by Aly Stiles
He settles back, a thoughtful expression spreading over his face. “Do you know who funds the private foster care agency that placed you and your sister with me?”
Closing my eyes, I pull in a ragged, wet breath.
“Do you know how many schools this family has built in underserved regions of the world? How many tons of food have been donated to foodbanks and homeless shelters, how many millions have been invested in aid to various charities over the years?”
I start to breathe a little lighter.
Dad rotates to face me, his eyes heavy with the weight of this conversation and our big, broken world.
“I don’t know why some people seem to get everything while others get nothing, but I know having money isn’t the sign of a life well-lived. We’re not evil because we have a big house, Iris, and Ashton isn’t a better person because he doesn’t. You both are trying your best with what you have and maybe that’s the point. We each have our role and means of showing love, so you use what you have to help him, and he can use what he has to help you. He may not have much in the way of material things, but that boy is rich in character. We’d be lucky to have someone like him in our lives.”
So lucky.
I nod through more silent tears as I hug him and try to hold onto his words. I hadn’t thought of it that way. How much does Ashton give me just by being his amazing, resilient self? What value do you put on a person who seeps into your life and makes it better just by existing?
Makes you want to be better.
My heart still hurts but now it hopes as well. Maybe there’s a chance we can make it work after all.
If only I can convince Ashton that the unbalanced scale of our relationship is completely reversed.
I’m back to stalking Ashton again when he shows up for work the next day. I just need to know he’s okay.
I tried texting him last night after the conversation with my father, but his short, polite response made it pretty clear he wasn’t interested in talking about what happened. Not a lot to work with in, Hey. Yeah, I’m fine.
Then again, he probably didn’t have a lot of time to sit around conversing with me during his shift from hell.
From my vantage point behind the curtain today, he does, in fact, look fine. Very fine, according to the sudden rush of longing, but my body always seems to react this way when it sees him. It’s like I’m caught off-guard at how beautiful he is no matter how prepared I am for the encounter. I force myself to drop the curtain before I distract him or get him trouble.
Besides, it is pretty creepy.
To avoid temptation, I spend most of the day in rooms not within view of the pool area. That also eliminates my bedroom which has two large windows overlooking the space, so I end up settling into Dad’s office where I can work in peace. I actually make quite a big dent in my summer reading—well, a whole chapter—when my phone lights up with a message.
Ashton: Hey. Can we talk? I’m on break in ten minutes.
My heart does its instinctive gallop as I type back, Of course. Come inside. I can let you in at the laundry entrance so your coworkers don’t see you.
Ashton: Okay thanks.
Ten minutes later I make my way down to the laundry room to wait for him. When his light knock rings out, I pull open the door and wave him in. He glances cautiously to his sides before stepping through the opening.
“Hey,” I say, trying to adjust to the effect of him.
My nervous hands still aren’t used to being around him, apparently, and I shove them in my pockets.
He stands near the door staring at his work boots, while I stand a few feet away staring at him. His shirt is soaked with sweat, his hair messy and hanging in his eyes. He shoves it out of his face as he seems to work through something in his head.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
His hazel gaze brushes mine before retreating back to the floor. “Yeah, fine. Um… first of all, I wanted to say thanks for what you said last night.”
“I meant it.”
“I know,” he says, still not looking at me. “I also wanted to say I’m sorry for... everything. The lunches… and… the, uh, pool day were so nice of you. I just… it’s hard for me to… shit.”
His chest lifts with a deep inhale, and he locks his hands on his head. “God, I don’t know how to ask this.”
He releases his hands which shift to scrubbing his face.
“Ashton, what is it? What’s wrong? Is this about what happened at Shelton’s last night?”
“What?” he asks, looking up sharply. “Oh. No. Nothing about that. I didn’t get fired.”
I hate that he thinks that’s the part I’d be most concerned about.
“Shit,” he mutters to himself. Finally, he straightens and slips his hands in his back pockets. “I can’t believe I’m asking you this, and believe me, if I had any other option, I wouldn’t be.”
“Gee thanks,” I tease. “Good to know I’m the bottom of the barrel.”
A flicker of a smile peeks through the tension on his face. “You’ll see why.”
“I’m assuming you’re referring to the question you still haven’t asked me.”
“Right.” He shakes something off and releases another heavy sigh. “Look, I know I’m way overstepping here, but is there any way you’d be able to watch Braydon tomorrow? I’ve tried everyone and no one is available, and I know it’s a huge ask, I just…” He presses his fists to his eyes before looking at me again. “I don’t know what else to do, Iris. I can’t afford to call off and I can’t exactly take him with me. I can even pay you or whatever but—”
“Of course.”
He startles, his eyes widening. “Wait, really?”
I squint at him, kind of annoyed he’d be so shocked. “Uh, yeah. Why wouldn’t I want to spend the day with your awesome little brother?”
It actually stings watching the weight lift from his shoulders, and I swallow the twinge.
“Okay, but it would have to be all day. Like, all day. I can maybe get someone to take him later in the evening.”
