Page 65 of For Better or Hearse
Nathaniel grins tightly. His arms cross to fold around his biceps. “I’d expect nothing less. Stubbornness.”
Ash yawns, cups her mouth, feigning boredom. Cranes forward to see what’s holding up the line. “To what do I owe this displeasure?”
“Hiding out from my siblings.” With a long-suffering sigh, he shakes his head. “Delaney wants to read lines. Tate’s after me about listening to his podcast.”
Ash peers over her shoulder, takes in Delaney and Tater, who are sitting at the picnic table scrolling through their phones.
“Listen, I detest a himbo podcast bro as much as anyone, but maybe it’d be good to give Tater the benefit of a doubt. Maybe he just wants you to listen to him.” She shrugs. “Sometimes when people are annoying as fuck, it’s because they want attention. Maybe he just wants you to like him. People will do all kinds of things to be liked.”
Nathaniel goes completely still. If it’s possible, those broad shoulders get even broader. He glances back at his brother, brow furrowed thoughtfully.
“They’re younger, right?”
Nathaniel’s laugh is humorless. “Yeah. By ten years.”
She can picture it. The Whitfords at the family dinner table. Nathaniel home from college, stern, broody, focused. Delaney, whimsical and sweet. Tate, stupid yet endearing. Young kids vying for Nathaniel’s attention. Nathaniel so focused on getting the fuck out, he doesn’t see.
She’s probably overstepping. But it’s always been in her to fix. Fix her blood sugar. Fix her heart after Jakob. Fix Tessie after her mother’s death. She can fix this too. Sure, she might find herself at the bottom of the ocean after this conversation, but she’ll take that chance.
She turns to him. “You’re running. You don’t give yourself to people. It’s understandable. Your father’s a nightmare, and the jury’sstill out on your mom. But maybe your siblings…” She should stop talking, stop rambling, but after last night, it’s like she has a window into the hard shell that is Nathaniel Whitford. It fascinates her. “Maybe they deserve you. Maybe they want to know you. Or, if you want to get away from your family so badly, maybe you should cut this vacation short and go on your hike.”
With a hard swallow, he blows out a breath. “You talk a lot.”
The line inches forward. Barely.
“Your grandfather,” she begins. “Do you think he’s having fun?”
He crosses his arms, lets out a tired sigh. Her gaze lingers on the bulge of his biceps. “I think he wantsusto have fun.”
“Maybe we should run interference and force everyone to spend time with him.” Ash clears her throat. “In the name of the truce.”
“The truce.” Those two words are staccato, brusque. Like he’s already regretting their agreement. But stern tone or not, his gaze meanders over Ash.
Once again, the alarm on her phone screeches. Ash scrambles to silence it, then surreptitiously checks her blood.
“Fuck.” Her blood sugar’s now sixty-five.
Nathaniel suddenly sobers. His hawklike gaze has caught her reading.
Then a broad palm cups the small of her back. “C’mon,” he barks, gently ushering her forward. His expression has turned intent, his moves sharp and quick.
Horrified, mortified, she says, “I can get a Coke, it’s really not—”
He’s moving again. Leaving her there. Cutting everyone ahead of them. Ash covers her face. In low tones, he speaks to the person at the head of the line, who nods, assesses Ash.
Nathaniel turns over his shoulder, searching for her. He waves her up.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ash says as she passes the people. “He’s a nepo baby. No one ever said no to him when he was a child.”
When she reaches him, Nathaniel lifts a brow. “What flavor?”
“Oh, uh, root beer.”
A strange expression crosses his face. Shock, surprise, maybe. Then he turns back to the server and places the order.
“Here.” He hands the server a wad of cash and takes the shave ice. “For hers and everyone we skipped.”
Ash looks at him from beneath lowered lashes. The gesture has her heart pumping in a slow, grateful cadence.