“No, but it’ll do for now.” I reach down, take hold of his wrist so I can study the bruised and bloody knuckles of his injured hand. “Come on. We should probably get some ice for that mess you made.”
I lead him through the dining room and butler’s pantry to what I hope is the kitchen.
“Who are you?” he demands, as I reach into the freezer and grab a bag of frozen vegetables. “Miss Polly Sunshine? I nearly hit you and you’re getting ice for my hand?”
“Technically, I’m getting you peas for your hand. Because they’re smaller, they work better than ice.” I gesture for him to sit on one of the barstools at the end of the island, then drape the bag of peas over his knuckles. “And no, I’m not Miss Polly Sunshine. I just happen to be the only sane one in the room right now so I’m taking advantage of that fact. Besides, your fist wasn’t that close to my face.”
“It was close enough.” He looks away, and I can see his jaw working. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I know. Besides, you’re not that scary.”
“Oh, yeah?” He lifts a brow at me, his eyes going to my still trembling hands.
I tuck them into my jeans pockets. I’m not about to tell him that the
near miss with his fist isn’t the real reason I’m shaking.
“Yeah.” I walk to the stove, pick up the cheerful red kettle that’s sitting there and carry it to the sink to fill it with water.
“What are you doing?” he asks, watching as I put it back on the stove.
“Making tea.”
“What if I don’t like tea?”
I look at him and shrug. “Then get your own drink. I like tea.”
He gives a surprised laugh, then watches silently as I rummage through the kitchen. I find the mugs in the cabinet over the dishwasher, the tea in a canister next to the stove. It strikes me for the first time that this isn’t a typical bachelor’s kitchen and I realize that this is probably the house Ash grew up in. His parents’ place. He must have inherited it after the accident.
The thought makes me both happy and sad. Happy that he has this piece of his childhood, sad because … well, he’s been through hell these last six months, more so even than the media reported on.
I have to admit, I find it odd that there was so little about his brother after the accident. It was big news here in Park City and in Salt Lake when his parents died, but the papers didn’t spend much time talking about his brother—just that he’d been injured in the crash. If I’d known, I would have approached this whole thing differently. Would have had a solution in place for his brother when I came to him with the original proposal.
I don’t say anything as I make the tea, and neither does Ash. At least not until I put the cups on the table along with the canister of sugar—his mom’s influence obviously didn’t extend to keeping a sugar bowl around.
“Logan likes milk in his tea.”
“Okay.” I cross over to the fridge and grab the milk. Watch as Ash fixes his brother’s tea with his uninjured hand. But when I start to pick it up, to carry it down the hall to Logan, Ash stops me.
“I’ve got it.”
Considering how high emotions were running a few minutes ago, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Then again, I don’t really get a vote. I’m the interloper here, the one who caused so much of this tension. Or, if I didn’t cause it, then at least I’m the one who brought it to the surface.
I hear murmuring from where Ash is talking to Logan, but the words aren’t clear and I deliberately don’t try to listen. None of this is my business, I remind myself, no matter how much my heart goes out to both of them.
Ash comes back in a couple minutes later, looking more relaxed than he did when he left. “Logan will be in in a little while to apologize,” he tells me.
“He doesn’t need to apologize. I get what he was doing.”
“Do you mind sharing it with me, then?” Ash asks, shaking his head. “Because I really don’t get it.”
I don’t know how to respond to him. Oh, a million answers spring to my mind, but I don’t know which one to give him. Which one is just enough information and which one is way too much. He’s the only person I’ve talked to, really talked to, in forever who doesn’t treat me like a victim. Like I’m one harsh word away from death.
I like it. And I don’t want it to change.
“He just wants things to be normal again. Just wants your whole world to stop revolving around him. Think about it. It’s got to be weird to have your brother hovering over you every second, waiting for something terrible to happen.” I know. I’ve been there, done that.
Ash’s shoulders slump at my words, his blue eyes going even darker and cloudier than they were before. It upsets me, knowing that I’ve upset him.