by Lindsey Hart
“Fuck you, Jason. Seriously. Right up the ass.”
“Lord no. Don’t even say that to me. It puts horrible mental images into my head.”
Ash made a growling noise that wasn’t exactly feminine. Hell, it didn’t even sound human. “I’m so not in the mood for the normal perverted banter, in case you didn’t realize. Never mind fuck you. I’ve just fucked myself over big time. I’ve ruined my own life. God, this night couldn’t get any worse, even if Trace did decide to press charges.”
The line went silent for a few seconds, but Ash knew it wouldn’t last. It wasn’t in her brother’s nature to let her get the last word in. “You could always, you know, text him and apologize or something.”
“Oh right. And say sorry for smashing you in the face? Sorry my fist just slipped? Sorry that you didn’t tell me you were a fucking billionaire or something and I found out in front of the entire group of my ex-classmates, who by the way used to fucking torment me every single chance they got. Sorry that you made my worst nightmare come true? Sorry that you helped me ruin my life. Something like that?”
Jason snorted. “Jeez. No wonder your love life sucks. I was thinking more along the lines of sorry I lost my temper and acted like a bitch. Come over and I’ll make it worth your while. Something like that. As a guy, I personally wouldn’t say no. I might even think it was a little kinky if a chick punched me in the face. It’s hot if they draw blood.”
“What the fuck? Seriously I do not want to know anything more. I’m not going to text him. Maybe I’ll give you his number and you can do it for me. Say sorry that he’s a dick and sorry that being a billionaire obviously didn’t make him good at honesty or board games. Sorry that he’ll never see or hear from me again. How about that?”
Jason stayed annoyingly calm. He didn’t rise to the bait at all, which was a damn first. “Yeah, sure. Just send me his number and I’ll smooth things over.”
“No. Way. Thanks for trying to help. I really do appreciate it. Can you contain mom and dad for me? I’m not exactly up to damage control at the moment.”
“Sure. But you owe me. Big time.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“If you ever do change your mind and get back together with Trace, like, he owes me a sports car or something. He can afford it.”
“I’ll make sure to pass that along never because I’m never going to speak to him again.”
“Never is a long-”
Ash hung up before Jason could finish the sentence. She powered her phone off and threw it onto the floor. It would have been more dramatic if she didn’t have a throw rug blanketing the hardwood floor. It broke the phone’s fall and instead of smashing, it landed with a dull thud.
Great. I can’t even have a tantrum the right way.
Slowly her hands balled up into fists. She took a deep breath, willing herself to cry, but it wasn’t going to work. She rubbed a spot over the ache in her chest, right above her pounding heart. In the privacy of her apartment, which was the only place any tears over this were ever going to happen, she let herself break down and wallow in the misery that was her life. The fact that she’d ever considered that she was pathetic before was laughable. This was a new record as far as all-time lows went.
CHAPTER 17
Trace
Some mornings were terribly unkind. Apparently, Trace was living through one of them. He groaned as he ran a hand through his unkempt unwashed hair, trying to block out the sound of the shrill ringing cutting through his brain. He unglued his eyes and nearly panicked when he couldn’t see anything. He rubbed his eyes furiously and when he tried again, his living room swam into view. The shapes and shadows and beams of light finally solidified into real shapes.
He scrubbed a hand over his face as he sat up. Pain blossomed in his skull like a damn flower unfurling itself from its tightly woven bud in all its vibrant glory. He was aware, as he pushed himself off of his couch, that there was a half empty bottle of whisky tipped on its side on the floor, which had been full the night before.
The doorbell apparently wasn’t going to stop any fucking time soon, so Trace pushed himself toward it. He straightened his rumpled clothing the best he could before he raised an arm and sniffed at himself. He drew back immediately, stomach wrenching. God, when was the last time that I showered?
