Always mine, p.1
Always Mine, page 1
ALWAYS MINE
T. ASHLEIGH
CONTENTS
Dedication
Introduction
Synopsis
Playlist
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Bonus Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by T. Ashleigh
Copyright © 2023 by T. Ashleigh
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Designer: Ariadna Basulto
Editor: Proofs by Polly
Proof: Addison Beck & Eryn Hawk
Formatter: Addison Beck & Cora Rose
DEDICATION
To my girls, Addison Beck & Eryn Hawk.
INTRODUCTION
Always Mine is Book 1 in the All Roads series. It is an MM, small-town, slow-burn, second-chance romance. It is a standalone in an interconnecting series. You can expect hurt/comfort, meddling families, and small-town shenanigans. This novel is intended for an 18+ audience due to its language and sexual content.
SYNOPSIS
Paxton-
I had it all. An amazing boyfriend, a full-ride scholarship, and so close to achieving my NFL dream. The future was headed my way, like a perfect spiral, straight down the field.
Until I fumbled the ball.
Everything I cared about was ripped away, and now my life has turned into something I no longer recognize. When I’m forced to move back home, I find myself face-to-face with the reminder of my own self-destruction.
Wyatt Clayton.
He wants nothing to do with me and I don’t blame him. I irrevocably broke us, and he made it clear there's nothing I can do to change the past. But I've lost too much to add him to the pile, and I’ll do anything it takes to get him back.
I need him. He’s my rock, my true dream, my everything.
My Wyatt.
Wyatt-
I thought I was done feeling pain like this.
When Paxton left--turning his back on me and everything we'd shared--I shattered. It took years to put the jagged edges of myself back together, but I managed to create something whole, if not imperfect.
Then he came back, and the shaky foundation I was standing on crumbled.
Now I’m adrift, drowning in the memories, while choking on his presence. He says he wants me back in his life--but my heart won't survive another break.
I have to resist him, and my long-buried emotions, but it's starting to feel impossible. How can I stay strong when he’s the same boy I fell in love with.
My Paxton.
PLAYLIST
Spotify Playlist:
Always Mine - playlist by T. Ashleigh | Spotify
PROLOGUE
Paxton
The concrete tunnel is filled with a nervous buzz as we wait for our cue to get on the field.
The restless tapping of shuffling cleats, loud cheers, and clapping hands ricochet off the walls in a mix of energy and excitement. We’re all eager to not only do the best we can but make our families and fans proud by winning.
I give my hands a little shake, trying to calm myself. It doesn’t matter how many times I do this, I’ll never get over the edgy feelings it brings. Luckily, it all fades away once I’m on the field.
My heart pounds double-time inside my chest at the thought of what’s to come and sweat already pools at the small of my back under my jersey. I don’t know if it’s from the nerves or the California heat. Probably both.
Jennings, the defensive captain, gives my shoulder pad a slap before moving on to the next player. It’s his thing. His superstition. His last ritual. I’ll be doing mine in just a second too.
I’m jostled by my teammates as they bump into me, ready to get out there and do what we all love.
Football.
Most of us have the same story, starting off playing Pee Wee and youth divisions when we were kids before moving on to high school ball. Now, here we are, some of us getting to the end of our ropes with college, while the others—myself included—are preparing and hoping to sign with the NFL draft.
It’s the dream, or at least, it’s been mine for as long as I can remember.
The music changes as the marching band begins our fight song, and I close my eyes for a moment, taking in a lungful of air. Then I press my glove-covered fingers to my lips before dropping my hand to my chest, right over the spot where the old silver chain is resting under my uniform. I take this time to think about deep blue eyes, guffaw laughter, and stolen kisses on a back country road.
Another life.
The thunderous rush of cheers as the doors swing open snaps me back to the here and now, and I release the breath I was holding, popping in my mouthguard before running out of the tunnel with the rest of the guys.
The stadium lights are like a beacon, calling to my soul as soon as I step onto the grassy field. It gives me that sense of comfort that I’ve long since been missing…. Home.
After three years away from Georgia, I’m not sure I can even call it that anymore.
Like I said, another life.
Pushing those thoughts away, I follow behind the guys as we line up on our side of the field, listening to the crowd die off as the announcements begin. This is the time when I close off my brain, putting everything that’s not football on the back burner for now. Classes, assignments, life in general… nothing else matters but this game.
The national anthem comes to a close and everything moves at warp speed after that. I can’t explain what happens once it starts. A drunk girl at a frat party once told me she couldn’t follow football because it was boring and there were too many stop-and-go’s for her to stay focused, which is the complete opposite of how it works for me. From the moment the clock starts until the last second, I feel like it’s only minutes rather than hours. It could be because I’m in the middle of all the action.
