by Aly Stiles
“Well go!” I say, shooing him away playfully.
He finally seems to relax and starts down the hall.
When I hear his door close, I let my head fall to my arms on the table and absorb this latest assault.
I tell Braydon Mom went on a long trip for work. I know I can’t lie to him forever, but I need time to figure out how to handle it. Thankfully, Marla is able to watch him during my day job and the Coles say they can cover the night shift while I’m at the restaurant.
That takes care of Thursday. What about all the rest of the fucking days?
I pull into the parking lot of Shelton’s ten minutes early so I can try my mother again. But just like the last twenty times, I only get her voicemail. I don’t leave a message this time. Her mailbox is already full of my monologues, evolving from infuriated rants to desperate pleas. I’m all out of emotion at this point. Nothing left. Let her pursue her fucking “acting career” with Ronny. I don’t give a shit anymore. Except by the way my forehead rests on my steering wheel, I know I’ve only numbed the pain, not erased it.
Five minutes left to regroup.
I draw in a ragged breath and straighten. I need to pull it together for now. Get through the next few hours. Then I can worry about tomorrow. Tomorrow I can worry about Saturday. Then Sunday. Then Monday.
A knock on my window startles me, and I look over to find Leah hovering. Forcing in a heavy breath, I try to cleanse this mess from my face and join her in the parking lot.
“Hey, Ashton. How are you doing?”
“Great. How about you? You get that laptop you were talking about?”
“I did!”
My deflection works and our conversation revolves around her new computer until we clock in and start our shift.
The night goes okay. Not too busy, but not slow enough that I have to worry. I’m starting to think I might actually have one single day that doesn’t blow up in my face when I spot my new guest at table eight.
Shit. You have to be kidding me.
I stalk to the table, trying to force down the sudden anger. She doesn’t deserve it. This rage is for the universe—and my mom.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss.
“Eating dinner,” Iris says with a shrug.
“You shouldn’t be here.” I whisper it like we’re in the middle of robbing a bank, not ordering food.
“Um… why?” she asks in an open challenge. She’s not going to make this easy, is she? Then again, if she did it would be the first time. “You don’t want to eat lunch together anymore, so I figured we could do dinner.”
I glance around the restaurant and lean close with my hands on the table. “Look, I’m sorry about everything. My life is… complicated. What you did for Bray yesterday was really nice. Don’t think we don’t appreciate it, but like I’ve said a hundred times, we can’t be friends, Iris.”
She flinches, and my own heart lurches in my chest. But it’s the truth. It may hurt like hell, but it’s the truth.
“I don’t accept,” she says flatly.
I stare at her in disbelief. “You don’t accept?”
She nods. “Correct. I do not accept your proposal to not be friends. Also, I will have the Caesar Salad, adding the grilled chicken and an unsweetened iced tea, please.” She folds the menu and hands it to me. “And I’m going to want several additional meals to take home for later, so from this point on, please bring them packaged to go.”
I don’t move. Can’t as she sits smug in her booth, holding the menu up to me.
“That lady with the weird flower shirt is trying to get your attention,” she says, motioning behind me.
I swallow—all of that—and force myself to take the menu.
“I’ll put that right in and be back with your iced tea,” I mutter.
“Fantastic. Also, I’d like the most expensive cocktail you have.”
She locks her gaze on mine, daring me to argue and make a scene. After several seconds of the standoff, I sigh and shake my head.
“Fine.”
“Great. Have a nice shift, Ashton Morgan.”
“Thanks,” I grumble, turning away.
Throughout the rest of her meal, Iris continues ordering drinks she doesn’t drink and food she doesn’t eat. By the time we get to dessert, her tab rivals the ten-party table in Pedro’s section. Knowing her, she’s not even planning to waste the food. She’ll probably drop it off at a homeless shelter or something. In fact, because she’s been ordering it pre-packaged, I’m thinking that’s exactly what she’s planning to do.
