Ashton Morgan: Apartment 17B (The Wreck Me Series)

by Aly Stiles

  The man looks at her, suddenly easing up just enough for me to pull in a full draught of air. Oxygen wheezes in through my mouth, burning my throat on its way to my starved lungs, but he keeps me pinned, one knee on my chest, the other on my arm. His forearm still clamps against my throat in a threatening reminder of who holds the cards.

  We stare up at my mom, silently giving her the decision on how this ends.

  “Tell him to leave,” I gasp out. “Mom!”

  Her eyes sink to mine, watching numbly as he presses just enough to bring back the stars. His fist hovers above my face, ready to strike.

  Why isn’t she saying anything?!

  “Tell him! Please!” I strain for more air, still struggling against the weight on my neck.

  Her gaze swings to the guy.

  His fist trembles in anticipation, and she shakes her head, but doesn’t speak. Her attention slides back to me, then him again in a blank arc of confusion. I don’t even know the name of the person competing with me for my own mother.

  “Mom!” I rasp out in disbelief when she still doesn’t respond. She doesn’t look drunk anymore, just dazed.

  How can she not know what to do? How is this even a choice?

  Her eyes lock on mine, melting with an apology that lands in my gut. No. No, she can’t. She wouldn’t!

  And yet…

  “Mom?” My voice sounds choked and weak.

  “It’s probably best you leave, Ashton. Calm down and get yourself together. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  I blink back at her, stunned from the blow.

  She’s choosing him? She’s fucking choosing this loser over her own son?

  “Exactly. Asshole,” the guy spits, shoving his arm into my neck one last time before letting go.

  I suck in air while pushing at his body to get him off me as quickly as possible. Once free, I roll to my side to steady my spinning head and allow the oxygen to flow naturally again. After several long seconds, I finally force myself up.

  Mom steps toward me wearing a mask of regret. “Ash, just…”

  “Don’t,” I spit out, holding up my hand and backing away. “Just fucking don’t.”

  I ignore Prison Dude’s smug look as I limp toward the door, still glaring at them. When I feel the wood behind me, I pull it open, slip out, and slam it shut.

  I want to check on Bray as I pound down the stairs to the exit, but it’s late. Besides, I’m a mess, and if he’s with Marla, he’s probably in the best shape of all of us. The last thing I want to do is disrupt his peace with a nightmare he’s avoided.

  In my truck, I slam the door, lock it, and stare out the windshield, numb and shaking.

  “Fuck!” I shout, smashing my palms against the steering wheel. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  Anger spent, I collapse against the wheel, resting my forehead on my arms. Everything starts spinning again, only this time it’s internal instead of external. I pull in air at an erratic clip, trying to find a sustainable rhythm now that my lungs seem to have forgotten their role in the cold reality of what just happened.

  She chose him! A stranger! Some guy she’s probably known for two hours. She fucking chose him over me. My brain doesn’t even know how to process that truth as I stare through the gaps in the steering wheel.

  With that bombshell snaking its way through my system, another drops in its wake: Where can I go tonight? Call Kurt maybe. Or Jack. But the last thing I need right now is my family drama messing up my work life as well. It’s her fault I have no friends, no one to turn to after spending every minute of my existence looking after them instead of building my own life.

  I think back to my time at college, those months of fantasy where I actually got to dream and live for myself. I had friends there, even girlfriends. God, it seems like forever ago. It feels fake. Those entire months were lies, and I’m not sure if it’s better or worse that I indulged them for that short time.

  My phone buzzes, and I yank it out, glaring at the screen. Probably some twisted apology from the woman who just kicked out the one person keeping her life together. She can take her new boyfriend to hell or the alter for all I care. I’m done with her. Done with this.

  But the message isn’t from Gianna Morgan.

  Surprised, I straighten and open the text.

  Iris: Hey non-friend. Been a while. Just checking in as a concerned citizen to make sure you’re okay.

  I stare at the message, my stomach rolling like I’ve just been punched again. How…?

  My gaze lifts to the distant stars, barely visible through the sheen of angry liquid in my eyes. A few tears escape as I blink back down at the strange words that make no sense in my fucked up world.

  Who is this person that keeps crashing in? How does she keep finding me in the dark?

  My finger hovers over the sleep button on my phone, but my eyes continue staring at those foreign words. I should ignore it. I know I should. Nothing’s changed since the last time I cut off communication for both our sakes. Or maybe everything has. How much do I have to give up in one lifetime? Would it kill me to have a single person in my corner for once?

  Still fighting myself even as I do it, I pull up the keyboard and type back:

  Actually, I could really use a friend right now.

  Chapter Eight

  IRIS

  It’s been twenty minutes since Ashton’s cryptic response that made my heart hurt and soar at the same time. I immediately asked if he wanted to talk but the bubbles that appeared for a brief moment never resulted in a message. In fact, soon they disappeared as well and joined the nothing after that brief exchange.

  Hey, you okay? What’s going on? I add.

  I wait a few more minutes, but still nothing.

