On One Condition Read online

  She’s making it impossible.

  Asher Wells is still here.

  She’s really fucking here.

  Talk about being blindsided. I was certain she’d left town long ago. I figured that the only people who would be left from that summer would be her gran and pop. I stressed over it, and then felt guilty that the teenage boy inside of me was relieved when I looked up Pop only to find out of his passing. That sounds terrible considering Pop didn’t present any threat to me now . . . but it still worried me that he’d be here. That he’d remember.

  But I was wrong about Asher. She is here. And when she turned to face me from behind the bar and those storm cloud-colored eyes of hers met mine, I was instantly transported back to fifteen years ago. Back to that last night, that last kiss, where she stood in the moonlight by my truck, those same eyes staring into mine as she promised she’d come back and meet me later.

  And the disbelief and utter heartache that came next.

  “You’re not to see her again.”

  “Dad . . . what are you talking about?”

  “I don’t like repeating myself. You heard me.”

  “I love her,” I blurt out.

  “You’re thinking with your dick, Ledger. Every good man does at some point, but this is the wrong time and the wrong person to do it with.”

  I shove up out of my chair. “You can’t tell me what to do,” I shout.

  His hands are fisted in my shirt in an instant, his face inches from mine. His voice is a cool, even tone when he speaks next. “You’ll do as I say. I will not have you disobey me on this. Pretend she never existed. Pretend this summer never happened.”

  Nothing can dampen the memory or roller coaster of emotions I went through that night. The pain, the anger, the confusion, the . . . agony.

  I did nothing wrong . . . I know that.

  Now.

  And yet, hell, I’m standing in this quiet house remembering when it’s been forgotten for so long, aren’t I?

  It’s fucking stupid really. Hell, it’s been over a decade. I’ve had many lovers since then, many women who’ve occupied my bed and my time so that Asher’s and my teenage puppy love was merely a blip on my radar . . . and yet seeing her tonight . . . fuck, seeing her tonight gave me pause.

  Nostalgia. Isn’t that what this is? An unexpected walk down memory lane?

  It’s more than that and that’s what’s fucking with my head.

  It’s created the desire to know her now. It’s reawakened an attraction to her I can’t deny. It feels so wrong for me and yet so goddamn right. I’m not a player by any means, but I’m also not one who pursues my exes once we’ve parted ways. The been there, done that mentality in full effect. And yet there’s something about Asher that had me pursuing her tonight. That already has me wanting to see her again.

  “It’s utter fucking madness is what it is,” I mutter to the empty house.

  The teenage girl owned me way back when, and the woman she has become seemingly holds my interest now.

  I take a sip of my beer and step out the door into the backyard. It’s not like I’m getting any work done anyway. I contemplate the silhouette of the mountains against the night sky. The stars burning bright overhead that the city lights I normally live beneath drown out.

  She was just as beautiful as I remembered. Even more so. The mane of auburn hair is longer now. Those big, gray eyes of hers still overly expressive. The curves of her body more pronounced, more feminine, than they used to be.

  Clearly, the years have physically been kind to her, and yet, I sense they’ve hardened that wide-eyed wonder she used to have too. I guess they have for both of us. My naiveté was ripped away that last night together. I wonder what stripped her of hers?

  But with age comes experience. Wisdom. Perhaps hardship. That shy, innocent teenager she once was, is no more. She speaks her mind and clearly doesn’t care who she offends. The jut of her chin in defiance wasn’t there before. I love the sight of it and at the same time, am curious about what made her change.

  Plans change.

  Dreams change.

  Weren’t those her words tonight?

  She shouldn’t still be in Cedar Falls. She had huge dreams of leaving this town and an even greater talent to get her there. A prestigious art school. An apartment in the big city. The chance to experience real life—the good and the bad—on her own. Wasn’t that what she wanted? What she aspired to do?

  I bring my beer to my lips. What the hell was so important that she gave up her dreams to stay here?

  Plans change.

  I know better than anyone. Plans do change.

  Ledger

  Seventeen Years Ago

  “Pace yourself, Callahan.” I glance over to my brother who has just shot-gunned his third beer in less than twenty minutes. He glares at me, crushes the can in his hand before tossing it over his shoulder, and then flipping me off.

  “Okay, Dad.” He rolls his eyes and then points to one of the girls to his side. “Grab me another, will you?”

  I grit my teeth. He’s out of control as per usual. Dad’s been chill with us doing our own thing here—more so than he’s ever been in our lives. The last thing I want Callahan to do is fuck it up by getting so shit-faced that Dad will notice and tighten the reins on our freedom.

  Then again, it’s Callahan. Screwups are allowed when you’re him.

  But not when you’re me.

  I glance at the beer in my hand and wish like hell I could say fuck it and be more like him. The problem? I’m sure if I did, our punishments would still be different.

  You’re my first born, Ledger. The one most like me. I expect more from you than anyone else.

  Fucking great. Perfect. I down the beer and try to forget who I am. Try to enjoy this newfound freedom here in Montana when every second at home is academics and sports and positioning myself for a future that’s preordained.

