Loving Him (Ashton Irwin a.u.)

Chapter 30

A few months passed where Ashton and I grew to be good friends.

Peter and I had been together for about five months now and were very happy. Perhaps we didn't visit each other as often as Ashton and I had when we were together, but we went on loads of dates - fancy ones, to expensive restaurants or out dancing or anything like that. He told me everything about himself, his family, his fortune.

"Tell me about your mother," I murmured against his warm chest, my hand smoothing along the bulk of his muscles and my head resting against his shoulder. One of his arms hugged me tightly to his side and the other wrapped round behind his head. His muscles were huge and strong and kept me feeling warm and safe whenever I was with him.

"My mother?" he repeated, his voice just as quiet as mine. "Well, let me see... She had an affair with this man named Barry when I was very, very young and moved to Noosa to get married. Turns out this affair was going on for, like, a year. My mum got pregnant, started this whole new life with Barry up north. They had this big house with a pool and a huge garden... Every chance I got I begged my dad to take us up there, me and my brother, and it was like our holiday home. And then my mum found drink, got another divorce, moved again. Now she lives all by herself in this stingy little flat and doesn't even bother visiting either of her exes or any of her kids."

"Do you stay in touch?" I asked, lifting my head off his shoulder slightly to study his face. It was deadpan and he stared at the ceiling blankly. I traced his features with my eyes, memorising.

"With my mum? God, no. I can hardly remember what she looks like anymore. But Barry and I always got along well. We see each other from time to time but it's hard when I live here and he lives there."

I nodded, placing a soft kiss on his clean-shaven chin before laying my head back down.

"What about you, huh?" he asked. "How are you and your mum?"

I was still against his shoulder. "Nothing interesting. We get along fine, my parents are still together, they live an hour or so down the road."

He shook his head vigorously. "What's the real story?"

"Real story? I told you already. We're close."

"Come on, honey, haven't we been together long enough for you to tell me how you really feel about your mum? I've met her, I've seen you around her. You're not the same around her as you are around me."

Sighing, I complied. "She's the most judgemental woman I know. I can't do anything without receiving criticism for it."

"How does that make you feel?" he whispered, grazing his large, soft hand down my arm. It felt soothing, massaging, relieving.

"Hm?" I asked, having already forgotten his question. His touch had the infallible ability to erase all thoughts from my mind, no mater how great or insignificant they may be, how many or how few. "Oh, I don't know. It's always been this way, it doesn't bother me."

"Are you sure?"

"What? Yeah, of course."

"I don't believe you. I don't think you mean that."

I scoffed. "Why don't you tell me about your dad?"