by Huss, JA
She nods and looks out the window.
“What?” I ask as I get back on the freeway.
“Thanks,” she says with an almost too cheerful smile. “It’s very nice of you to help me out like this. You don’t even know me.” And then she snorts a little. “You don’t even know my name.”
“Ashleigh,” I say quietly. “You’re Ashleigh.” She gives me a quizzical look. “Your key chain. It said Ashleigh and Tony Forever or something like that.”
“Oh, right.” The smile disappears.
“But yeah, I’m not usually so nice. You caught me on a bad day.”
“This is a bad day? What are you like on a good day? A saint?” This brings the smile back, at least partly.
“No, on a good day I’m myself. On a good day I would’ve left you in your car all night.”
She looks over at me quickly. “Would not’ve.”
“Yes, I would. On a good day I would never’ve knocked on your window when I went to get the blizzard blankets. I would’ve pretended I never heard you and your baby. And then I would’ve walked back to my hotel and gone to sleep. I’d have forgotten you before I even reached the motel door.”
I get off the freeway at our exit and turn right onto Starburst. The snow is even thicker over here and I start to worry about the driveway. I punch in the gate code once we make it to the house, and then hold my breath as we climb the steep hill. We slide even more this time and it’s freaking her out.
“I don’t like this. Drop me off, I’ll walk up.”
“I’m not dropping you off. Just relax.”
She looks nervously behind us. “I’m afraid we’re gonna slide backwards and—”
“Stop it. I’m not going to let us slide backwards.”
“But what if you can’t control it?”
I shoot her an annoyed look and she turns away as I accelerate a little, making the tires spin. She makes a few indescribable noises and grips the seat, but after a few seconds of sliding sideways, we get traction and continue upwards. When I finally pull around to the garage she lets out a long breath like she was holding it in the entire time. “Told ya,” I say smugly as I put the car in park so I can go open the garage door.
“Yeah, you did, didn’t you?”
I glance up at her as I get out to see if this was sarcasm, but she’s already scooting over into my seat. We’ve got this down to a routine, I guess.
She smiles at me again. Like she trusts me completely even though three seconds ago she thought I was gonna let us slide backwards down a steep hill. I open the garage and she pulls forward with the same careful attention she did earlier, and then I close the door behind her. I start grabbing bags and she messes with the baby.
I set all the bags down on the kitchen island and start taking things out to put away.
“Nope,” she says in a light tone. She walks over to me and puts her hand on my chest to push me away, and then grabs the bag with her other hand at the same time. “You paid, so I’ll put it all away and cook us dinner.”
I try to remove her hand from my chest, but she whirls around before I can even come to grips with the fact that she touched me again.
Fucking girl. That’s three times now.
“Go,” she says. “Shoo. I’ll take care of it.”
“Shoo?” I chuckle. It feels good to laugh after all this bullshit that’s been rattling around in my brain these past few months. “I can cook. I don’t need you to take care of me.”
She stops what she’s doing and looks over her shoulder at me. “Just go, OK? I got this. It’s my way of paying you back. Don’t ruin it for me.”
She goes back to the bags and leaves me to decide. I watch her from behind for a moment. Her small body is busy as she takes things out and sets them on the counter. And then the baby whines and it breaks the hold this girl has on me.
I don’t exactly hate babies, they just freak me out. They’re all needy with the feeding and the diapers. Plus, most of them like to be touched.
I shiver at the thought and make a quick escape before she asks me to do her a baby favor.
Chapter Ten
I head downstairs immediately. This is the front of the house and it’s not your typical dark basement. For one, it’s got a whole wall of windows on the far end of the lower floor great room, and for two, it’s a walk-out basement, so it’s built into the side of the mountain. If it wasn’t dark I’d be enjoying a spectacular view of the mountain peeking out from the tall pine trees. There’s no skiing on the mountain we face, it’s just wilderness. I prefer it. I can imagine nothing worse than looking out the window and seeing tourists.