She must be trying to torture me with kindness.
I’ve just rounded the corner with a tray of drinks when the guest at table seven slides her purse into the aisle right in front of me. I lift my foot at the last second to avoid it, but it catches the top of the oversized bag.
In slow motion, the tray of drinks flies out of my hand and sprays in all directions as I fall. The woman shrieks when a glass of ice water lands in her lap, sending her husband to his feet in a rage.
“Are you a fucking idiot?” he roars.
I push myself up to my knees, water and sticky soda everywhere, including all over me.
“Hey! I’m talking to you,” the man shouts, drawing the attention of everyone in the restaurant.
I drag in a breath, forcing my face calm through the chaos in my head. Shoving myself to my feet, I feel the chill of my own soaked uniform. Or maybe it’s coming from inside me.
“I’m so sorry, sir. Ma’am. Let me get—”
“How about your manager?! Think you can handle that?”
I flinch and drop my gaze to the woman who looks just as angry.
“This is my favorite top!” she cries.
“Again, I’m sorry. It’s just water. You moved your purse into—”
“Oh so it’s her fault you can’t do your fucking job?”
His blow strikes low and hard. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. What is there to say? Thank god Stacie shows up at that moment.
“Good evening, sir. I’m the manager. I see there was an accident. We’ll get this cleaned up right away.” She motions to a few employees hovering around who spring into action. “We’d be happy to offer you a free dessert for your troubles. And again, we are so sorry about this.” Her voice is pleasant and calm.
“A dessert?! You’re going to fire that imbecile, right?” he says, waving at me.
Stacie’s jaw tightens for the first time since she took over. “Sir, there’s no reason for name calling. It was just an accident.”
I’ve stopped breathing at this point. My legs are shaking, my hands too, and I stuff them in my back pockets.
“Come on, Ashton,” she says, taking my arm and dragging me away now that the situation is under control.
“You better be firing his ass!” the man shouts after us.
I don’t even react this time. I’m totally numb.
“It was an accident, Stacie, I swear,” I whisper urgently as we walk away. “The woman… she… she had this purse and at the last second—”
“Hey, relax. It’s okay. It happens,” she says gently, squeezing my arm.
I stare at her, my entire body cold and pumping with dread. Fear lodges in my chest, and I don’t even know how to stop it from contaminating my voice.
“Please don’t fire me, Stacie. I’m so sorry. I need this job. Even more now, just—”
“Ashton, stop,” she says through a smile. “Of course I’m not going to fire you. Why don’t you go take your break now? Get cleaned up and pull yourself together. I’ll take care of that asshole—I mean, guest.” She jerks her thumb behind her with an eye-roll.
I nod on instinct, still feeling like I’m on a distant plane and this is all happening to someone else. In fact, the entire journey through the side door to the back of the restaurant happens in a blur. It’s not until I’m standing against the brick wall of the building that the weight of what just happened comes crashing down. It sends
me to the ground, crouching with my hands interlocked over my head like I’m in the midst of enemy fire. Maybe I am. Maybe this is the next wave in a full-on assault that started last night when my mom left.
Tears move up my chest and into my throat. I clench my eyes shut to keep them away.
No!
I release my fist and slam it into the gravel. Small stones slice into my skin but honestly it feels good compared to everything else in my life right now. I cry out in frustration and cover my face with my hands as I rock backward to collapse on the ground against the wall. Pulling my legs up, I rest my forehead on my knees, trying to breathe.
Just breathe.
I can still breathe. That’s one thing I have.
Bray. That’s two.
My head snaps up at the crunch of gravel, and I look over in horror to find Iris approaching. Shit! She would have seen all of that.
Fuck!
I close my eyes and return to my shell-shocked position with my head on my knees. I can’t look at her. I can’t deal with the hurricane that comes with her right now.
But like usual, she doesn’t give me a choice.