Annoyed that whoever was out there was laying on the doorbell like their very life depended on it, Trace ripped open the door, ready to yell at whatever pool soul was out there. God help them if they were trying to sell him something or pedal soul saving pamphlets. He was pretty sure after what he’d done to Ash, he was beyond redemption.
“Surprise!” Leanne yelled. Trace’s mom stood in a red sweater and a black pair of leggings. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun and her makeup was tasteful. His sister stood beside her, grinning, as equally put together in a casual black maxi dress and a pair of ankle boots. Jenni’s smile faded and his mother’s followed suit soon after. Jenni wrinkled her nose.
“Good lord. What happened to you? It’s Tuesday morning and you look like you’ve disappeared into the bottle for an entire week.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Trace growled. “Anyway, did you come here to insult me?”
“No. We came because you weren’t answering your phone,” his mom said, her tone worried. “We thought you were just busy, but we wanted to check on you.”
“Yeah.” Jenni’s hands moved to her hips. “I haven’t heard from you since you babysat for me last week.”
“Does this have to do with a certain video that I know you’ve both seen by now?”
His mother grimaced. “Honey, I think we better come in. It’s obvious that you’re not holding up well. I’ll make you breakfast while you shower and get changed.”
“We’ve come to pull you from the land of the dead,” Jenni chimed in. “By the way, I’ve watched the video, like fifty times. Amelia thought it was hilarious to see her uncle get decked by a pretty lady. I’ll admit that I laughed my ass off seeing her punch you.”
“Jenni!” Their mother warned. She shot Trace a dark glance. “After you’ve showered and eaten, you’re going to sit down and explain to me what you did to this girl to make her want to bloody you. She seems like a good girl. A strong girl. She stood up to all those people who were trying to belittle and bully her.”
“Oh god.” Trace fought the urge to facepalm himself. His lip and nose had pretty much healed. His pride didn’t factor into it. His heart though… he’d wanted more time with Ash. He wanted more for her. He wanted to make it a night she wouldn’t forget. He wanted her to shine. She’d shone alright, in a completely different and unexpected way. That video went viral for exactly the reasons his mother just pointed out. People liked when someone stood up to a bully. They liked the victory of the underdog. “She should thank me for helping her come out of her shell,” he ground out sarcastically. He rolled his eyes as Jenni pushed her way into the house and his mother followed.
“Gross. It smelled like something died in here.” Jenni glanced back at him after taking a few steps in. She didn’t bother to kick off her shoes. “Oh wait. Obviously, it did.”
He bit back a harsh retort. His sister didn’t deserve his anger, not really. She and his mom were there to try and help them. Honestly, he expected them to show up earlier, especially since his phone now told him his sister had breached the triple digit mark on the number of times she’d called. His mom’s number was lower, at around fifteen times.
“That poor girl,” his mother mumbled as she bustled down the hall on the way to the kitchen.
“You don’t have to make me breakfast, mom,” Trace called. He winced as the stabbing pain in his head turned up the volume. She made a non-committal reply dismissing him. He knew that his protests would have little effect.
“She does, because I’m starved. I called in sick to work to come here and scrape your sorry ass off the floor.”
“How did you know that I’d be here moping around
?”
“Hmmm.” Jenni put her finger to her chin and pretended to think like an old-fashioned detective or something. “Let’s see.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Maybe because you’re my brother and I’ve known you, like, forever. Literally, since you’re older. Maybe because after every single breakup you go through this self-destruction ritual. This one is just about the worst. I’m surprised there isn’t a swarm of reporters gathered around the house waiting for the story.”
“There were. They gave up and left yesterday. You’re lucky you didn’t come earlier, or you would have been swarmed.”
“I might have driven by a couple times,” Jenni winked. “I might have done a drive by this morning too, earlier, to see if they’d gone yet.”
Trace winced. He was starting to feel worse by the second. A crash and a bang echoed from the kitchen where his mom was obviously clearing out the dirty dishes. Trace wanted to kick his own ass for being so pathetic that his mom had to clean up after him like he was a child again.