It begins to rain not long after kickoff, feeling like the start of a bad omen considering we fumbled the ball multiple times before scoring. Then after rotations, we basically handed not one but two touchdowns to the other team, which ties the score up.
I don’t know what’s going on with our defensive line tonight but when I catch eyes with Jennings he must sense the expression on my face under my helmet because he signals the ref for a time-out.
Thank fuck. We need a come-to-Jesus moment real quick.
We gather together and Jennings does his captain thing, trying to bring the morale back even though it’s almost halftime. We’re now soaked from the rain and ten yards away from letting the other team score again. It’s not going well and this is not the time for mess-ups.
We decide to change the play, and then we break, heading back to our spots. I lean forward, getting into position as I wait for the ref to blow his whistle. When he does, my teammates spring into action. I hang back, watching as the ball gets passed to the quarterback before he hands it off to his running back, waiting for my time to jump in.
The running back sprints and dodges players as I bite down hard on my mouthguard, watching as he makes his way to me. I’m ready, or at least, I would have been had it not been for the heavy sheet of rain that just came down. My cleat gets stuck in the grass and I have to use more force than normal to project my body forward and slam into the other player. Between the momentum and misjudgment of distance, most of the impact is taken by my left shoulder and bicep. It works though, and we both crash to the ground before we’re piled on top of.
It all happens so fast that I don’t even register the pain until a cold sweat breaks out across my body, then it’s like a switch flips. I scream out, feeling the scrambling of the other guys as they try to get off of me. Then I roll onto my back, needing to puke, but when I reach up to pull off my helmet my left arm protests, causing me to yell out again in pain. Black spots dance in my vision and I can hear Jennings talking to me but I can’t make out the words through the fog.
What the hell is happening? My helmet is tugged off and I’m rolled. The next thing I know I’m vomiting onto the grass as I clutch my arm to my chest, trying to protect it. Oh, fuck. Oh. God! Something’s broken. It has to be.
I’ve never felt anything like this before. I see Coach Pallon and Jennings above me, but it’s like I’m looking at them through a tunnel. The world around me is narrowing with each passing second, and I shut my eyes, knowing that passing out is inevitable.
I feel a sharp sting to my cheek but it does nothing to bring me back. I’m slipping away too quickly. My thoughts flash like I’m watching one of those old black-and-white films.
“Prescott. Prescott.” I he ar my last name being called over and over, but I can’t open my eyes. Everything is spinning and flickering so fast.
It spins and spins before halting completely, drowning me in memories that I’ve spent years trying to suppress. Memories that are almost as painful as whatever is happening in my arm.
I try to fight it, try to push it all away, but it’s impossible. I’m completely submerged in the deep end with no rescue in sight, and my mind spirals and my heart slows as I see myself— freshly eighteen, sitting on the tailgate of my daddy’s blue, beat-up Chevy way past curfew, hiding behind old man Rogers farm with my first and only love.
The one I let get away.
Wyatt Clayton.
ONE
Wyatt
I’m barely ten minutes into my ‘shift’ when I start questioning all the life choices that got me to this point. Sometimes I wonder if I do these things to torture myself or if I’m trying to prove to everyone that I’ve moved on with my life. Either way, my inability to say no is what gets me into situations like these.
“Wyatt, can you grab Billy another beer and get some ice from the back, please? I’m running low.” Ember, my older sister, calls out from the other side of the bar. A bar that I haven’t officially been working at… well, ever, but somehow, I still get roped into helping whenever she’s in a bind.
My sister is the manager of Red’s Bar and Grill, which is currently packed due to the football game. It's also horrendously understaffed because several employees are now back in college after working over the summer. So, here I am—her whipping boy, once again. It comes with the territory when you’re the baby of the family.
I nod my head, passing a bottle of Bud to Billy before heading to the back to grab the ice. The bar is already buzzing since the game’s about to start, and I try to ignore the floppy feeling in my stomach at that thought. It’s insane how back and forth my emotions run during this time of year. While I love the holidays and all the town's festivities that come with the season change, I dread the one thing everyone in this here can’t seem to get enough of.
Football.
It’s only gotten worse since…
Nope, not going there.
Shaking my head, I push those thoughts away. Luckily, I’ll have plenty of work keeping me busy and drowning out my wandering mind. Grabbing the large metal scoop, I fill two five-gallon buckets with ice, then dump them into the wells. I snag a few packs of Bud and Bud Light from the cooler before heading back to the bar.
