Page 51 of Trusting You
My mouth thins.
“You didn’t see yourself six months ago, but I did,” Asher continues. He lifts from the couch. “And the moment you get right, a baby’s dropped in your lap. Then a woman who doesn’t want you to have that baby wants to crash at your place for who knows how long. You have no clue about her motives because you don’t know her. You can’t blame me for wanting you to be careful.”
“I’m doing fine, Ash. Lily wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”
“I saw the way you looked at her the other night.”
“Lily? Of course, I’m lookin’ at her.”
Ash’s stare goes flat. “You know who I mean.”
I do. But I don’t feel like talking about it. “I’m handling myself, man. You came here to make sure of that, so go and tell East and Ben the same. Make sure to tell them—and you can quote me on this—I’m not fucking Carter. There. Happy?”
“Are you feeling guilty? For not knowing Lily’s mom well enough? And now Carter is some sort of penance?”
“Ash, just shut up already.”
“Why do you need to prove to her you’re a good guy? It’s not your fault, Locke. What happened to Paige.”
“Apparently, it is. We didn’t use enough protection. I used a condom, but…”
“Mistakes happen. That doesn’t mean you deserve to suffer for it.”
“I’m far from suffering.”
“You’re going through a lot right now, bud. Don’t add proving some dumb shit to Carter to the mix—”
I’ve had enough. “Dude. You’re not my therapist. You’re a chef, so unless you’ve brought those maple bacon cupcakes you excel at as Lily’s housewarming present, you can show your ass to the door.”
Asher doesn’t relent. “When is Carter leaving? Because it looks like she’s moving in.”
“She’s selling the damned paintings… You know what? I don’t need this.” I storm into Lily’s nursery, but gently. I also quietly shut the door even though I want to slam it until it cracks down the center. After I put Lily in her sleep sack and turn on the white noise machine and lay her down, as instructed, I reenter the main room, but Ash is gone.
Thank fuck.
If there’s one person to make me face my demons, it’s him, and at the moment, living in the present is working out just fine.
Now that Lily’s gone to sleep without a peep, I make a little more noise, stomping around the apartment, ignoring the warning flares my left knee keeps sending out. I fling the front door open and carry Carter’s paintings in.
Then, angry at Ash, at myself, at Carter, I decide to rip open one of the packages and see why these wrapped frames caused such concern with Asher.
The paintings are packed in twos, and there are three flat boxes. I choose the first, setting it against the arm of the couch and tearing through the tape on strength alone. I reveal the first painting on top.
This one is of flowers, no idea which kind, but they’re white, framed with a lot of green. My amateur eye can catch the details, the small brushstrokes versus the big, and I’m happy to spot a small bee nestled among the petals, like a fancy version of Where’s Waldo I’ve just won.
With one hand, I’m holding the top of the painting, but I step back to get a better view, and that’s when I see it. A face, hidden in the flowers—made of the flowers. The bee is in a skull’s eye socket, petals flaring where the nose hole is. Thorns make up the teeth. There’s a lot more depth to this picture than I initially thought. Instead of a nightmare within the plants, it’s strangely alluring.
Fuck.
It’s beautiful. Beautiful and sad.
Just like her.
And I’m forced to admit, just as Asher predicted, I’m in for a world of trouble because of it.
* * *
The buzzer soundsand I’m jolted from the couch, laptop clunking to the ground as I fly awake. The constant thrum of the white noise machine is still going in the nursery, meaning Lily’s still asleep.