I’m more than likely never going to know.
***
The rest of Sunday I work on the English assignment I never finished in the library and then far too soon, it’s Monday again and a fresh new week of school awaits.
Isla waits for me on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, two coffee cups in hand before the start of school. “Hey,” she says brightly as I approach. “I got you a double shot, like you asked.”
“Thanks.” I take the drink, glancing at the scuffed Gucci pumps on her feet. “Ugh, we need to take you to Barneys after school.”
She looks down. “I saved a whole year for these.”
“I can tell. They’re like two seasons old.”
“I guess they are looking a bit worn out.”
I link my arm with hers, lead her up the steps. “Don’t fret, Isla. You’ve a new best friend to treat you now.”
She grins. “How was your weekend?”
“Ugh.” I roll my eyes. “The worst. I had brunch at Sant Ambroeus with the grandmonsters, and you’ll never guess who was sitting two tables down.”
“Did Ashton acknowledge you this time?” She giggles.
“Nope, but Grayson’s gaze promised lots of lovely things to come.”
“Aren’t you afraid of what Gray might do?” she asks as she takes a sip of her coffee.
“No. I’ve dealt with his kind in London. The trick is to prepare for the worst.” But while I sound confident, inside I’m wavering. I’d thought I had prepped for all eventualities in London but fell from grace anyway. The truth is, I’m not sure anyone can be prepared. We’re all just faking it.
“How do you prep for the worst?” she asks.
“Find the juiciest dirt possible. Know any?”
“Nothing secret. It’s common knowledge he’s a man whore. For some reason, girls like it.”
“He’s their trip to the dark side. For one night, they get to feel naughty and wild, like they’ve experienced all there is. Grayson’s the devil with the roguish charm everyone loves to hate. He’s the most fun some girls will ever have.”
“You sound like you’re talking from experience.” We take a seat on the top steps, watching the hustle and bustle around us.
“Yeah, something like that.”
I think of Luke; he wasn’t as sinister as Grayson, but he had very similar traits. What we had together wasn’t love but mutual interest to keep our titles, and like Grayson, the moment I became useless, he ditched me and moved onto the next girl. What I never expected was it to be with Clare, or for them to treat me as if we hadn’t been friends for years. It wasn’t losing Luke that hurt the most; it was losing the place where I thought I belonged. It was waking up one day to find my life was a lie.
My experience of losing my place in London has taught me that maybe it’s not one person who’s the devil. Maybe the whole of society is corrupt, and the more I think about it, the more I wonder if I really want back into the hole.
Chapter 9
Walking into my second-period art class, I breathe a sigh of relief when there’s no sign of the Upper East Side royalty. I hope this will be my one freedom in school, a chance to let go and do what I love without the evil stares of the elite down my back.
The teacher walks in, an eccentric-looking woman considering the caliber of Albany Nightingale, but I guess it also comes with the territory. All the students are seated at easels with a blank canvas, and I’m really hoping my first lesson is going to be a freestyle painting without any rules.
Closing the door behind her, it’s centimeters from shutting when a tut leaves her mouth and she puts a hand on her hip, widening the door again.
“Be on time to my class in future, Mr. Cole.”
My stomach drops. Of course, he’s in here. It would be too much to ask for him to drop his love of art, along with his lowly roots.
Ashton strides across the room undeterred, and as he spots me, his smile turns into a smirk. The only available easel is on my left, and I purposely keep my eyes front and center as he takes it.
“Hey, Rose,” he murmurs. It takes all my willpower not to react and turn. “Going to be like that, is it?” I ignore him. “We’ll see how long you last.”
I grit my teeth, chanting in my head not to respond. The laughter in his tone rubs me the wrong way. Since the moment I saw him again, I’ve wanted nothing more than for him to acknowledge me and talk, and now he is, I refuse to look his way. It’s all part of a sick game he and Grayson must have concocted; there is no other explanation for it.
If he wanted to talk, he should have done it on day one.