  Frustrated, I shove my phone on the nightstand and drop back to my pillow. All of my father’s words over this past week have been haunting me, running through my head in confusing patterns that differ from the way he said them. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to figure out how my life got so complicated in such a short time. Just a couple weeks ago I was an aimless college student on summer break. I had no idea who I was or what I wanted from life. The highlight of my day was reading a textbook I hated.

  And suddenly, here I am, fighting unknown adversaries for the soul of some guy I barely know. A guy who keeps insisting he doesn’t want me involved in his battles, even as they keep pushing us together.

  For a split second, I wish I lived in a shallow bubble like my sister. Life would be so much easier if it only involved parties, one-dimensional boys, and shopping—if I didn’t overthink everything and constantly search for something greater than my own tiny piece of the universe.

  My phone rattles beside me, and I burst up, swiping it off the stand. A new message from Ashton lights up my screen, and I read through it, my pulse racing.

  No I’m not okay. Can you come out?

  Come out where? I type back.

  Ashton: Your driveway. I’m parked outside the gate.

  My blood pounds in a mixture of excitement and alarm as I jump up and pull a hoodie over my tank top. I pause in front of the mirror, frowning before quickly shaking off the critique when I realize there’s no way to turn bedtime me into club-time me without making him wait an hour.

  Somehow I sense he doesn’t have an hour.

  I opt for twisting my hair into a loose bun instead and slip my bare feet into some tennis shoes.

  On my way out, I reply, still not sure exactly what’s happening.

  Am I being stupid? Irresponsible? For all my grand talk about soul-touching and knowing, this guy is still virtually a stranger. Is it wise to meet a stranger in the dark in the middle of the night? Maybe not, but my brain’s warning isn’t enough to keep me from jogging down our driveway.

  I punch in the code on the gate and slip out, my pulse picking up again at the sight of a familiar black pickup truck parked just a few feet from the entrance. I see the silhouette of someone inside and approach the passenger door with caution.
Once I recognize Ashton, all my previous reservations melt away.

  Yanking open the door, I climb inside and pull it closed behind me.

  “Hey,” I say, settling into the seat.

  “Hey.” He angles his head toward me with a weak smile. After a few seconds of silence, he blows out a breath and groans as he rests his head on the steering wheel.

  “Rough night?” I ask.

  “Brutal,” he breathes out.

  I want to say so many words, but I can’t decide which ones. I want to reach out and touch him, but I can’t decide how. The way we left things doesn’t fit with what’s happening now, so I do nothing, sitting in the void, waiting for him to decide what he needs this moment to be.

  Finally, he releases a heavy sigh and straightens against the backrest again. He closes his eyes, clearly wrestling with some hidden demon.

  “Sorry for springing this on you,” he says, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have come here. I just… I don’t know. I was a mess and you texted right then, and it just seemed like maybe…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

  “Like maybe what?”

  He tilts his head again, studying me in the sallow glow of the gate lights. “Like maybe fate was actually trying to give me a break for once. Ridiculous, I know.”

  He delivers a harsh laugh and faces forward.

  “It’s not ridiculous.”

  He closes his eyes, clenching his jaw.

  “Ashton, it’s not ridiculous,” I repeat, finally working up the courage to reach over and grip the sleeve of his hoodie. “What’s going on? What happened tonight?” I tug it in encouragement before letting go.

  After another long pause, his chest expands with a deep breath before he straightens in his seat and confronts me head-on for the first time.

  I gasp when I see the left side of his face. “Oh my gosh! What happened? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. It’s nothing,” he mutters.

  His fingers gingerly touch the swelling as if trying to confirm his words. I can’t tell what they decide when he winces and drops his hand back to his lap.

  “Look, I know you think I have this deep secret side you want to get to know, but I don’t, Iris. I’m telling you, what you see is what you get. A broke nobody who’s been beaten to shit by life.”

  My heart breaks as I search his face. It’s the sincerity that hurts the most, the earnestness of his plea to understand how unimportant he is. God, how can he actually believe that?

  I nod and pat his shoulder. “Gotcha. Well, thanks for the clarification. I should probably just go then.”

  I reach for the door and settle back into the seat when his smile breaks.

  “You know what I mean,” he says with an adorable eye-roll.

  “Yeah, that’s the problem.” Our gazes lock, and my stomach erupts in renewed grinding at the pain there. “Can I tell you something?”

  “Pretty sure you’re going to anyway.”

  I shrug and shift to face him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m calling bullshit on your theory. Anyone with a smile like yours can’t be a nobody. It’s not possible.”

  That smile grows into the shy grin I love so much as he looks away.

  “Hey.” I pull on his sleeve again. “I’m serious.”

  “I know,” he grunts out, clearly disagreeing.

  Words abandon us once more, and I mirror his absent gaze through the windshield. But the longer we sit, the more wrong it feels to do nothing. What if he leaves here still believing that lie? The thought of him leaving at all has my stomach in knots. I know what it’s like to watch him walk away. I don’t think I can go through that again.

  “How about we move this debate inside?” I say. “It’s creepy out here in the dark.”

