by Aly Stiles
I actually prefer the skill games over the luck games because there’s no way for me to let him win when a simple roll determines our fate. This is our fourth time through Angry Ogre, and I’ve won the first three. I tried to convince him to switch to something else, but he refused. I got through the other wins by offering conciliatory treats, but it’s getting too close to bedtime for that. This one is just going to have to sting.
Two rolls later, I’ve swept the series and feel terrible as he sulks off to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Still, I guess it’s good for him to learn early that often the only difference between a win and a loss is a dot on a cube completely out of your control.
At least he seems to have forgiven me when I tuck him in and kiss his forehead.
“Ash?” he asks, grabbing my arm.
“What’s up, little man?” I drop back to the edge of his bed.
“I’m going to ask Santa for a new room for you so you can have a real bed and sleep better.”
My throat closes as I stare into his wide, earnest eyes. Shit. This kid.
“Wow,” I manage, swallowing hard. “Thanks, bud. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have some new toys, though?”
He shrugs. “I can ask for those for my birthday. I want to save the big stuff for Santa.”
I force down the lump in my throat and manage a smile. “Well, that’s very nice of you to use your gift on me. It means a lot.” He cringes when I ruffle his hair. “Night, squirt.”
After closing his door, I head to the bathroom for my own nighttime preparations. Mom’s working five to midnight, so if I go to bed now I can get a few hours in before she disturbs me. Downside of sleeping in the living room, although usually I’m home and gone before anyone else is awake.
I’ve just finished brushing my teeth, changing into my gym shorts, and setting up my bed when I hear a scrape at the door.
Startled, I scan the room for a weapon, then lower my guard when I recognize the sound of female laughter. The door opens a second later, revealing mom and three women I don’t know.
I stiffen, glaring at her as she moves inside and shuts the door.
“Oh. Ash. Hi, baby. You remember Lisa, Mel, and Trina.”
She staggers forward a few steps, while waving toward the strangers. Anger bolts through me as she giggles and collapses on my pull-out bed.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working? Why the hell are you drunk?” I snap.
She swipes her hand through the air dismissively. “Relax. I didn’t just bail. I called off first.”
“You called off? Are you fucking serious?”
I lock my hands on my head, ignoring the stares of the women. Because who the hell are Lisa, Mel, and Trina, anyway? No, I don’t remember them. How could I when I’m always working to keep this family alive?
Her family.
“Calm down, sweetie. It’s just one shift. I haven’t called off in a month.”
“You only work a few shifts a month!”
Her eyes narrow as she forces herself back up. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a… a child,” she hisses.
“Then quit acting like one,” I fire back.
“It’s not a big deal! Besides I did this for you.”
“Huh? You did what for me? Skip work and go drinking?”
“No, silly.” She’s back to thinking this is hilarious, and somehow I hate that even more than the indignation. “Lisa and Mel,” she says, waving at the strangers again. “Well, maybe Trina too, but she’s still married.”
She bursts into laughter at that, and I notice the others are now exchanging awkward looks. My mother seems to be the only one enjoying whatever’s happening right now.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, now confused on top of everything else.
“Actually, we should probably go, Gi,” one of the women says, backing toward the door.
“We’ll call you,” another one adds.
I’m about to agree with them when Mom whines, “No, no. It’s still early. The party is just getting started.” She turns to me. “And you’re invited, sweetie. These are some of my friends from the club. Mel is single and Lisa just got divorced. I thought you all would get along really well. Girls, this is my Ash I was telling you about.”
I stare at her in disbelief, completely numb. My gaze swings to the strangers, who at least have the decency to look uncomfortable, even if their eyes keep lingering on my bare chest and stomach.
Is this for fucking real?
I turn back to my mother, balling my fists to keep from doing something I’ll regret. “I… What…” God, I don’t even have words for this.
Shaking my head, I swipe my pillow and blanket from the bed. “You know what? Fine. Have your damn party. I’ll sleep in Bray’s room.”
I storm off, ignoring her pleas to come back. After quietly opening Braydon’s door, I slip inside and lock it behind me.
“Ashton?” he asks in a groggy voice.
“Go to sleep, bud. Everything’s fine.”
He nods, his eyes drifting closed again.
I spread the blanket on the floor and lie down. Clenching my eyes shut, I breathe hard as blood that was boiling seconds ago now runs cold at the reality of what just happened. Those women were at least twenty years older than I am. What the hell was my mother thinking?
Three minutes later laughter and music resume in the living room, and I clamp the pillow around my head, still shaking.
Chapter Six
IRIS
It’s funny how a meal I’ve never thought much about has become my most anticipated time of the day. As noon rolls around on Friday, I grab my bag, along with an extra surprise for Ashton. Hopefully, he remembered the crackers for our little caviar adventure. The look on his face when he read the label was priceless. I wish I’d gotten it on camera. As if all his other expressions weren’t cute enough.
I peek outside, surprised to see the area deserted. That’s weird. He’s been waiting for me the last couple of days. Maybe he wanted to cool off right away or use the bathroom?