“Okay, class. I thought it would be nice to kick-start the week with a little freestyle paint. Abstract, portrait, whatever you please. Collect what you need and get started.”
Climbing to my feet, I walk to the back of the room with the others and into the supply closest. It’s my first time in here, and I’m not sure where everything so it takes me a little longer than everyone else to collect my supplies. Turning to exit, paint in my arms, I nearly walk smack bang into the expanse of a wide muscular chest. I look up and into Ashton’s amused gaze.
“I never remember you being so short,” he answers.
“Oh, so now you remember me,” I snap.
“Ah, come on, Rose, you know how things are. I’ve a reputation to uphold.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry for not knowing meeting me when we were kids would ruin you.” I glare. “Now move out of my way.” His smile turns wicked as he steps the two inches between us and presses up against me until I meet the hard shelves at my back. “Move,” I repeat, breathless.
Anger drains from me as every cell touching him flares to life. He’s so much taller and wider than when we were kids. He’s all hard muscle and chiseled lines. His head dips, his lips lingering over the sensitive skin on the curve of my neck. I’m breathing heavily, melting into him as the reasons why I was so angry fade away.
The past and the present collide together. I hear the sweet laughter of the young boy he once was, see the young love in his cinnamon-dusted eyes, and then I feel the hard wall of his grown-up body and sense the electricity flowing through my veins as his breath brushes my skin.
“Rose,” he whispers roughly.
“Everything all right in here?” the teacher, Miss Spice, asks tightly.
I shove Ash back sharply as he chuckles and clears his throat. “I was just helping Rose find what she needed.”
I can’t talk. I’ve lost the ability to speak.
“Are you all right, Rose?” Miss Spice asks gently, glancing between us.
“Yes,” I manage quietly.
“Well, get back to your stations, both of you.”
“Yes, miss,” I reply.
“Sure thing,” Ash adds.
I feel him at my rear as I walk from the supply closest to my easel, dumping my paints down not so gently.
“You look a little flustered, Rose,” Ash observes as he takes his seat. “If you need help, let me know.”
I throw the dirtiest look I can muster at him before turning my attention back to the blank canvas.
“You’re sexy when you're mad,” he whispers.
Picking up the color red, I smear it onto my fingers, and with everything inside me, I force it out and into my work. My fingers smear sharp and rigid, blending colors, smearing lines, and by the time the bell rings and it’s time for our next class, the painting staring back at me is loud and dark. It speaks of rage and loss and the never-ending questions stacking up in my head.
“Hey,” Isla chimes as she steps into place beside me as I stride down the corridor toward math. “What’s got you so angry?”
Glancing around me, I notice far too many ears willing to run to their leaders in hopes of an in. “Not here,” I whisper, sliding my arm through hers and guiding us toward the girls’ bathroom. “Out!” I snap at the two freshmen applying makeup in the mirror.
One look at my expression has them scuttling.
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“Wow, what’s going on?” Isla stares after the girls. “Remind me not to piss you off. You are scary.”
“Ashton. That’s what’s wrong with me. Ashton and his goddamn body.”
She frowns. “Body?”
“He’s a bloody bastard.”
She giggles behind her mouth. “Bloody bastard, you sound so British.”
“He cornered me in the supply closest, backed me into the shelves.”
“Wow, really.” She bites her lip. “He’s hot, right?”
Groaning, I rub my face as I stare to the ceiling. “Damn it, he is, and my stupid body betrayed me. Who does the arse think he is? First, he pretends we’ve never met, then he ignores my very existence, and now he’s rubbing up against me in class like we have the hots for each other. I’m over it, Isla. He can bloody do one for all I care.”
She looks at me funny. “Hmm, I think I’m translating this right. You hate Ashton, and as far as you’re concerned, he no longer exists.”
“Exactly.” I nod. “Come on, we best get to math.”
She jogs after me. “Rose, before we forget who Ashton Cole is, can we maybe discuss what it felt like to be crushed up against him?”
I can’t help but laugh. “To damn bloody good. That’s the problem.”