I sense her presence, feel the rush of air when she slides down to the ground beside me. Her scent drifts over, filling the void around me. She leans her head back against the wall and settles in like she intends to stay for a while. I’m too weak to argue with her.
She doesn’t say anything as she sits motionless, so close our thighs touch. I study her expensive jeans lined up with my stained, wet uniform slacks. I’d thrown the apron in frustration at some point, so at least I’m not wearing that. I’ll also have to find it before I finish my shift.
If I finish my shift.
Right now I don’t see how I can possibly go back in there.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she says finally. “I saw the whole thing. There was nothing you could have done.”
I shake my head dismissively, because what the fuck does any of that matter?
She tilts her head. “Also, why does she carry around a purse bigger than my airplane carryon bag? What does she think she’s going to need for her trip to the grocery store and getting her nails done?”
The slightest smile flickers over my lips.
“I actually feel bad for her,” she continues. “I mean, if that’s her favorite shirt—damn. I definitely don’t want to see the rest of her wardrobe.”
My laugh comes out choked through lingering emotion in my throat.
She angles her head still resting against the wall and studies me. Her expression changes the longer we sit in silence. I have nothing to say, and I’m not sure how she can either. Her face starts to harden into anxious lines that belong on mine more than hers.
Then out of nowhere:
“I’m adopted, Ashton.”
My eyes widen as they shoot to hers, and she looks away.
She lets that sentence float for a while, picking at the gravel beside her.
After a long silence, she draws in an audible breath. “So is Ivy. She was two and I was a baby when we were removed from our birth mom.”
She releases a harsh laugh. “I honestly don’t know anything about her. I don’t want to know, but Dad never hid the fact that he adopted us. We were moved around foster care for a couple of years, but he said the first time he saw us, he knew we belonged to him. As far as I’m concerned, he’s my only parent. He’s one of the best people I know.”
She adjusts to her knees so she can face me directly. Her eyes search mine, and I inhale sharply when her fingers rest on my forearm.
She leans forward, forcing me to confront her.
“The only thing that separates me from you, Ashton Morgan, is a speck of cosmic dust that landed me in the path of Kyle Alexander and you with the world’s most selfish mother. I don’t deserve to be the daughter of a billionaire any more than you deserve to spend every waking minute of your life trying to survive, but it’s not about the hand we’ve been dealt. It’s about what we do with it.
“From the moment I saw how you handled that awful situation with my sister and her friends, I knew you were a person who played your hand with every fiber of your being. That’s what I see in you. That’s the kind of person I want in my life. And that’s the kind of person I want to be. I wish I could be half of what you are.
“I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you—Ash.”
With that, she pushes to her feet and disappears around the side of the building.
Chapter Fourteen
IRIS
I was fine in the restaurant. Fine during my speech to Ashton. Fine dropping off the extra food at the women’s shelter and driving the six miles home. I was even fine pulling through the gate and up our driveway. I was totally fine until suddenly—
I’m not.
It starts with a dull ache in my stomach. Then a pain in my chest. Then the sting moves into my throat, my eyes, and my head where it lodges like a burr.
I can’t stop thinking about what happened. The look on Ashton’s face when that asshole was berating him. How he just lowered his head and took it because what the hell else was he supposed to do? The desperation in his plea for his job. The picture of absolute obliteration when I turned the corner and found him on the ground. It won’t stop burrowing into my brain, scratching at my throat as I enter the house and slam the door behind me.
I want to punch something. Scream. Cry. I don’t even know as I stalk through the halls of our stupid house I’m starting to hate. Why does it have to be so big? We don’t need this much room. A pool. Expensive cars. Why do we have a household manager? A full-time cleaning lady? Every damn thing we could possibly want and more because it’s not right that we have everything and other people have nothing.
I throw myself on my bed and bury my face in a pillow to mute my sobs. A pillow because I have several on my huge, unnecessary bed in my huge, unnecessary room. I don’t even know who I’m crying for. Myself? Ashton? This whole awful world that doesn’t seem to know how to distribute its favor correctly.