  He squints over at me. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No?” I say, confused by his reaction. “Come on. I’ll get you some ice and make you a cup of tea. Or mud shakes or whatever it is you broke, nobodies drink.”

  The smile creeps back as he shakes his head in amusement.

  I grin and yank his sleeve again. “Come on! Seriously, let’s go inside.”

  His gaze crosses to the gate, and I sense the concern washing over him.

  “What is it? You spend half your day on this property.”

  “Yeah, working on it.”

  “Oh right. So that means you can’t come inside because…?” I wait, arching a brow.

  He scans my face before casting another long look at the gate. “Lane would kill me if he found out.”

  “And how exactly would he find out?”

  He shrugs. “Your sister? Your parents?”

  Okay, fair point. “Well, my sister is still in New York at that modeling thing and my dad happens to be awesome so…”

  His expression pinches in a way I don’t expect. “You and your dad are close?”

  “Yeah. He’s the best.”

  “That’s cool,” he says quietly.

  “Yes, so. Come. On,” I groan out, this time dragging his sleeve until he’s almost across the center console.

  He laughs and lifts his hands. “Okay! But it’s probably easier if I get out the driver’s side.”

  I grin and let him go. “Fine. I will let you win that one. But you have to go first. I’m not risking you driving off the second I’m out.”

  He smirks and opens his door. I narrow my eyes at him in warning, and he grins again as he slides from the seat to the ground. Once I’m satisfied he’s fully exited the vehicle, I make my own descent and join him on the other side of the truck. He locks it as we start toward the gate, which I secure behind us.

  My light mood shifts when I notice his limp and the way he keeps rubbing at his side on our trek toward the house.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Fine, why?”

  “Um… well, I’ll skip the obvious—we’ll deal with that later. But for now, that.” I wave toward his side and the hand that’s clenched in his hoodie.

  “Oh, yeah. It’s nothing.”

  He releases his fingers and drops his arm, but the clenched fist is replaced by a tightened jaw.

  “Ashton.”

  “Iris.”

  I roll my eyes and grunt, drawing another half-smile from him.

  “Fine,” he sighs out. “I was in a fight.”

  “With?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You fought a stranger?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you engage in this fight with a random stranger?”

  “In my living room.”

  I look over but he’s not smiling. Crap, he’s serious.

  “You fought with a stranger in your living room,” I repeat dryly. “What, like a burglar?”

  “Some dude my mom brought home. I don’t know his name.”

  His gaze hardens on the walkway, and my words catch in my throat. Are there words for that?

  “Shit,” I mumble after a few more steps.

  “Yeah.”

  “So who won?” He glances over in surprise, and I shrug. “What? I’m curious. Being a broke nobody, you’re probably a pretty good streetfighter.” I add some ninja moves, and his lips tick up before he focuses back on the driveway.

  “Believe it or not, fighting isn’t generally my thing.”

  “So he won?”

  “Well, since I’m here and he’s still there, I guess we could say he won.”

  There’s a bitterness in his tone that seems to brush at something more dangerous, but I let it slide for now.

  “Let’s go in through the laundry entrance… What?” I ask when I see his smile.

  “Your house has a laundry entrance? What even is that?”

  “Oh, see, laundry is another word for dirty cloth—”

  He bumps my shoulder with his, and I laugh. “Whatever, smartass.”

  First time in my life I’ve liked being called a smartass.

  I go bold and loop my arm through his. He t
enses as our elbows lock, but relaxes when I don’t further the contact. In fact, I add a slight skip to our pace, pulling him along behind me. A quick glance at his face reveals that smile I’m starting to get addicted to.

  I let him go as we reach the side door—a.k.a. the laundry entrance—and punch in the passcode to get in.

  “You weren’t kidding,” he mumbles, studying the washer, dryer, and folding area.

  “Nope. Laundry,” I sing in a soprano voice, while fluttering my hands around the space.

  He pushes me forward with a playful shove and a smirk.

  I lead us to the kitchen, resisting the urge to watch him as he takes in his surroundings. I don’t want to be reminded of our distant worlds. The differences don’t matter to me nearly as much as the similarities.

  Once in the kitchen, I direct him to a stool at the island and grab an icepack and dish towel. After passing them off, I move toward the range.

  “I was serious about the tea. I’m going to make myself a cup. You want some?”

  His gaze lingers on the stainless steel kettle, then lifts to my face. “Sure,” he says finally, adjusting the ice to the side of his face.

  “What kind do you like?”

  “I don’t know.” I peek back at him, and he shrugs. “I’ve never really been a tea drinker so I guess we’ll find out if I am.”

  I like that. A lot for some reason, and I smile to myself as I fill the kettle. With the water heating up, I turn back to the island to face him.

  “So what’s really going on?” I ask, searching his face for additional clues.

  He looks away and drops the icepack on the stool beside him. “My mom kicked me out after the fight. He won because she chose him over me.”

  My heart clenches in my chest. “Some guy you don’t even know?”

  He nods and rests his elbows on the island, burying his hands in his hair.

  “How?” I force out in disbelief.

  He doesn’t look up, and I watch the top of his head move from side to side. “No fucking clue,” he tells the granite countertop.