He scrubbed a hand over his face again. “God, I’m a mess.”
Jenni could have egged him on. She could have done the sisterly thing and told him that he was, without a doubt, the hottest hot mess she’d seen in a long time, but she took mercy on him. “I know why you didn’t tell her. I get it. You wanted to be you. I know you’ve been through the wringer. I’d like to strangle a few of those bitches who treated you the way they did. No one gets away with ruining my brother that way.”
“Jenni…” Trace rubbed at his temples. “Thanks for that, really, but I don’t need you to commit murder for me. Although, seeing a full out cat fight with hair flying all over complete with screams, maybe throw in a little mud… I wouldn’t mind seeing you kick ass that way.”
“You’re such a dork. Getting rich hasn’t changed you at all. You’re still just a huge nerd who has his head up his ass.”
“Thanks for that. I’ll take that as a sign of sisterly love and affection. I don’t think you could pay me a higher compliment.”
Jenni rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to say that I get why you didn’t tell her, but I also think that you should have. You didn’t exactly set her up for disaster, but what you did, didn’t help. I get that you want to be known for you, but there’s this point where you just have to put your faith in another person and trust them.”
“I didn’t have time.”
“I know. I know you were eventually going to come clean, but it didn’t happen and now things are pretty wrecked.”
“Thanks. I didn’t exactly know that.” Trace sunk against the wall. He felt like shit and didn’t even want to hold himself up any longer. His mom started singing in the kitchen and he let out a low groan. “This is seriously the worst day of my life. My mom and my sister, coming here and cleaning up after me.”
Jenni pursed her lips and stared back at him completely unsympathetic. “Obviously you need it.”
“Again, thanks.”
“You’re perfectly welcome. Now,” she made a swatting motion then pointed down the hall. “You need to get in the shower. I’m starved and sitting there smelling you is really putting me off and mom’s breakfasts are the best. I haven’t had one in ages. I’m not going to let you ruin it for me.”
“I love you too,” Trace said sarcastically.
“I do love you,” Jenni insisted. Her face softened. He didn’t have to tell her that he knew it. It was obvious between them. He didn’t know a brother and sister who had been closer growing up. He’d looked after her when their mom was off trying to earn enough money to see them through another month. He’d beat up bullies for her. He was her biggest fan. He’d nearly kicked her husband’s ass when they started dating, just because he knew that no one out there was good enough for his sister, but the guy was lucky enough that he won him over by treating Jenni like gold. “But you still stink.”
“I knew there was a hard ‘but’ coming. “
“You’re a real butt. Now, get in the shower. Because I can smell your butt.” Trace let out a half sigh, half groan. It was over dramatic, and Jenni laughed. She raised a brow. “Too much?”
“Definitely too much.”
“So, shower? I’ll clean up your living room for you and I’ll make sure to hide all the beer bottles and empty whisky bottles so mom doesn’t see them.”
“For the record, I don’t drink my pain away. There is half an empty whisky bottle that I made last over like… three nights.”
“Right, but you obviously drank that half last night after spending two days and three nights trying to talk yourself out of it.”
“I am seriously too hung over for this conversation.”
“I know you don’t drink your pain. Don’t worry, I was kidding. I do know that there are probably four or five empty pizza boxes or take out containers. I do know that you probably changed your clothes all of once since you got home after everything blew up. You’ve probably slept on the couch every single night so I should bleach it or if that won’t save it, get out the gas and the matches.”
Trace couldn’t help it. He cracked a smile and actually allowed a small laugh. “You know me too well. No need for bleach or gas. There may be a few pizza boxes…”
Their mom’s singing escalated as she belted out some horrible off-key version of a popular pop song. She was probably minutes away from starting to cook with whatever she could find in his fridge. His mom was a miracle worker though, at throwing a meal together on nothing. Trace didn’t like to think about how much practice she’d had at it over her lifetime. He promised himself when he made something of his life, he was never going to let his mom or sister go back to it.