I exit the house, instinctively glancing back to where he keeps his cooler, and sure enough, the space is empty. Hurrying across the patio, I’m careful to avoid the danger zones and eagerly push through the door.
My stomach drops when I see it’s dark and empty.
Confused, I scan the room, searching the walls and furniture as if he could be hiding somewhere. The bathroom door is open as well, revealing the dark space inside.
He’s not here. I don’t need to look further to know that. I can feel his absence.
My chest tightens as I stand in a room that suddenly seems cold and desolate. I know he was at work this morning. I always check and enjoy that rush of seeing him. My eyes burn as I bite my lip and exit the building. I don’t want to cry. I’m not going to cry. Not over something so stupid. Maybe he had to run an errand. Or maybe he just didn’t feel like company today. No big deal. Everyone needs time alone once in a while.
I try to believe any of those things as I return to the house. Charmaine is cleaning the kitchen, and suddenly I don’t feel like company either. I take my lunch up to my room and stare out the window at the empty pool deck below.
Forty-five minutes later, Ashton returns with the others.
I try to work through the afternoon, but it’s hard when the biggest disappointment of your day is in your line of sight and there’s nothing you can do about it. Was it me? Did I offend him with the caviar joke? I thought his mac and cheese gift was so sweet. Gosh, it felt like a five star meal when he handed me that little container. It was so embarrassing when I teared up and couldn’t speak. The caviar was nothing by comparison.
Around four I wait by the back door, watching as the guys pack up and carry the supplies around the house to load the trailer. My heart sinks when Ashton doesn’t come back after one of his trips, and I rush to the front of the house, hoping to intercept him there.
My chest is heavy with disappointment again,
until I catch a glimpse of him halfway down the drive. No one else is around, and I call out his name. He stops, his shoulders tensing before he turns around.
Hurt, I slow my run to a walk as he hovers with an unreadable expression.
“I waited for you at lunch,” I say, approaching him.
He looks away. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
I stare at him, but nothing follows. No explanation, not even an excuse.
“Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?” My voice trembles, and I clear my throat. How can this person mean so much to me? It doesn’t make sense, but suddenly my stomach is sick when he won’t meet my gaze.
“No, of course not.” He sighs and scrubs a hand over his head before focusing on me again. “Look, Iris. You are such a sweet person. And hilarious, and smart… Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend, it just shouldn’t be me, okay? It has nothing to do with you, we just… I’m not who you think I am. I’m not what you think I am.”
Anger and pain clash in my chest as I glare at him. “No? So what do I think you are? What are you, Ashton?”
He lets out a breath and shakes his head. “I’m no one. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. No. One.”
His gaze searches mine, pleading with me to understand. “You know what I do when I leave here? I go home, shower, make dinner, and then leave to work another shift. Then I do it again. And the next day. And the next. You know what I’ll be doing a year from now? The same shit. Maybe it’ll be a different job. Maybe I’ll have different hours, but this is what it’s always going to be for me. I’m never going to be able to hang out or go to clubs or see movies. My life is work and survival. So we can pretend for a few minutes a day with those little lunch dates, but that’s all it is. Pretend. Once this project is over, we will never see each other again. I’m not a friend you want, okay? I’m not.”
He starts away, and I’m paralyzed by his words. Because, no! Just. No. Nothing he said sounded okay. It felt even worse. So why can’t I argue with him? What is there to say when the person you want in your life wants no part of yours.
My father’s words come screeching back to me. You can’t, Iris. You can’t force anyone to journey into your world.
“Ashton!”
He pauses, but doesn’t turn around this time.
I take several steps forward until I’m standing directly behind him. I watch the heavy rise and fall of his chest, trace the rigid lines of his back through his damp shirt with my eyes.
“I’m not okay with this,” I say quietly. “I’d rather have one pretend lunch with you than a lifetime of clubs and movies that mean nothing. Our pretending is more real than anything else in my life right now.”
His fist clenches at his side, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he solidifies into stone right in front of me. After what seems like forever, he finally releases a long breath.
“Have a good night, Iris,” he says, and continues down the driveway.
My heart hurts Friday night into Saturday. Everything hurts as I sort through the confusion of what happened with Ashton. He said it wasn’t about me, but how could it be about anything but me?
Then again, everything was fine the last time we saw each other. I swallow a twinge at the memory of his smile when he said he’d bring crackers. If I’d known it’d be my last, I would have treated it differently. So maybe he’s telling the truth. Whatever happened had to be off-hours, and now more than ever, I want to understand the part of his life I can’t see.
What happens when he leaves here? What trials are strong enough to change everything when he comes back?
I stare at my phone, tempted to message him. I haven’t considered it since our lunch dates started. I was content with those brief encounters and allowing him to set the pace of our friendship as long as it was moving. But now? My chest constricts at the thought that he’s going through something heavy enough to dissolve our relationship.
If you want this person in your life, you’re going to have to force your way into his.
I tried, though, didn’t I? What else can I do short of stalking him for real? He doesn’t want me in his life, and I have no right to insert myself against his will.
