Igniting Ash (6 page)

“Why on earth would you toss away the best part?”

“Ergh, they are wrong. I want to taste food, not fire.”

“They aren’t that hot.” She chewed on a nacho. “Is the food all right though? I had no idea what to get you. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said around a mouthful of food. “But you honestly didn’t need to bring me anything.” He licked sauce from his lips, noting the way her eyes followed his tongue. He felt hot, the urge to remove his light sweater growing rapidly.

Asher didn’t like the emotions coursing through his heated body. They were far too intense for him to deal with, and he sure as hell wasn’t ready to analyse them. Grimacing, he discarded his half eaten burrito and picked up a nacho.

“Why are you really here, Emma?”

She gulped; the noise audible in the quiet store. She didn’t answer right away. She fidgeted, blushed and finished chewing her food before stuttering her reply. “You k-keep asking me that. I don’t have an answer that you’d want. Truthfully? I’m just enjoying spending time with you.”

“We never really knew each other before.” He was being ridiculous, his emotions difficult to get a grip of when he was around her.

“I’d like to get to know Asher
now
.” She reached out, placing her hand on his knee. “I can’t forget the Asher of
then
. I doubt you’d want me to. You wouldn’t have even spoken to me at the party if you hadn’t recognized me. I know that much about you.”

“So, friendship? Is that what you’re asking for?”

“Is that wrong of me?”

“I’m just wondering if it is friendship you want, or you want to slum it with the poor folk and offer him a pity fuck.”

Her eyes flared. “That’s ridiculous! I’m here to get to know you, not have sex with you. And what’s with the ‘poor folk’ comment? My father is the one with money, not me. My bank account isn’t even in triple digits. So, I’ll ignore your remark and ask again, is that wrong of me?”

“You’re answering a question with another question. You’re confusing me.”

“No,” she denied. “You’re trying to change the subject. You think I don’t know you, but I do. Give us a chance, Ash. I’m asking for nothing more than coffee, laughter, and friendship.”

He flicked the edge of the napkin between his fingers, no longer feeling hungry. His stomach twisted, his throat constricting. Ben was the only person he considered a friend. In fact there were weeks that passed by where Ben, besides the customers, was the only person he spoke to. However, even Ben didn’t know his story, and even though Emma didn’t understand all of it, she was the first person he was considering letting into his life that was aware of his childhood. Aware of that night.

The problem was, when he considered a friendship with her he felt deflated. It was as if something was missing, as though he was denying himself something greater. His head was a mess. He need time to think.

“I’m hurt you don’t want to fuck me. Wounded.” A roll of her eyes was the only response he got. “Anyway, it’s kinda hard for me to deny you now that you know where I live,” he said, offering her a small smile.

“You live here too?”

Nodding, he pointed toward the ceiling. “Upstairs. Small flat. Nothing much.”

“But it’s yours.”

Emma began clearing away the half-eaten food, placing it into the paper bag and wiping her hands on a discarded napkin.

“I…I—” Asher started, needing her to understand but words eluded him. He stalled her movements and wrapped his fingers around her slender wrist. “I can try. I told you a long time ago that I wasn’t a good bet. That hasn’t changed. Sometimes things happen to people that makes perfection hard to achieve. I don’t know quite how to be a friend—never needed to learn. I’ll try for you, Emma. I will.”

“You do it well enough with Ben, I assume.”

“I’ll try,” he repeated. “It’s different with a guy. He doesn’t want sex.”

Leaning forward, Emma kissed his cheek, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. He was dumbstruck once again by her. “Neither do I and trying is all I ask.”

Chapter 6

Emma

Emma thought about Asher a lot over the next few days, especially when she handed the book over to her father on his birthday. He’d been thrilled, wanting to know how she’d found it. She had to hide her blush when she’d spoken about Asher and his bookshop.

Emma wanted to call him, or pop into his store, just to show him that she meant what she’d said about being friends. People had let him down in the past. She wasn’t about to add to that but she knew he needed a little space. Asher would bolt if she pushed too hard. Just like her kids at the shelter. Instead, she distracted herself with Gabe.

He’d surprised her by staying at the shelter—usually the teenagers would run off after being fixed up. That alone had her pausing for thought, wondering how bad his life must be outside of the shelter for him to go against the grain. She was pleased they could offer the solace he so clearly needed.

Emma had tentatively touched on the subject of his parents, changing the subject when he’d either refused to answer or locked down completely. It usually took time for the kids to trust each member of staff, and she was more than willing to wait. Working there was all about patience.

Exhaling, she shook her head as she realized what she was doing with Gabe was no different than what was happening with Asher. It seemed she was drawn to wounded males.

“You doing okay there?” Bolt’s deep voice rumbled across the office. He filled the open doorway, his large frame and shaved head intimidating to anyone who didn’t know him. Muscles bulged against his dark skin, his eyes thinning as he waited for her reply.

“I was just struck by a small revelation,” she replied, pushing her chair slightly away from the desk. “However, what I should be doing is sorting through this pile of paperwork.”