I drag my gaze away from the dark window and look to the left at my dad’s office door. I haven’t been back here since the day he died. And as Mrs. Pearson pointed out to me this morning, I even missed the funeral.
I don’t do funerals. I don’t do weddings, or baby showers, or anniversaries.
I did one birthday. For Rook. I did Ronin’s get-out-of-jail-free party. Again, for Rook. And I’ve been to Antoine’s New Year’s party twice, including yesterday. The first was to get drunk with Spencer and Ronin after Mardee died. A formal goodbye from the three of us. And last night was to say goodbye to Rook. A last-ditch attempt to disconnect whatever it is we have between us.
I flick the light on in my dad’s office and take it in. Books on shelves, of course. We are alike in that respect. A large mahogany desk, spotless. I huff out a puff of air at that. Because his desk was never cleared off when he was alive. I walk around the desk and sink into the burgundy leather chair. It’s soft. It probably cost more than that girl’s car.
I slide open the top drawer and take out the key, twirling it between my fingers before inserting it into the bottom drawer and pulling it open. The light oak color of Macallan 1939 is apparent even in the shadow of the desk. Farther inside the drawer are two copita nosing glasses tucked inside some dark purple cloth.
My dad was a whiskey man and I bought him this bottle at auction after I completed my first job producing a two-week reality show in Japan. I spent my entire salary on this bottle of liquid gold. I told my dad to just drink it, shit, that’s why I bought it. But he said he was saving it for something special.
That’s a hard lesson to learn. You should never save anything for something special. Because something special might never come and that ten-thousand-dollar bottle of Scotch you admired in a desk drawer will just to go to waste on your piece-of-shit son as he mopes about losing yet another girl to Ronin fucking Flynn.
I open the bottle and grab both glasses. I pour a little whiskey into each glass, then walk over to the window, open it up, and toss it outside.
I pour again.
Apparently I’m secretly hoping the girl will wander down here and join me. Save me from my wallowing. Or maybe just get drunk with me. I smell the whiskey in my glass, then do the unthinkable with such a fine grade of drink. I guzzle it.
It burns like fuck as it goes down, but after that’s over I’m left with a rather pleasant taste.
I drink the girl’s glass too, and then pour us another.
Those two go down a lot easier and the coldness that has permeated my body all day is gone. In fact, my body is so warm I open the window back up.
Courage, that’s what I’m drinking. It’s not liquid gold, it’s liquid courage.
I reach into my pocket and take out my phone and turn it on. I’m almost afraid to see what’s waiting for me since I turned it on earlier in the day to make calls. It takes its time powering up and then the damage stares me in the face. Seventeen messages in all since last night.
I page to the list of missed calls. Rook, Ronin, Rook, Rook, Rook, Ronin… I study them for a moment, then realize she’s got a pattern. She calls on the hour. Ronin’s calls are random.
Just like him. He has no pattern—he’s random. That’s why luck likes him.
I hate it. I hate it because Rook does have a pattern. She’s symmetrical, she’s even
, she’s… perfect. And he’s… not. I check the time real quick—ten minutes to seven—and then press the number for the other missed calls on my screen.
“Ford?” my mother asks as she picks up. She knows it’s me, she’s got caller ID, so asking this as a question is irritating.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Are you… OK?”
“I’m in Vail.”
“Oh.”
“I was driving to LA and I broke down in Vail, so I’m at the house.”
“Oh.”
“I’m fine, I saw that you called, so…”
“Ronin has been calling. He says you left the party unexpectedly last night.”
“I was only there for the exit interviews.”
“Your assistant in LA called, she said you missed your flight.”
“I said I’m driving. It’s no big deal. I’m just letting you know, since…”
She waits. She’s not a Pusher. She’s a Waiter. I smile at this. I really do love my mom. She’s kinda flaky and her whole life is wrapped around her charity things, but she’s cute and even if I didn’t love her for being my mom, I’d like her for being someone interesting. “Since there’s a blizzard. Anyway, I’ll be leaving on Monday, so I’ll call you when I get back to LA. OK?”
