Page 109 of Should the Sky Fall

Holy shit. “That’s an interesting way to look at it.” Dawson never thought about it like that. He always wished if only there was someone to make decisions for him, but not like Cal used to make them. He means decisions that would be in his best interest. But now that Ash said it…yeah, having someone to make those decisions wouldn’t help him stop feeling the way he feels. “Wish there was an actual off-switch.”

“Oh, there is,” Ash says jovially. “It’s called drugs. Your husband discovered one. Then proceeded to make your life a living hell. And it was easy to do, because he didn’t feel any remorse. Not that alcohol is the only thing to blame. It mostly just exacerbates the shit that’s already hiding underneath. But yeah, no, can’t say I recommend using an off-switch.”

“What do you recommend?”

Ash smiles like he’s been waiting for him to ask that the whole time. “Getting it off your chest and trusting me to make sense of all that mess.”

And fuck, Dawson has no idea what Ash has done to him in the short time they’ve been talking, but that sounds really, really good at the moment.

“I like the sound of that.”

“Good,” Ash says, proud and pleased. He leans back into the armchair, making himself comfortable. “Now tell me about your childhood.”

“You did great today, Dawson,” Ash says after what must be a few centuries.

“That was horrible,” Dawson whines, not a single spark of energy left in his body. Stupid childhood dissection. And yeah, fine, maybe the dissecting brought a few things into perspective—like Dawson’s pushover tendencies—but it doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Ash snickers. “Thanks, I strive to deliver on my promises.” He pulls out his phone. “When do you want to do this again?”

Dawson huffs, folding his arms across his chest. “Bold of you to assume I’ll want to do this shit again.”

Ash hums, completely unbothered. He swipes through his phone, pursing his lips.

“How about Tuesday the week after next? Two o’clock.”

Dawson glares at him, expelling a breath through his nose. “That works.”

“Excellent.” Dawson would give his left leg to wipe the self-satisfied smirk off Ash’s face. “Well, Dawson, it was a pleasure meeting you.” He stands and Dawson does too.

Dawson grunts. “Wish I could say the same.”

Ash’s grin is so wide it nearly doesn’t fit on his face. “You’ll be alright, Dawson,” he says with an uncharacteristic solemnity. What’s stranger is how easy Dawson believes him.

Dawson waves at the couch. “Thanks, I guess…”

“Any time. Are you feeling okay?”

Dawson does a quick scan of his body. “Tired but…a little lighter? Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” Ash assures him. “Don’t be mistaken, though. Next time, I won’t go so easy on you.”

Dawson gapes at him. “This waseasy?!”

Ash throws his head back, laughing, and walks him to the door. “Guess you’ll have to turn up and see for yourself.”

“Yeah, don’t bet on it,” Dawson grumbles, loud enough for Ash to hear.

“Take care, Dawson,” he says, opening the door.

“Yeah, you too.” When he steps into the hallway there’s a middle-aged woman sitting on the bench where Dawson had sat earlier. She looks up at the sound of the door opening, her gaze catching somewhere behind Dawson, probably where Ash is standing. Her face lights up when she sees him.

“Hi, Stella,” Ash says, and she hurries to stand up. “How are you?”

“Oh gosh, don’t get me fucking started,” she groans, making Dawson do a double take.

Ash just laughs. “That’s what I’m here for, though. Come on in.”

She hurries inside, and Dawson turns around in time to see Ash give him a wave before he goes in after her.