“I’m so jealous.”
Dashing into math just as the late bell rings, Isla and I make our way to the two empty seats at the back, and as I pass Ash’s desk, I force myself to ignore his presence even as the tips of his fingers brush my legs.
Yup, forgetting Ashton Cole isn’t going to be as easy as I’d like.
***
After eating lunch outside, making the most of the autumn sun, I leave Isla to go to her class and make my way to mine. Turning off the main hall, I slide my hand onto the smooth wooden railing of the stairs and get one step up before being pulled down and dragged into the alcove under it. My breath whooshes out of me in a startled gasp as my hands come up to steady myself.
“Rose,” Ash breathes.
Hands clenching on his chest, anger rushes through me as I get over the shock of being dragged away.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” I hiss.
“Ah, come on, Rose. Please, hear me out.”
I study him, unsure whether I can trust the sincerity in his tone. “What do you want, Ash?”
“No one calls me Ash anymore,” he whispers, as if it’s a loss.
I cross my arms as I narrow my eyes. “That’s probably because you don’t act much like Ash anymore. Not the Ash I knew anyway.”
“I guess I deserve that. But surely you understand? Gray’s my brother.”
Irritation worms its way into my head. Putting as much distance as I can between us in the small space, I lace my next words with frost. “What has Grayson Bishop got to do with the way you’ve treated me?”
“Don’t you know?” he asks, shocked.
“Know what?” I snap. “Stop with the bullshit, Ash. I’m over it.” Noise fills the stairwell as lunchtime comes to an end. “I’ve gotta go.” I’m done with these games. I’m done with the constant confliction inside me and the awakening of feelings that should have died long ago.
“Rose.” He takes my hand, keeping me with him. “I missed you.”
I shake my head and laugh. “You missed me? Oh, is that why you were overjoyed to see me again and took me into your arms.”
“Happened inside your head, though, right?” He smirks. He slides my hands up his chest. “I can’t stop thinking about you pressed up against me.”
I can’t keep up with him. This constant push and pull. Does he like me or not? Is this some stupid, sick game he and Grayson have cooked up, or does he actually miss me and his old self? I can’t decide, but I can play my own games. I can take back my power.
Smiling slowly, I allow my face to soften and inch my hands higher, closing the space between us. “You’re right, it did. I’ve wanted to do nothing but kiss you again since day one.”
Ash’s gaze heats, his breathing becoming thick. My tongue darts out and wets my bottom lip as I press myself harder against him, feeling him stir to life.
“You’ve wanted that too, haven’t you?” I whisper hoarsely.
“Yes,” he breathes, bending his head to mine. I laugh inside, my wicked core sparking to life, even as I fight my own desires.
I let him lead, drawing him in, using my body as a tool. My hand dips lower, skimming the rigid plains of his abdomen, and as it dips below the waistband of his trousers, he groans aloud.
Smiling against his lips, I savor the feel of him as we kiss. He’s putty in my hands, mine to control and manipulate. He’ll be sorry he ever sought to play games with me. Raising my knee, I aim right for his prized jewels, and step back as he slumps to the floor.
“Fuck,” he rasps, holding himself. “What the fuck, Rose!”
I eye him with a satisfied smile. “You’re not the only one who’s changed, Ashton.”
My heels click on the wooden floor as I stride away, passing his bimbo of a girlfriend by the stairs. “Ashton’s gotten his self into a little trouble, Sophia,” I say, covering my fake smile with my hand. “He might need a little help.”
She takes me in, from my mussed hair to my kiss swollen lips, and then her angry gaze lands on Ashton, groaning on the ground.
“Ashton Cole,” she screeches. “This best not be what I think it is.”
I giggle all the way to class. It’s good to be back.
Chapter 10
“You’ll never believe what I’ve heard people whispering,” Isla says upon greeting.
I probably will.
“Tell me all about it on the way out. I think we need to get our nails done again after buying some shoes.” I link my arm through hers, leading her away. It’s been a long, eventful day, and I’m looking forward to an hour at the salon.