Flashing his brilliant white teeth in her direction, he folded himself into the spare chair. It was far too small for him, not that he complained. He was probably used to being
Gulliver
in
Lilliput
. There couldn’t be many places that catered to people his size.

“Paperwork will still be here tomorrow. Always is.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Emma sighed. “Have you seen Gabe today?”

Bolt shook his head. “Can’t say I have. A few of the regulars have been out back, clowning around with buckets of water. Been trying to get some help in the kitchen but everyone’s busy.”

“I could help.” She stood up and dropped her pen onto her desk. “What are we cooking?”

“You’ve got work to do. Besides I can manage. I was kinda hoping to get myself an assistant that’s all. Maybe one day, one of these kids will take an interest in what fills their bellies.”

Curious, Emma tilted her head, asking him what he meant. Bolt waved his huge hand, as though batting her comment away. “Just think it’d be good to feed more than a kid’s stomach.” He grew solemn. “I watch you and Jack—see what you do for each of the kids that walks into here, then look at them as they leave. Sure, some are still as messed up, but you and Jack make a difference. I serve food. End of.”

“How can you say that?” Emma asked, aghast. She reached out, touching his shoulder and feeling the hard sinew beneath her fingertips. It was difficult not to feel at least a little intimidated by his size. “Feeding them helps more than you can see. Many of them haven’t eaten a real meal in a long time.”

“But they won’t remember me as someone who changed their life, will they?”

“Is that all you want? Recognition?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head and covering her hand with his. “Only thinking it would be nice to mean something to someone—other than food, that is.”

Emma tugged him onto his feet, leading him out of the office and down the corridor to the kitchen. She gestured around the room, hoping he understood what she was showing him.

“This is your office. Your knife is your pen. This is where you speak to the kids. How can you doubt that, Bolt? Each and every one of them that walks into here adores you, whether they express it with words or not. They remember this place fed, clothed and housed them for a short time. You’re a part of that.”

“Suppose,” he responded, sullenly.

She rested her head on his bicep, linking her fingers into his. “I bet if we asked around, or maybe put a notice or two up, that there would be some interest in helping you out.” Smiling, Emma added, “Though you would have to relinquish some of your control on this kitchen. I think that could be a bit of a problem for you, yeah?”

Bolt rumbled his response, but the words made little sense. The kitchen was his domain, and nobody ever challenged that. Emma felt she had to point out the small flaw in his plan. She could understand what he was saying. She didn’t do the job to get recognition. She did it because she wanted to make a difference, and years ago, one single night had affected her far more than she was ready to admit. Not even now when she’d reconnected with Asher. That night had altered her direction in life, altered the choices she’d made.

On the whole, working with the kids was harder than she ever envisioned but each night she went home knowing she was in the right place and doing the right thing. That was important. This kind of career wasn’t suited to everyone—she was more than aware of that, and she surmised that could be Bolt’s problem now. Maybe he’d just reached his limit. In this role you had to give an awful lot without getting much back in return. Then again, there was no point in writing him off without giving him someone to focus on, so she meant what she said when she’d promised to find him someone to help out.

“I’ll have a quick chat with Jack later. He’ll probably be able to suggest a kid that would be suited to the kitchen.”

Bolt agreed, thanking her and squeezing her hand far too tightly. The guy had no idea of his own strength, though she didn’t know how that was possible.

Sullen, Bolt pulled away, walking over to the large, industrial refrigerator. “I’ll get lunch started.”

Perplexed as to how she could help Bolt any further, Emma patted his shoulder and started to head back toward the office. She toyed with her key pendant that hung from her necklace, thinking over what had just occurred. She was so lost in thought that when she entered the office she almost fell over the body that was huddled on the floor.

Emma’s stomach dropped; her chest constricted as she noticed the blood first. It oozed down the boy’s arm, pooling a little at his fingertips. His blond hair was matted with it, the side of his face swollen and raw. He was still alive—she could see the rapid rise and fall of his breaths as it lifted his shoulders slightly.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, kneeling down beside the boy. “Jack! Bolt!
Help!”

Panic gripped her, every muscle in her body shaking harshly. All thoughts quickly dispersed as she shifted into auto-pilot, reaching up to press the emergency buzzer on the wall next to her desk. She opened the desk drawer, pulling out whatever medical supplies were in there, before settling back down on the cold floor next to him.

“I’ll help you.” She tried to soothe him, scared by the tremor she heard in her own voice. “We’ll get you fixed up.”

Shouting for help again, even though she could hear the thunder of footsteps, she tore open one of the antiseptic wipes.

“Oh, dear Lord,” Jack gasped from the doorway. “What happened?” He lowered himself to the floor, checking the boy’s pulse at his blood-splattered neck.

“I found him here. I left the office for only a few moments.” She stroked the wipe across the boy’s cheek, her heart stopping when she finally recognized who it was. “Jack,” she whispered. “Oh, no, Jack! It’s Gabe. Look.”

