Broken Souls by Beth Ashworth

while the other softly gripped at the back of her head, his movements trying to urge her against the lean warmth of his chest.
    “I-I can’t do it,” she cried, disappointment crashing over her. “I w-want to help you, b-but I just can’t.”
    “It’s alright,” he soothed, gently b rushing his hand over her hair. “I know it’s hard. I shouldn’t have asked you to do it, but I felt so guilty when you asked to help.”
    Ashley continued to sob as every muscle in her body ached. She raised her hand and placed it flat against Marco’s chest to bridge the gap between her leaking eyes and his body. Her fingers tangled in the rough hairs across his chest which caused her to choke with alarm.
    She pulled back and raised her hand to her mouth to stifle the sound of her now incessant coughing. Her eyes wide ned as she took in the bare skin of Marco’s chest, the moisture of her own tears glistening under the bedroom light. 
    “I’m sorry,” she began repeating over and over, her eyes unmoving from his lean and tanned torso as she wiped away the dampness staining her cheeks with the sleeve of her hoody.
    “ It’s fine. Stop worrying,” Marco murmured, his hand still stroking her hair.
    With cautious eyes , Ashley looked up and found his determined stare. The darkened glow was unnerving and had her writhing within his grasp. Her lips parted marginally to allow the increase in oxygen that her brain was demanding, and her pulse throbbed uncomfortably in her neck. She struggled to think straight as the anticipation crackled steadily in the air around them.
    “ Cara …”
    “Y-Yes?”
    He gave her a weak smile, his cheeks bunching and his eyebrows rising. It had been an unexpected reaction, but one that she was grateful for. The sight instantly fulfilled the inexplicable need for closeness she could feel growing inside.
    She wanted to be comforted; the feeling of warmth from another during this surge of hysterical grief was important to her. It was the connection that she needed right now. His presence was easing the pain that was welling deep within.
    Marco cleared his throat and disengaged his hold. “What if we looked together?” he asked, looking over her shoulder at the wardrobe filled with clothes. “Wait, what about that?” His gaze snagged on the canary yellow dress in Ashley’s other hand. “That’s very Gabby,” he suggested, fixing her with a brief smile.
    Ashley paused and took in the dress. “You’re right. It’s perfect for her to wear,” she agreed. “It was also the dress she was going to wear the night of the accident, but she decided against it in the end.”
    “ Merda ,” Marco sighed, slapping his hand against his forehead.
    “We can choose something else?”
    “No.” He shook his head and took the dress out of her hand. “We’ll go with this because you picked it.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “ Si .”

Eight
    The next morning, Ashley was surprised to find Marco in the kitchen making a cup of coffee. For some reason, she had expected him to be gone by the time she got up and ventured out of her room. But she was definitely wrong in this case.
    “Good morning,” she spoke quietly, leaning her weight against the counter separating the kitchen from the living room.
    “ Buongiorno, cara. Coffee?” he asked, holding up the kettle to her.
    Shaking her head, Ashley pushed away from the counter. “I’ll get some juice,” she said, grabbing a glass from the draining board and opening the fridge. She watched Marco out the corner of her eye as he picked up his mug and headed for the sofa.
    Picking up her glass, she followed him and sat down. “I’m sorry about last night,” she mumbled, tapping her fingers against her glass.
    Marco took a sip from his mug and placed it on the coffee table. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do that.” He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back to look at her. “I was going to leave early this morning, but after last night, I wanted to