  When I toss my can to the side, it’s then that I see her standing on the outskirts of the party. Long legs. Tan skin. A red tank top with lacy white bra straps just beneath the fabric. Reddish-brown hair down her back. And . . . there’s something about her standing to the side, observing like she doesn’t exactly belong, that owns my curiosity.

  That and the fact she’s a walking wet dream.

  I can’t help but stare.

  “Ledger. Bro. Can I grab another?” the local kid we’ve been hanging around asks me. Hell, in reality, everyone’s been hanging around us considering we have the beer, but he’s actually one we’ve befriended in the two weeks since we arrived.

  “Sure. Yeah. Uh—who’s that, though?”

  “Who?” he asks as he steps forward to look in the direction that I lifted my chin.

  “Her.”

  “Lavender Girl?” He snorts.

  “Lavender Girl? What are you talking about?” I ask, desperate to look again but afraid to seem too interested.

  “That’s what we call her around here.”

  “Why?” But he’s headed toward the cooler before I get the word out.

  I chance a glance toward her again. And this time when I do, I’m met with a pair of gray eyes that don’t look away.

  I walk over to her, my nerves dampened by the beer. Her eyes grow wide, almost fearful, as I approach. Skittish. For some reason I get the impression that she doesn’t normally run with this crowd. Doesn’t quite fit.

  Maybe I feel the same in a different way.

  She’s even prettier up close. Way out of my league.

  Her breath hitches when I stop in front of her.

  “Lavender Girl, please tell me you’re not going to run away? I just want to say hi.” I hold my hands out to my sides, my confidence bolstered by my buzz. “I’m Ledger.”

  Her lashes flutter as her eyes lift to meet mine.

  Thud.

  “Hi.”

  Then she smiles . . . and I’m a goddamn goner.

  Asher

  I sit behind the wheel of my car with th
e door open, one leg firmly planted on the ground, the other on the floorboard, and simply take in everything.

  The house before me. Its paint is faded, and its steps are worn, but there is a presence about it that has a soft smile ghosting my lips. The porch swing is where I spent hours upon hours lost in the pages of a book while my grandfather, Pop, helped work the fields beyond.

  Memories hit me.

  A shadow passing in front of the window as Gran would move about with her perpetual need to tidy and dust and be occupied. Anything to make her feel somewhat normal despite the partial paralysis and ailments her stroke caused. And how I’d go back over it when she was fast asleep because her attempts were futile at best.

  The blue hue on the walls from the television lighting up the room. Its hum was not to be outdone by Pop’s booming laughter, which echoed out the windows he liked to leave open to let the summer’s warm night breeze in.

  The light scent of sage or cinnamon floating through the air. The creak of the raised wood floors as I’d walk over them to give each of my grandparents a kiss on their cheeks. A wall full of framed photographs documenting every embarrassing stage of my life.

  There were never reminders of the things I was missing. A father I never knew. A mother that wanted freedom more than she wanted me.

  Just pure and unconditional love.

  Grief still raw and real overwhelms me. It’s amazing how so much can change in three months. How life moves on and yet you feel like you’re standing still. How everyone else’s life goes back to normal while some moments I struggle to simply breathe from the grief that consumes me without warning.

  Grief, I thought I was familiar with given I never had a mother or father, but now realize that I never truly understood until I lost Pop. My rock.

  That’s why I welcomed the distraction by helping Nita tonight. A chance to get out and away from the quiet and somewhat deafening solace that most nights are a comfort here.

  And suffocating at other times.

  Insects trill to the left of me and draw my focus to the land that has been a part of my family for decades. Our hands in the dirt, our sweat mixed with it, as we turned the fields each year. The fertile soil of this valley where lavender is planted in perfect rows, side by side. Year after year they survive the harshest weathers to thrive in the mildest of summers.

  It’s where I spent my childhood learning the meaning of hard work, discipline, and sometimes defeat—all softened by Gran’s gentle hugs or Pop’s quiet love.

  The stalks rustle in the breeze swooping down off the mountains.

  Home.

  The place I couldn’t wait to get away from fast enough. The place that called me back out of desperation and duty. The place that is a part of everything I am—good and bad.

  And a place that sheltered me from the cruelty of the world. Cruelty I hadn’t been subjected to until Maxton Sharpe, Ledger’s dad, showed up on this very porch that night.

  Ledger.

  That’s a person I haven’t thought about in years. And I say person because to me, he’s been frozen in time—a teenage boy with floppy hair, most days a shirtless torso, and a smile that told me I was his whole world.

  But he’s no longer a memory to recall. He’s here. In Cedar Falls. And according to him, he will be for a while.

  And he wants to catch up.

  Classic avoidance. Isn’t that why I drove endlessly tonight? Down road after road to avoid coming home to the quiet of this farm and the endless thinking it often prompts?

  Driving with the windows down and the music blasting is so much easier than trying to figure out how seeing him again has made me feel.

  I shake my head as I climb out of the car. It’s been a long damn day, and a glass of wine and some reality television might be the perfect way to unwind. To distract.

  But as I round the car, the porch swing creaks and, for a second, despite being startled by its sound, I half expect to see Gran there waiting for me to come home.