She does some small talk before we hang up. She’s always like that. Trying to get me interested in having a long conversation. But I’m just not into it.
The phone buzzes an incoming call almost as soon as I hang up with my mother. It’s Rook, right on time. I press speaker for this one. I need both hands—one to hold the glass as I drink and one to pour the whiskey when I finish. “How can I help you, Miss Corvus?” I answer.
“Oh my fucking God! You finally picked up! What the fuck, Ford! What the fuck?”
She’s almost hysterical and I have a moment of guilt. But it passes.
“Ford? You better talk to me, goddammit! I swear to God, I’m so not in the mood for your weird shit! I’m pissed off!” She’s huffing on the other end of the phone and then I briefly hear Ronin talking to her in the background. There’s a shuffling of the phone and then he comes on.
“Ford? You OK, man?”
I take a sip of whiskey and enjoy it. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Rook is going crazy in the background now. I can hear her losing control. “Well, Rook says you broke up with her…” He stops as she snaps at Ronin and I enjoy that a little too much. “Rook, those were your words, OK? Ford, what the fuck is going on?”
“I’m just done with her, Ronin. That’s all. I’ve used her all up and I don’t require her friendship anymore, so please, apologize—”
The line goes dead. I smile a little as I take a sip. That’s one way to stop the calls and get my phone back.
“Wow,” the girl says, standing in the door to my dad’s office.
“Wow what?” I answer back, instantly annoyed that she overheard that conversation.
“That was harsh.”
“You think?” I point to the chair in front of the desk and pour some whiskey in her glass, then scoot it in that direction. “Try this.”
“No,” she says, but she’s moving towards the chair I just pointed to, like she thinks she’s gonna sit down and have a conversation with me. “I’m breastfeeding. I can’t drink.”
“I’m not asking you to get drunk. It’s a fucking bottle of 1939 Macallan. Take a fucking sip and form an opinion. You might never get another chance in your lifetime to drink a whiskey this fine. Live a little, Ashleigh and Tony Forever, Proud Marine Wife.”
She’s still crossing the room when the last of my words come out, but they make her physically recoil mid-stride. She looks hard at me for a moment. Just staring.
“What?” I snarl. “You’ve never seen a man be a dick to a woman before?” I laugh. “Well, you’re in for a real treat then, because I’m at my peak tonight.”
She never says a word. Just turns and walks out.
I’m not sure how long I sit there drinking my dead father’s ten-thousand-dollar bottle of Scotch, but I am good and drunk before I finally figure out she came down to tell me dinner was ready.
My life sucks.
I’m still wearing my New Year’s tux, I haven’t eaten since yesterday, and I have almost two days’ worth of stubble on my chin that’s annoying the hell out of me and the only person in this fucking world who gives a shit about me is my mother. And she has to care about me. It’s like, the law.
I cap the bottle and slip my phone into my pants pocket. I leave the fucking suit coat on the chair. I’ve seen the last of this tux, and I could care less what happens to it. Rook and Ronin never called back. My phone went from secretly-ringing-off-the-hook to might-as-well-be-dead. I climb the stairs with some difficulty, and then remember the fucking girl is probably still here.
Where else would she be, Ford? She’s totally dependent on you.
“Don’t start with me right now, internal monologue.” I laugh a little at that. The house is mostly dark. Only the small light over the stove is on. I go to the kitchen looking for signs of dinner, but it’s spotless. I open the fridge and squint at what’s in there.
Next to the microbrews I bought at Safeway, in front of the bowl of leftover salad, is a plate. It’s got a little sticky note on it that says, Ford.
Fuck. She’s one of those considerate people.
I take out the plate. It’s got clear Saran wrap over it, so I slip it into the microwave, then scarf down the salad while I wait. By the time the microwave beeps I’ve eaten half the bowl. I put it aside and dig into the meal.