“Shower,” Jenni commanded. “Then we’ll figure out how to get you out of this mess.”
“Is there a way out?”
She cocked a confident brow. “Trust me. There is always a way out when it comes to matters of the heart. I’m not going to let my big brother crash and burn.”
“If your advice contains flowers and chocolates, I’m afraid it’s not going to work. Ash isn’t easily wooed.”
“Don’t worry. I did my research. It’s going to be much, much better than flowers or chocolates.”
Trace turned and headed off to the promise of warm water and less of the horrible crawling in his skin filthy feeling. He had to make his escape before his sister let him in on whatever horrible plan she had up her sleeve.
He was one hundred percent sure that he wasn’t going to like it and that it would involve completely humiliating himself. He was also one hundred percent sure that if it involved getting Ash back and making things right, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
CHAPTER 18
Ash
Exhausted from work, Ash hurried around her apartment, quickly filling Slappy’s bowl so his endless loud meows, tales about how he’d run out while she was away during the day, would cease. She dumped out half a can of tuna onto a plate after she filled up the bowl with cat food, seeing as she knew Slappy would be quicker to forgive her that way. Not that it was really her fault. Sometimes the darn cat ate his whole bowl of food when she was gone. Other days he barely touched a thing.
Cats. They were almost as bad as men.
Ash sighed and leaned against the counter top, trying to summon up the will to open the fridge and make herself something to eat. She was starving, but she was so tired she contemplated heading off straight to bed with a bag of chips.
She knew she’d pay for it in the morning, so she forced herself to move. She grabbed a banana off the counter and devoured it. She felt better after and had enough energy to set a pot on the burner and cook some spaghetti. She added a few frozen meatballs to a different pot and waited for them to finish.
When she set her plate on the table, her mouth was watering and her stomach growled violently.
Of course, because the universe had it in for her, a gentle knock sounded on her door.
Ash set down her fork, aggravated and puzzled. Only her family had a key
for the front door. No one called or texted to say they were coming over. Maybe they were worried about her. The work week hadn’t exactly been kind and she was just glad it was over. Tomorrow, Saturday, would be the one-week anniversary of the disastrous reunion and the viral video that had since been viewed over six hundred thousand times.
On Wednesday evening, she’d finally gone in for her long overdue phone upgrade, which included a new number, since it wouldn’t stop blowing up. She’d completely forgotten to inform her parents.
“Shit.” Ash pushed back her chair, mourning the meal she’d spent the most effort making all week getting cold. She rushed to the door. Maybe if she could assure whoever was out there that she was indeed still alive or invite them in, she’d still be able to salvage dinner.
She threw open the door without checking the peephole, since she was pretty darn sure no one was out there to annoy or murder her and stopped dead.
“What the fuck,” she breathed. There, standing in the hallway in front of her door, was not her brother, mother or father. It was Trace. Dressed up in full costume. “Oh, hell no.” She tried to slam the door shut but wasn’t fast enough. Trace wedged one black boot into the frame. Ash pressed harder, ignoring his grunt of pain. “How the hell did you get in here?” she ground out. “Only my family has a key for the front door.”
His costume included a deadly replica of her favorite villain right down to the swirling cape and the helmet. He smiled sheepishly, though the action probably made the sides of the plastic replica dig into his cheeks. “I might have convinced your brother to lend me his key.”
“Jason,” Ash spat. “Remind me to murder him later. How did you find him anyway? You don’t have his number.”
“I- I have ways of getting information.”
“I bet you do.” She skewered him with a malevolent glare. “Seeing as you’re rich you can probably get just about anything.” Her eyes flicked over the costume. She was annoyed at her traitorous body for heating up, for noticing that he filled it out nicely, for roaring to life, for the sick amount of hope and longing that rushed through her. “Like that costume. Bet that wasn’t cheap. Bet it was special ordered.”