”

  “It’s not something you need to handle,” he grumbles, putting on a form-fitting white tee.

  “They make me tired. I don’t want my sleeping schedule to go all wonky, since tomorrow I plan on going back to work.”

  “You’re not working tomorrow.”

  “I am.”

  “You’re not,” he disagrees, shaking his head, and I let out an annoyed breath.

  “I don’t want to fight with you right now.”

  “We’re not fighting. I’m telling you that you’re not working tomorrow. You need to keep off your foot so it has time to heal.”

  “I sit most of the day. It will be fine, Dillon.”

  “Yes, it will be, since you’re staying home.”

  “Does everything with you have to be an argument?” I question, tossing my legs over the side of the bed so I can stand.

  “You’re the one who loves to argue, babe. This wouldn’t even be an issue right now if you’d just listen to me.”