Chapter 60

CHAPTER SIXTY

ASHLEY

I take my time changing out of one T-shirt and into the other. The second I pull it over my head, I turn to look in the mirror hanging on the wall above the sink.

It's just a T-shirt. He's probably not even going to recognize it as his.

So why do I feel sick at the thought of him catching me wearing it?

The answer to that is obvious.

Because we're not in a real relationship. I have no right to wear his clothes, and he won't want to see me in them either. It's just something else I'm taking from him without his consent.

But how can I refuse to wear it without it looking strange? He's already hinted that we've been intimate, so why wouldn't I wear his clothes?

There's barely any color in my face. I look sick. There are dark circles beneath my eyes. And my head hurts.

I'm tired, exhausted in fact, and I don't think I have the clarity of mind to face Heather's sharp focus and be able to lie to her face convincingly about why I'm wearing a wedding ring .

This is a mess. I should never have come back home. I should have just stayed in the house I shared with my friends.

My friends.

Have they texted me? Tried to call me?

The sick feeling increases, and I alternate between hot and cold.

Neither Jessa-Mae or Karla are the type to accept my out of character behavior. If I don't speak to them, if they think I'm ignoring them, they'll turn up in town unannounced.

There's a soft tap at the door.

"Ashley? Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine."

Pinching my cheeks in a pointless attempt to put color in them, I walk to the door and open it. Heather is standing in the hallway. Her eyes dip down to my hand, and my grip on the wet T-shirt tightens.

"Let me get that washed for you before it stains."

I have to force myself to let go when she tries to take it from me.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

I nod. "It's been an odd week."

"It's only Tuesday, honey."

My laugh sounds a little hysterical to my ears. "I know."

"Who are you married to? Does Zain know?"

"He knows." I follow her back to the kitchen and sit down. Her husband glances up from his place at the end of the table, and smiles in my direction.

"I'll just go to the laundry room and put this in the washing machine." She disappears through a door at the opposite end of the room.

"Word of advice, Ashley," he says when she's gone. "Heather is a psychologist. She works with children, and is exceptionally good at getting the truth out of people."

"What's the advice?"

"Don't lie to her."

"Why would I lie?"

His smile is faint. "That's what we've been asking ourselves for a long time."

My cheeks heat up. I deserve that.

"I'm sorry." He sets his cup down. "But you have to understand how hard this is. To us, you're the reason we lost our son. I know Zain says he's forgiven you, and …" his eyes dip to the ring on my finger, "something is clearly happening between the two of you. But until we know the reasons behind why he's forgiven you so easily, and why you did what you did, it's going to be hard for us to move forward."

"I know." My voice is little more than a whisper. "I talked to Heather about it a little, and I wish I could make sense of it."

"What about the wedding ring?"

"It's nothing, really."

"Wedding rings aren't nothing . You're either married and cheating on your husband with my son, or?—"

"I think I'd rather wait for Zain to be here before I talk about that."

He holds my gaze for a second longer than I find comfortable, then nods. "I understand, and I'll ask my wife to respect that."

He leaves the room shortly after, and I'm left alone for a few minutes. My head hurts, and I move closer to the table, so I can prop my elbow on it and rest my chin on my palm. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on my breathing, and try to push past the pain.

The sick feeling hasn't left, and nausea is an acidic maelstrom churning around my stomach. I'm sure part of it is from lack of sleep, the rest from stress. I'm not even going to lie about that to myself.

It's been one thing after another from almost the moment I returned to town. From Zain confronting me at Jason's grave, to his threats and promises to exact revenge if I don't comply with his wishes, I haven't had a second to stop and think.

Which I'm sure has been his intention.

Keep me off-balance and with as little time to think and assess as possible.

The same way he must have felt during his interrogation.

I swallow against the lump in my throat.

How can I ever make up for what happened? Am I even at fault?

It doesn't matter that I watched the video of myself denying that Zain had a knife, it doesn't matter that the memory unlocked afterward. When I stood on the stand and told the world that he'd done it, I believed it. I wasn't lying … and yet, I was.

How is that even possible? And how can I find a way to make him understand?

"Ashley?" Heather's voice is soft, but it still makes me jump .

"I'm sorry. I think everything is catching up with me."

"I'd suggest a nap, but you should probably wait a little longer after hitting your head. I can get you some painkillers. Do you have a headache?"

"I'd appreciate that."

She disappears again, and returns a few minutes later. Filling a glass with water, she hands it and two little white pills to me.

"It's just Tylenol," she says when I hesitate. "I can show you the bottle if you want?"

"No. No, it's fine." I take them from her, and swallow them down with the water. "Thank you."

"Why don't we have some lunch? Zain won't be back for a while. If he's brought you here, it's because he wants us to get to know each other. You can tell me all about what you've been doing since you left town."

She's already proved that she won't shy away from asking hard questions, and dread fills me while I watch her move around the kitchen, making enough sandwiches for a small army.

"Why don't we start with when did you marry my son?"