“No need. I don’t have any plans.”
He breathes out an audible exhale. “Oh my god, thank you so much, Iris. You don’t even know…” His words fade out as he leans his head back against the door.
To be honest, I kind of want to smack him right now for being so afraid to ask for such a small favor.
“You want to bring him with you and he can hang out with me inside?”
His expression darkens again, that shroud falling back into place before he looks away. “So that’s the thing. Lane is sending me to a different jobsite tomorrow to check on an issue they’re having, and it’s basically an hour in the opposite direction of your house. I’ll have to drop him off around six. I already cleared it with Lane that I’ll be a little late... I know, I’m really sorry,” he adds when I cringe.
I shake my head, instinctively stepping toward him. “No, it’s not the time that’s the problem. It’s the thought of dragging your brother out of bed at five in the morning to get him here. And then being out so late at night? You get home after eleven right?”
He nods, looking guilty.
It’s too much, and I reach out to squeeze his arm. He recoils in a way I don’t expect, immediately looking even worse.
“Shit. Sorry. It’s just…” He waves over himself. “I’m a mess and you’re—”
I cut him off by slipping my arms around him before he can protest. Squeezing as hard as I can, I gladly absorb the sweat and dust and everything else he’s so afraid will tarnish me.
“Iris,” he breathes out in a warning.
I ignore him and pull back just enough to search his face.
“It makes no sense for you to wake him up and bring him here. I’ll be at your place at six. Text me your address.”
Of course Ashton fought me about meeting him at his apartment, but I wasn’t having it. I let him blah-blah-blah for a few seconds before telling him in no uncertain terms that we
weren’t going to ignore all precepts of logic because he felt bad. He finally conceded, even seemed a little relieved.
It’s still dark when I leave my house and start toward the address he sent me: Apartment 17B in the Rosewood building of the Cedar Lake Apartment Community. It sounds impressive, but when the GPS tells me I’ve reached my destination, my optimism fades.
I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything different, but a small part of me was hoping I’d find a crisp new building with tall windows and sleek, modern lines. I’m annoyed with myself when I realize I’m picturing our condo high-rise in Manhattan where my sister stays when she’s there.
This building was old when the old buildings that get torn down were built.
Small crusty windows tinted with water damage and old grime line the façade of the brick structure. The bricks themselves are chipped and blackened by time and wear. Mis-matched air-conditioning units jut from many of the windows, several others are propped open to combat the sticky July heat. For their sakes, I’m hoping Ashton’s unit is one of the air-conditioning windows.
I force away my reaction, lock my car, and start toward the entrance of the building.
Inside, not much improves, though I’m better prepared for the frayed, stained carpeting and sagging wallpaper. I find the stairs and climb to the second floor where Ashton said they live. Three doors down to the left of the stairs, I arrive at apartment 17B, just like he said. Gosh, what must it have been like for him the first time he showed up at my house? No wonder he was so wary of everything.
I knock quietly, hoping it’s loud enough that he can hear it but quiet enough not to wake Braydon. A few seconds later, the door opens, revealing Ashton in his Lane’s Landscaping t-shirt and cargo shorts. My heart lurches, all previous gloom fading at the sight of him. Wet hair—from a shower this time—hangs in his gorgeous hazel eyes that soften with relief and gratitude.
“Thank you so much for doing this,” he says quietly, opening the door wider so I can enter. He closes it after me, and I do my best not to react to my surroundings. It’s not a difficult task. All I have to do is focus on him.
Everything in me wants to throw my arms around him and burrow into his solid, warm chest. The scent of his bodywash as I follow him into the kitchen makes my head spin and sends my brain off in heated directions. In that world, he’s mine. I’m free to walk over to him right now as he bends to grab something from the fridge. I could slip my hands under his shirt from behind and run them over his skin in a silent goodbye. I do this every morning he leaves for work, maybe kissing his shoulder when he straightens and melting when he tosses that amazing grin back at me.
Of course then I’d want to turn him around and shove him against the fridge and tangle my fingers in his hair and taste his mouth and his neck and—
“So the cereal is in that cabinet,” he says, startling me out of my fantasy. His gaze slants a bit, and I blush, praying reading minds is the only thing Ashton can’t do.
“There’s not much left in the box, but it should be enough for breakfast. I need to run to the store tomorrow when I’m off. Milk’s in the fridge. Oh, and lunch can be whatever you find. There are a few things in the fridge and if none of that works…” He smiles as he opens a cabinet and waves to the shelf of boxed mac and cheese. “Bray actually knows how to make it himself, so you don’t even have to do that.”
“I don’t mind cooking,” I say, forcing a smile. I try not to let my eyes roam to all the empty shelves above it. “Actually, do you mind if we go on a field trip? Maybe I can take him out to get lunch or even buy some ingredients to make something fun.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he says quietly, dropping his gaze.
“I know. But I like arugula with my boxed mac and cheese, and I doubt you have that on hand. Besides, we have a ton of time to kill.”