“They’re saying you attacked Ashton and kissed him.”
I laugh. “Attack, really? I kneed him in the balls, and the dick deserved it.”
“Oh my God, tell me everything.”
I reveal every detail, enjoying the awe in her hazel gaze. This, I’ve missed. The high of a win, the shock and awe as people spread the gossip. It can become an addiction.
“Sophia’s going to be out for blood now. You know that, right?”
“Tomorrow’s problem. It was going to happen sooner or later. At least it’s on my terms and not hers. I can’t take being messed with anymore. I’m no pushover, and I think I needed to remind myself of that.”
“You’re crazy. I wish I had your confidence.”
I smile. All I have to do is hold on to it.
A few hours later, I return home with perfectly shaped nails, painted blood-red, and a full, satisfied belly. It’s not often I allow myself to indulge in fatty foods such as pizza, but Isla insisted she knew where we could get the best pizza in NYC.
The apartment’s empty when I enter. I’ve no idea where my mother is, which isn’t new; she was always off doing something for either work or some charity event when we lived in London, and I imagine her life is much the same here.
Helping myself to a Coke, I make my way to my bedroom and settle down on my bed, opening my laptop to check my emails. It’s not something I’ve done since moving, and as I wait for the page to load, anxiety churns in my gut.
“Please don’t be hate mail. Please don’t be hate mail,” I chant softly as it appears on the screen.
But there is only one email that grabs my attention. All the rest just fade away. Heart in my throat, I click the message open and read:
Rose,
Your mother refuses to talk to me other than through a solicitor, and from the lack of response on your Facebook messages, I’m beginning to think you both don’t want to have contact with me.
I understand, Rose. I do. I’ve done terrible, unforgivable things, and you have every right to ignore me.
This is my last message. My last apology. I cannot u
ndo what I have broken, but I need you to know I love you, Rose. I love you more than anything in this world, and I’M SORRY I lost track of that.
Goodbye, my darling girl.
Maybe one day we’ll meet again,
Love, Dad.
I can hardly see the screen by the time I reach the end of his email. Frantically, I open another tab and load Facebook, my finger tapping on the edge of the keyboard as I wait for it to come on the screen. They shake as I move the cursor to Messages and click. Every move seems to take an eternity; I need to call my father. I need to hear his voice. I need him to know I didn’t know he was trying to contact me; I do want to talk.
I’m so angry at my mother for not telling me he wanted to speak. As far as I was aware, he was unable to contact me. His email was from two days ago, and I pray to God he’s not been taken away in the meantime. If I’ve missed my opportunity to talk to him, I will never forgive my mother. It’s not fair of her to expect me to carry on as if he doesn’t exist. As if he isn’t out in the world living a life without us in it. She might be able to cut off her feelings and start a new life, but my emotions won’t be buried. My memories, my love for my father, they won’t fade just because she wants them too. Even if I wanted them too, I’m not sure they would. Life isn’t as simple as that.
Ignoring all the unread messages from my old school peers, I open my father’s to find messages going back five days and several missed video calls. Skipping reading what he’s said, I press on the video icon and watch as my video pops up and begins the call.
“Come on, Dad. Answer.” It’s been ringing for too long, and when it cuts off, I try again. “Please, Dad, please.”
My heart’s pounding, my stomach doing summersaults. I’ve never wanted to hear my father’s voice so much before; it’s an almost painful need. Desperation grips tight around my chest, threatening to steal my breath, and the tone rings on.
“Daddy, please,” I whisper as a tear rolls down my cheek.
“Hello? Hello, Rose. Rose, is that you?”
I open my mouth to answer as my father’s face fills the screen, but as I do, a strangled sound leaves me, and I shatter, bursting into tears. It’s as if everything I’ve been keeping locked inside has escaped. I can’t talk. I can’t breathe. I sob, gasping for air as I press a hand to the screen.
The Destruction of Rose: A High School Bully Romance (Albany Nightingale Duet Book 1) Page 6