“I see you got roped into working again,” Hunter, my friend, says, squeezing onto the last available barstool. I look him over, taking in his dusted black shirt and dirt-smattered skin. I’d say he came straight from work by the look of him.
“You already know.” I snort. “Cooper not with you?” I stand up on my tippy-toes, looking past Hunter for my… Well, I don’t know what Cooper is to me, exactly. He’s not quite my boyfriend, but calling him ‘just a friend’ seems insulting after all he’s done for me.
“Nah, he had some things he needed to do in Liberty. Get more supplies and whatnot. Don’t tell Howie I told you that, though.”
Howie owns the local hardware store, and while most of us go to him for just about everything, there is the odd occasion when we have to venture to other places because his supplies are limited.
I smirk, shaking my head and grabbing a mug from the cooler. “You don’t let him hear you say that.” I nod toward the left. “He’s right over there.”
Hunter's face flushes and his head swivels to look for Howie. Honestly, it’s so loud in here that I doubt Howie can even hear his wife, who’s sitting to his right.
“I think you’re safe,” I tell Hunter, pouring him a Bud from the tap—I’ve known this guy my entire life so I know his drink of choice.
“Thankfully,” he mutters, taking a long sip after I pass the glass to him. “Is Miles here? I didn’t see his bike out front, but I thought he had a shift tonight.”
Miles is Hunter’s little brother and the new busboy Ember just hired. He’s young, barely sixteen, but needed a job and Ember needed the help. “He’ll be here soon. He called and said he was running late.”
Hunter cocks a brow before pulling out his phone. “That’s odd. Did he say why?”
I shrug, about to tell him that I don’t know when I’m interrupted by Billy. “Can I get ‘nother beer?”
I roll my eyes, already knowing I’ll be driving his drunk-ass home later. The man is close to sixty and still can’t hold his drink. It barely takes four before he’s blitzed.
“One more and some food. Burger and fries?” I question, not really asking but wanting him to think I am. He’s not a mean drunk, but definitely a stubborn one.
He eyes me, and I expect him to say no, but then he huffs out his agreement. Thank God for small wins. I grab his beer and ring in his food before going back to Hunter. “Sorry about that.” He waves me off, his signature smile plastered on his face. I sigh in gratitude as I grab another menu. “You want to order some food too? Or start a tab?”
“Nah, I’m good. I won’t be here long, just stopping in on my way home. Didn’t want to miss the kickoff.” His words take me off guard and my smile drops before I can glue it back in place. Shit. Will there ever come a time when simple word associations won’t mess up my head? It’s been three years, I should be over this by now. Over him.
“Right, the game. I forgot.” I try to cover up my shaky voice, but of course he notices the change. How could he not? He’s known me our whole lives. But the good thing about Hunter is that he’s not the type to pry. He knows how sore this subject—AKA Paxton—is for me.
Trying and failing to be nonchalant, he pulls out a few dollars, sliding them to me. “Thanks for this.” He lifts his glass with a smile, trying to lighten the mood, though it’s completely wrecked.
I nod as I snag the money. “Let me know if you need anything else.” My tone is a little stiff, but he ignores it, eyes focusing on the screen behind my head. The screen that’s currently telling us the players’ stats and what their thoughts are on the upcoming season. Ugh! I don’t want to hear that shit either, but luckilyI’m saved when the cook yells out for food runners from the kitchen.
Passing Ember the money for Hunter’s beer, I head to the back, then spend the next while running food, cleaning tables, and distracting myself with whatever Ember needs. I’m thankful for the work to keep my eyes, ears, and mind away from the TV screen—even though the California football colors decorating the room are a teasing reminder of why it’s so busy in here.
“Wyatt, will you run these to table twelve? They were missing the fries with their burgers,” Ember calls, arms filled with cases of beer.
“You want me to take those instead?” I question, taking a step toward her.
“Nah, I’ve got it balanced. Just run those out, will ya?” Then she staggers back to the bar, somehow not dropping a single thing. I don’t know how she does it.
I tighten my lips to suppress a chuckle, and grab the two side plates, all while reminding myself that the shift is almost over. Only a few more hours until the bar closes and I’ll be home free. Plus, this isn’t terrible. It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be…
Well, it wasn’t until I rounded the corner and came to a dead stop
Just when I thought I was in the clear.
I plaster on a smile that I’m sure looks slightly manic, and make my way over to where Paxton’s family is sitting. My second family. The family I lost when I lost him. The worst part? It was totally self-inflicted. I regret a lot because of how things ended with Pax and I, but I really hate the divide I’ve caused in order to play the avoidance game.