He returns a weak smile before studying the floor again. A muscle moves in his jaw as he considers my proposal. He knows what I’m doing. Will he let me?
Please let me do this for you, Ashton.
With a sigh, he straightens and nods. “I’ll grab his booster seat from my truck before I leave. He still sits in the back. Kid is tiny. Make sure the seatbelt is…” He swipes his hand diagonally across his chest. “And not at his neck.”
“Got it.” I even salute, which draws another smile from him.
“Okay, well, I have to run. You have my number, obviously. If you need anything, just call or text. Oh, and no more than two hours of electronics. That includes video games and television. He’s got plenty of toys and books to keep him busy. I don’t want his brain rotting over the summer. Don’t let him con you.”
I lock my fists on my hips in my best stern-nanny pose.
“Not a second longer,” I say with a decent scowl and growly stern-nanny voice.
He laughs and shakes his head in that way that melts my heart.
“Perfect.” His smile fades as he searches my eyes. “Seriously, Iris. Thank you. I don’t even know what I would have done if you weren’t here.”
I swallow the lump lodged in my throat and manage a wobbly smile. I’d do anything for you.
“It’s really no problem.”
He studies me for another few seconds, his gaze deep and drenched in words he won’t say. I want to scream at him to let them free. To stop trying so hard to prevent people from glimpsing his beautiful soul.
I want to hold him so much it hurts.
“I’m hoping to have an early day and be back around five,” he says finally, clearing his throat. “I can make him dinner and check in before I have to leave for my shift at the restaurant.”
I nod, and he starts toward the door.
“Hey, wait!” I call after him.
He turns his head, and I take a few steps before pausing. In my fantasy world, this is when I run to him, take his face in my hands, and kiss him. Tell him I can’t wait until he gets home, and tonight we’re going to the Smith’s house for game night or some other normal family thing. Because this is just another Saturday morning in our house. Another day of my coveted eternity with Ashton Morgan.
“Have a great day, Ash,” I say quietly.
He smiles and reaches for the door. “Make sure you lock it after me. There’s a spare key in the drawer by the fridge if you decide to go out. I’ll leave the booster seat outside the door.”
I nod again. And return to reality.
Once Ashton’s gone, I’m free to explore. I start in the kitchen, opening each cabinet and drawer to inspect the contents.
My quest starts innocently enough. I just want to familiarize myself with his place so I can properly care for Braydon. Where are the cups? The utensils? The snacks? That extra key he was talking about? But empty space after empty space has my stomach churning. I start to dread tugging on a handle. I try to think about what my dad said. Money isn’t the sign of a life well-lived. Maybe that’s true, but it sure as hell doesn’t mean these boys should have to survive on nothing but boxed pasta and cold cereal.
Overall, though, the place is tidy and clean. Other than a stack of papers on the counter by the wall, there’s almost no clutter or grime. Ashton’s doing a great job keeping up the place. Or maybe it’s one of the few things his mother actually does to contribute to her own family.
His mother.
A chill runs through me when it occurs to me he hasn’t mentioned her once in this entire exchange. Is she working today also? I find it unlikely that she works the long hours he does even if she is. What could be more important than taking care of her younger son so her older one can support them?
Instead of snooping and judging a woman I’ve never met, I decide to make myself useful as I wait for Braydon to wake up. Although the place is generally clean, there are still a few things I could do to help out. Some dishes are piled in the sink, and there are intermittent patches of crumbs on the counters and floor.
I start with the dishes, washing them with the sponge and detergent I find, then s
witch to wiping down the Formica countertops. Several scratches and tears litter the synthetic material, and I do my best to remove any debris that gets caught.
The floor proves to be trickier.
I don’t want to vacuum with Braydon still sleeping, so I search the apartment for a broom or mop. I discover both in a closet by the bathroom and pull out the dustpan and brush. I’ve just swept most of the floor, collecting the crumbs in a spot by the table, when a ball of paper catches my eye. It’s tucked in the corner behind a spare chair, and I pick it up to add to the pile on the counter. I’ll let Ashton make the call on whether it’s something to keep or throw out. I uncrumple it and press it on the table to smooth out the creases so it will stay nicely on the stack.
I swear I never intended to read it.
Nausea washes through me, a pain so sharp I drop to the chair. I scan the flowery handwriting that doesn’t match the horrific words it’s spelling out. My eyes burn with each pass through the short paragraph, rage building in my chest. I’ve never felt hatred like this. Didn’t even know I was capable of it until this moment.
Hey Ash,
Hope you had fun at your friend’s pool. Just wanted to let you know I’ll be going away for a while. I figured it’d be easier to leave while you guys were gone so Bray wouldn’t be upset. It turns out Ronny has a place in L.A. and said I can stay there while we work on my acting career. He even knows a couple producers and thinks he can get me a job at this trendy club. It looks like it might finally be happening for us, baby! I will call you as soon as I’m settled and send pics. Wish me luck!
Kisses,
Mom