It’s good. Chicken and rice is chicken and rice, and maybe I’m just half-starved, but it’s fucking better than good. It’s delicious.
I eat standing up and then put all my crap into the sink.
The drunk feeling is subsiding and now all I can think about is a shower. I find my way to the bathroom in the dark hallway and lock myself in there, the steam and calming white noise echoing through the bathroom, momentarily taking my mind off Rook.
She told Ronin I broke up with her.
I laugh out loud at that. Fucking Rook. She’s so adorable. What kind of girl tells her boyfriend that his best friend broke up with her?
My laugh dies. Because only a girl who has nothing to hide would say that to her boyfriend. And that’s what hurts right now. I’m so off her radar she can tell Ronin that and not even blink. She wasn’t worried about what he thought of that statement, she was worried about what I thought of that statement. That’s why she snapped at Ronin when he repeated it.
I lean against the tiled wall and let the water beat down on my head as the full impact of her words suddenly hit me. She’s not worried about what Ronin thinks because she knows nothing will ever come of her and me. Nothing. Ever.
I shut the shower down and dry off, then wrap the towel around my waist and go hunting for a toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. The girl already has hers out, sticking up out of a cup next to the sink. I open a new one for me, then some toothpaste and brush my teeth to chase away the whiskey.
I leave the bathroom and cross the hall to my room and flick on the light so I can find some clothes.
And stop dead.
That fucking girl is sleeping in my bed. Her shirt—actually, my shirt, it says CU Buffs on the sleeve—is pulled up to her neck, exposing her swollen breasts. Her nipples are large and a shade or two darker than her slightly olive skin. The baby is lying next to her, right up against her belly, but she’s also sleeping.
I flick the light off and stand in the doorway, backlit by the hall light.
“I’m awake,” Ashleigh says. “If you need clothes, just go ahead and turn on the light. I’m awake.”
I flick it back on and notice the shirt has been pulled down. “Sorry, I just assumed you’d be in the other room.”
“You said you were gonna sleep downstairs. Did you change your mind?”
I can’t speak for a moment, because it almost sounds like an
invitation. I look at her. I mean, really look at her. She’s pretty, but not in any way beautiful or striking. More cute than anything. She has a curvy shape about her. Not so much her body, but her face, her features. They’re not angular and hard, they’re round and soft. Her eyes are large and brown, like her long hair, and they have a slight almond shape, like she has some Asian heritage. She’s small. Tiny really, for a girl who just gave birth a few months ago. She was probably one of those pregnant girls who are all belly and breasts.
“No, I didn’t change my mind. I just… need some clothes.”
“OK,” she says and then clutches the baby to her chest and turns over, exposing her pink panty-covered ass. It’s a stark contrast to the dark blue comforter as it peeks out. I have an urge to slap it.
I laugh at this and she turns back, this time without the baby. “What’s funny?”
I surrender with my hands up. “You wanted me to notice your ass when you turned? Mission accomplished. But I don’t like a tease, so don’t start something you can’t finish.”
She stares hard at me and I feel a little nervous about what kind of reaction she might have. “I’m sure I can handle it.”
I raise my eyebrows but I’m not sure what to say back. I might be at a loss for words. I’m sure I can handle it. “Is that a challenge? Or an offer?”
“Take it however you want.” She closes her eyes and then slips her hand between her legs. I’m not sure she’s doing anything naughty with it, but it’s provocative all the same. “Why are you still standing there?” she asks with her eyes still closed.
“I’m having trouble controlling myself, to be honest. I might just think of it as both an offer and a challenge.”
Her eyes open at my response and then she throws the covers off, baring her legs all the way up to her panties. She gets up and then walks out the door, shutting the light off as she goes.
I don’t let her get more than a few paces before I grab her around the middle and push her face first against the wall. I drop my towel and jam my thigh between her legs. “Open,” I growl into her ear.