Why am I here while he’s god knows where trying to scrape together a life?
The tears come harder, driving the ache into my head as they pour out loud and messy. I’m so lost in the onslaught I don’t hear the door open. I don’t even know Dad’s in the room until I feel the shift of my mattress when he perches on the edge. He doesn’t say anything, just places his warm hand on my back as I continue to break down.
I want the display to stop, but every time I think I’m regaining control, it slips away at the stab of another memory. Another pang of guilt. Another deep ache to hold Ashton and stop this cruel cosmic force that won’t let him up for air. Then I remember I can’t. That he wouldn’t let me even if I could. That he’s just going to have to suffer and hurt while I swim in my huge, unnecessary pool.
Even this feels like an indulgence I shouldn’t have. The freedom to shatter. All the time in the world to recover and heal in comfort, when other people get ten fucking minutes on a gravel parking lot to salvage enough strength to get back up and face the next storm.
After what seems like forever, my sobs finally taper into intermittent sniffles. Everything hurts. My eyes, my throat, my nose, chest, and head. Silent tears still trickle down my cheeks, but at least I can breathe again, maybe even function enough to face these ugly truths instead of crying about them.
I force myself around to lie on my back, staring at the ceiling as Dad continues to wait patiently.
“Why do some people get all the good and other people get all the shit?” My words come out hoarse and choked.
Dad sighs and pulls his legs onto the bed, adjusting to lean back against the headboard beside me.
“Is this about Ashton?” he asks softly after a pause.
I clench my eyes shut against the force crushing my chest.
“It’s not fair, Daddy,” I whisper, tears flooding in again. “It’s just not fair!”
I shift to bury my face in his shirt as the sobs return. I
hate every one of them but I can’t make them stop. He places his hand on my head, and I wrap my arms around him, squeezing harder. He lets me cry, sitting calmly until the tears empty from whatever deep void was holding them. After clearing my throat, I steel myself and look up at him.
“Do you know how we met?” I say roughly, swatting at my eyes. “It wasn’t from his work at the house, or at a club or party. We met when Ivy, Vi, and Harmony treated him like shit while he served our table at Shelton’s a couple weeks ago.”
Dad winces, and my jaw hardens.
“And you know how he responded?” By the sadness melting over his face, he does. “I’m sure you can guess. He clenched his fist and took it. I don’t know how because anyone else would have cracked. But he absorbed it all and kept coming back to our table to do his job. Oh, and you know the thanks he got?”
Dad looks away, and maybe I feel badly for hurting him with the truth, but he needs to know the kind of person also living under his roof.
“Ten percent. After tormenting him all night, they left him half of what they should have and a fraction of what he deserved.” I push myself up and search his face. “Ivy was the worst of them, Dad,” I say, my voice cracking at the disappointment in his eyes.
He nods and lets out a harsh breath.
I move to sit beside him and lean my head on his shoulder. We rest quietly again, both of us lost in our heads as the distant sound of a vacuum buzzes through the air.
“If what you said is true, it saddens me to hear that,” he says quietly. After another long pause, he shifts his gaze to our reflections in the dark window. “Ivy and her friends have a different perspective than you and I. As do many in our circles, and really, in every circle across the socio-economic spectrum. This world would be a much nicer place if we all defaulted to treating each other with kindness and respect regardless of our backgrounds.”
With a deep exhale, he adjusts and transfers his attention to me. “I can’t justify your sister’s behavior, or even remedy it, and neither can you, Iris. No matter how nice you are to Ashton, you will never be able to make up for all the people who’ve hurt him. One kindness doesn’t erase an injustice, but it’s not our job to fix what’s been broken. We don’t take responsibility for other people’s actions—we work hard to make a bigger impact with our own. You treat him with kindness and respect because that’s who you are, not because that’s what he deserves.”