Emma cleaned his face as fast as she could, her hand shaking, her fingers fumbling. The alarm finally shut off, and she heard Bolt on the telephone calling for medical attention. A few of the other kids began to linger around the door, eventually being shooed away by Bolt.

“Ambulance is coming. He looks too messed up for us to deal with here.”

Ignoring his comment, Emma continued to clean Gabe while Jack eased off the boy’s jacket. He checked his limbs, hissing at the large gaping cut on the teenager’s bicep. At least they knew where all the blood was seeping from now. The cuts on his face and neck were too small to produce that amount of fluid.

He’d been stabbed or slashed with a knife. Who would do such a thing?

Emma’s stomach dropped further, acid bile rising in her throat. She gagged, turning her face away and grasping for control of her emotions. Her eyes stung with the threat of salty tears, her ears ringing as her head spun.

“You need air?” Jack questioned. “I got this, Emma, if you do.”

“No,” she replied with conviction. “I refuse to leave him. He came here for help from us and that’s what I’m going to do.”

Gabe stirred slightly, a tortured moan slipping from his mouth.

“Gabe? Gabe, it’s Emma. You’re at the shelter. We’re going to make everything better.”

He relaxed at the sound of her voice, as though he understood she meant it. As if he believed it.

Kids arrived at the shelter each week, all of them in bad shape one way or the other. Gabe was different. His wounds were far worse than she was used to. A bruise or cut was normal but a knife was incomprehensible to her. It hurt more because Gabe had obviously gone back to where he came from only to be attacked again. She’d stupidly hoped the first incident that caused him to visit the shelter had been an isolated one. Her naivety astounded even herself at times. Even seeing the hurt people caused one another on a daily basis didn’t take away the slightly rose-tinted sheen with which she saw the world. She truly thought she could make a difference.

The copper tang of Gabe’s blood began to fade as Jack cleaned the worse of his cuts. The slash across his eyebrow had reopened, and he now sported a matching one on his lower lip. The boy had been pummelled to within an inch of his life.

She checked her watch, stroking Gabe’s hot cheek as she wondered how long it would take for the medical attention to arrive. Bolt stood in the doorway his expression grave while he made sure the other teenagers in the shelter stayed in the day room.

Gabe’s eye lids fluttered as the faint sound of an ambulance siren filtered into the office. Exhaling a small sigh of relief, Emma shot Jack a quick glance, noting the expression on his face was no different from her current state of mind. He was worried.

“Gabe, the paramedics have come to help. Can you hear me? Do you understand they’re going to take you to hospital?”

“No,” came a low, slurred response. He tried raising his hand, though he lifted nothing more than his index finger. Sympathy swamped her, an intense need to hold him and never let go.

“I’ll go with you. We can’t fix those cuts here. You need more attention.”

One eye opened, the white now terribly bloodshot. Emma leaned closer, seeing his lips move and trying to decipher what he was whispering. The words were sluggish, making very little sense to her. She moved closer still, gurgling filling her ears, and as she pulled away blood bubbled from Gabe’s mouth.

Emma whimpered. Jack cursed. She grew dizzy, feeling completely powerless. A blur of movement had her reeling back. The paramedics pushed into the room, demanding to know details of Gabe’s condition and whether anyone knew what had happened to him. Luckily, Jack was clear-headed, able to tell them everything he knew and whatever Emma had relayed to him.

Her head swam, waves of nausea hitting her. She was thankful Jack could give the men the details—not that any of them knew very much. She tried to reach out and take Gabe’s hand; she was pushed away by another paramedic as he wheeled in a stretcher. They placed an oxygen mask over his face and began cutting along the sleeve of his shirt.

“Do you know his surname? Date of birth?”

Emma stammered, eventually spitting out, “Dearing. His surname is Dearing. He finally confided in me. I could give you the date of birth he gave us, but I doubt that’s the truth. I don’t know anything else.”

“Ask around,” the paramedic demanded, starting to push the stretcher from the room. “Maybe one of the kids knows a bit more. We’ll need whatever info you can get. Just let the receptionist know at the hospital.”

“I’ll follow you,” she said, quickly. “I want to make sure he’s okay. I promised him he would be. I promised.”

Stumbling a little because her legs felt like jelly, she retrieved her bag from the hook near the office door. She barely felt, or acknowledged, Jack’s touch, the urge to comfort Gabe was so great.

“Just let us know how he is. Bolt and I will take care of things here,” Jack said before passing her mobile phone to her.

She clutched it tightly, walking down the corridor. The sad, scared faces of the other teenagers stared at her. Nikki’s bottom lip quivered as she spoke. “I hope he makes it through, Miss Priss.”

Emma simply nodded, each step feeling harder to action than the one before. She shivered, the horror of the last half hour settling around her. Her car keys slipped from her fingers, falling to the gravel ground with a thunk. She wanted to do the same, to drop to the floor, huddle up and hide. Gabe had done that very thing in her office, and that was why she couldn’t stop.