  “Jesus.” I jump when I see Nita, a bottle of wine in hand and a soft smile on her lips. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at Hank’s? Is everything okay?” My words come out in a tumble.

  “Calm down, worrywart,” she says, holding out a red solo cup filled with wine as I climb the steps. “It’s past two. That’s how long you’ve been driving in circles and then sitting over there in that car of yours. You were so preoccupied you didn’t even see my car.” She points to where her car is on the side of the house.

  “You’re right.” I have no problem admitting it to her. “Sorry.” I take the cup she’s offering and plop down on the swing beside her, the motion making it rock.

  Crickets chirp around us, and I’m grateful for the silence Nita gives me as I let that first sip of wine settle in.

  “You want to talk about it?” she finally asks. “About him?”

  “Him?” I feign ignorance.

  “Oh, come on.” She slaps my thigh playfully. “You and I both know that fine piece of man at the bar tonight is who has you overthinking, probably driving around aimlessly, singing Total Eclipse of the Heart at the top of your lungs.”

  I shrug, hating that she’s right, before holding up the red solo cup to avoid her question. “This is classy.”

  “You know how we do it.” She laughs and taps the edge of hers to mine. “So . . . do you want to explain to me why Mr. Sexy Man left you this for a tip?”

  Nita holds up a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill and written in Sharpie across its face is a telephone number.

  “Huh.” I wish I could say I feel indifference, but I feel anything but.

  “Huh? Is that a good huh or a bad huh or simply a shut-up, Nita, huh?”

  I take the bill from her and play with its corners until the ten numbers in bold black marring its face blur together. “It’s the it appears Ledger Sharpe likes trying to buy forgiveness from his ex-girlfriend type of huh.”

  “Wait. What?” she screeches. “You dated that man? That fine-looking specimen I was flirting innocently with?” Her eyes are wide and her expression is surprised.

  “I did, but it was a long time ago though.”

  “Like how long?” She shifts so she can face me, her penchant for gossip rivaled by no one.

  “Like from age fifteen to seventeen.”

  “Oh, girl.” She waves a hand at me. “You were just babies.” She takes a sip and makes an approving sound. “If you ask me, I think you need to see how much better the man is now.”

  “Jesus,” I mutter and take another drink. “Thanks, but I didn’t ask.”

  “That phone number,” she says, pointing to the hundred in my hand, “says he wants to do the same.”

  My only response is a heavy sigh as I lean my head back to look at the stars and push the swing.

  “What are you not telling me?” she asks.

  “His family used to come here every summer. Him and his brothers. They’re identical triplets—”

  “Hold up. There are three men in this world who look just like him?” She holds a hand to her chest in a dramatic fashion. “There’s hope for me yet.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but there is no hope.” Especially if they all turned out like their father. Willing to play in this town so long as they could throw their cash around and leave it all behind. “They’re one of them,” I say, and she knows exactly who I mean by them. The wealthy. The people who look at townspeople as their servers, guides, or waitstaff, but definitely not their equal.

  She pushes my shoulder. “Let a girl dream, now, will you? Fantasy has no boundaries.” She closes her eyes and a cat ate the canary grin graces her lips as if she’s imagining just how good it could be. A soft hum escapes as if she’s satisfied. “Okay. Fantasy played out. Now you can carry on.”

  “There is so much wrong with that.”

  “I know, but I never claimed to be wholesome.” She flashes me a grin. “You’ve been keeping secrets from me. Now tell me about them. About him.”
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  “His father and the three boys—Ledger, Callahan, and Ford—would come to Cedar Falls every summer for three months. The dad was always working in some capacity and so the boys had the run of this place without much supervision.”

  “In a small town like Cedar Falls?” She whistles. “The girls must have been salivating.”

  “Yep. We all were but . . . one night . . .” I remember the fireworks exploding over the lake and how their booms echoed around the valley. How after the display I stood on the outskirts of a party on the shore, wanting to join in with my classmates but feeling out of place, always on the outside. I was just about to leave, but then I saw him, Ledger, and my feet refused to move. He was tan and had the cutest lopsided grin and, when I looked back again, he was right in front of me.

  Lavender Girl, please tell me you’re not going to run away?

  My smile is bittersweet as I remember. “One night we met and from there on we were inseparable.”

  “Three months inseparable?”

  “It was more than that. It was three months for three summers. We talked during the rest of the year and then fell right back where we left off when he arrived in June. It was like we both knew there were other people we flirted and messed around with during the time we were apart, but when summer happened, we only had eyes for each other.”

  “For three years? What happened?”

  I nod. So many good memories. “We made plans that last summer together. Big plans. Ones for our future. Ones for us.” I smile wistfully. “Looking back at it now, I know they never would have worked. We came from two completely different worlds, but we thought they would and, at the time, that’s all we saw. That’s all that mattered.”

  “He was your first, wasn’t he?” she asks softly.

  “We were each other’s . . . at least that’s what he told me, and I believed him. We’d fooled around before then—a lot—but the night we finally went all the way ended up being the last night we ever saw each other. Until tonight that is.”

  “What do you mean it was the last night? How did I not know any of this? I’ve been your best friend for almost thirteen years. Apparently, you’ve been holding out on me.”