Maybe I’d be able to accept that if I could believe it was because he actually didn’t want me around.
But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else going on. That it’s not about not wanting me in his life and more about him not thinking he should be in mine. Like our worlds will somehow poison each other, and it’s his job to keep them apart.
Still, as much as I want to fight, I’m not sure what choice I have other than to let him go. To hold on to those precious few seconds we did have and appreciate the unexpected impact of our short acquaintance. He may have caused a ripple in my world, but there’s no clinging to a wave no matter how strongly it crashes into you.
So I tuck my phone away. Close my blinds. Open my laptop and try to immerse myself back in the world where I supposedly belong.
I manage to do the same thing on Sunday.
And Monday.
By Tuesday, my blinds are open again, and I’m watching my inexplicable heartbreak push a wheelbarrow of mulch across the pool deck, wondering what he brought for lunch.
Chapter Seven
ASHTON
There’s music and laughter coming from behind the door when I get home after my shift on Tuesday night. It’s well after eleven, so no way Bray should still be up. Man, I hope Mom’s not hosting more of her annoying friends. If they’re hanging out in the living room, I’m taking her bed for the night. She can sleep on the shitty pull-out for once.
After a long day in the brutal sun, followed by a busy shift at the restaurant, I’m just about ready to collapse. Plus, the weird kind-of breakup with Iris has been a constant pain in my chest, even though I know I did the right thing. We only have to make it another week or so and this project will be finished. After that, I’ll be able to put all of this behind me and try to forget someone like Iris Alexander exists. She’s probably already forgotten I do.
I push through the door and tense at the sight.
Two sets of eyes land on me as I enter, neither belonging to one of Mom’s friends and both clearly intoxicated.
“Oh, hey, baby! You’re home,” Mom says, waving from her place attached to some stranger.
My gaze shifts to the guy who’s probably in his mid-thirties and looks like she picked him up in the parking lot of a prison. Seriously, did this dude just walk out and she called him over to her car? I’m furious that she lets these guys into the same apartment as Braydon.
“Yep, I’m home,” I mutter, crossing to the speaker and shutting it off.
“What the fuck, man?” the guy barks.
I glare over at him. “It’s almost midnight and my brother is in bed. Not to mention, neighbors?”
“Bray’s fine,” Mom slurs out. “He’s… with… with…”
She erupts into giggles at the fact that she can’t remember where her kid is.
“He’s where, Mom?”
“Neighbor,” she manages finally.
“Which neighbor? The Watsons? The Coles?”
She shakes her head, and I’m about to charge through the entire building banging on doors when she calls out, “Marla! He’s with Marla from downstairs.”
“You’re sure?” I ask, lasering a look at her. If he is, it might be the only thing she’s done right this week.
“If s’what she said, s’what she said,” Prison Dude snaps back.
I direct my fire at him and take a step forward. “You can stay the hell out of this,” I say pointing at him.
“Excuse me?”
He releases my mom, who staggers toward the couch and grips it for support.
I straighten to my full six feet two inches and stare him down. Prison or not, no one messes with my house. I paid for this family with blood, sweat, and tears. Gave up my entire future to keep us afloat. I’ll be damned if some thug m
y mom dragged home from a bar gets to shit on our lives.
“You heard me,” I say, taking another step. We’re so close I can smell him, unwashed and reeking of alcohol. Mom must really be wasted to think this was her best option for the evening. “In fact, this is probably a good time for you to leave. My mother needs to go to bed. Have a great night.”
Rage radiates from his pores as his eyes bulge, and I know I’m playing with fire but I’m done pretending this is all okay. That this is the best we’re going to get from life. She promised last time was the last time, so I’m all out of patience for this bullshit.
I flip him off as I start toward my mother to help her to bed.
“No, Ash. I want to… to dance,” she whines when I take her arm.
“Nope. Dancing is over.”
“But, Ashton…”
“Like hell it’s over,” Prison Dude hisses.
He grabs my arm from behind and rips me away from her. The force swings me around into the end table, and I crash to the floor with its contents in a hard fall that stuns me for a second.
Furious, I jump to my feet and charge him, prepared to physically throw him out of my house.
“Ashton, stop!” Mom calls out.
My glance toward her is just enough for the guy to land a blow. I stagger back, coughing out dry agony as the air rushes from my lungs. He miscalculates with premature gloating, however, and I manage to right myself for round two.
This time, I avoid his wild punch and land my own in his jaw. He flies into the wall, growling as he pushes away and launches toward me like a bull. I brace for impact, but even the warning isn’t enough to stop his hulking weight from dragging me to the ground. He has at least fifty pounds on me, mostly fat, but enough to throw us off balance. We land hard, and I groan as his weight falls awkwardly on my side, his elbow smashing into my face. Before I can recover, his forearm is on my neck, cutting off the air.
Mom screams but I can’t make out what she’s saying. All I comprehend is the searing pain in my chest as stars sprinkle my vision. Shadows seep in while I blindly clutch at him, writhing for a breath. Mom’s still screaming something. A name maybe, but it’s not mine.