by Stacy Borel
He started humming along to the music. I definitely didn’t know this song, but I knew the artist. Ashton was trying to blend in with her seat from embarrassment. It threw me that a man of this vast size liked this music. I would have pegged him as a country listener at the very least. I sat for a moment, unsure of a response or if I even needed to respond.
Thankfully, we pulled up to the apartments. Almost every unit was dark due to the late hour. When he stopped at the curb, I opened the door and hesitated. I knew without a shadow of doubt she wasn’t going to be joining me. Not unless I felt like losing some limbs. I wanted her to turn and give me those bright blue eyes before going inside. When she didn’t make a move to look at me, I climbed out. I heard him shift the car into drive, not waiting till I got inside. As he pulled away, I caught sight of her giving me pleading eyes through the window.
I winked, to which she smiled wildly at and looked down just as they turned away. Yeah, that girl was totally mine. It was just a matter of time.
Ashton
WARMTH FROM THE SUN beat down on my face as I groaned and burrowed into my pillow. Why did God have to make that damn thing outside so bright? My head was throbbing, and my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth. I briefly wondered if I had a bottle of water on my bedside table but figured it would take too much energy to lift my head to look. Jesus! No way did I drink so much that it would make me feel like this. The pounding in my head was making me feel like I couldn’t think of anything other than quenching my thirst and digging in the medicine cabinet for some aspirin. I rose, and my hair that I’d left in a messy bun flopped onto my face. Reaching up, I touched the tangled mess and snickered. This was clearly going to be a great day.
It took me two seconds to catch up and remember that last night ended in a complete train wreck. A twinge of embarrassment flitted through my stomach when I realized that I’d made the colossal mistake calling my dad. Newly twenty-one-year-olds shouldn’t phone home when something as minor as getting stuck on the side of the road happened. I sat up and folded my legs under me. I put my face down in my palms and rubbed at my eyes, trying to wipe away the sleep and blurry vision.
I was never drinking again. And I need coffee and water, stat.
In the kitchen, my dad was standing by the stove, frying eggs. He had his back to me when I came in, so I slid onto a barstool as quietly as I could. The smell of the eggs made my stomach churn, and the thought of eating deep yellow, runny egg snot nearly had me running to the bathroom and puking up my guts. I sat completely still and rested my head on my bent arm. Honestly why anyone wanted to wake up like this was reason enough never to do it again. There must be a cure for a hangover. I truly didn’t want to believe that people found liquor to be enough fun for the consequences of the next day.
“Mornin’, kid,” my dad said, still facing away from me.
I didn’t think I had made any noise, but whatever. “Mornin’.” My voice sounded rough even to me.
He turned and gave me the full effect of his stare. I wanted to shrink down into my seat, but instead, I sat up and tried to square my shoulders. Unfortunately, it only reminded me that my head felt like it was going to pop under even a smidgeon of pressure, and I burped up something nasty. I thought I saw my dad smirk.
He appeared with two white pills and filled a glass with water, placing them in front of me. “Drink the whole thing. It’ll help with the nausea. Want some coffee?”
I let my shoulders droop. I tipped my head, and he went to make me a cup. I was feeling uneasy about how to begin this conversation with him, so I let the silence ensue until he began.
“I’m glad you called me.”
Shrugging, I said, “You always said I could.” I shouldn’t have.
“Well, I’m pleased you did.”
He was holding something back. Sliding the World’s Best Dad mug across the counter to me, he stood on the other side of the counter and watched as I spooned two tablespoons of sugar into my cup and stirred till the white granules disappeared. I never drank my coffee black, but today called for it.
“You didn’t put yourself in the safest of situations last night, Ashton.”
Warmth poured through my mouth, and I shut my eyes for a millisecond. “I wasn’t exactly unsafe either, Dad.”
“How well do you know that boy?”
I peered up at him, and he was standing with his arms crossed, his posture rigid. If it were anybody else sitting in this chair right now, they would have shrunk away from him. This was his power stance. The one he took when he asserted himself over another individual. I’d seen it a few times in my life. When he was firing someone from the gym, when an old neighbor was griping that Dad was blowing his leaves into their yard—he was—and again when a teacher treated me unfairly over a test I’d studied for hours for and then scored me too low.
But I was different. I was his daughter. His one weakness, and unfortunately for him, I was aware of my own power over him.
“That boy’s name is Crew, and he’s not exactly a stranger. I’m always at Foster’s. You know this. So I’ve been around him several times before last night.”
“Just because he lives with someone we know doesn’t mean you know him. What have I told you about identifying your surroundings and making better choices?”
I ground my jaw, which then made my eyes hurt. “My surroundings were a frat house with a bunch of idiots doing keg stands and stumbling around. Crew hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol, Dad.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do,” I lashed out. “It was my birthday. What did you expect for me to do? Sit here at the house and knit a sweater, sip a cup of tea, and curl up in my safe little bed by ten o’clock?” The look on his face said I damn near hit the nail on the head. “I’m not a baby. I’m growing up.”
He sighed and dug his hands into his dark brown hair. My dark brown hair.
“No.”
“Yes,” I said exasperated. “You’ve never been able to lie to me a day of my life, Dad. You might as well be honest.”
His mouth formed a thin line. He exhaled loudly and his nostrils flared. “Then yes. It would have been nice if you picked something a little more low-key than letting Foster talk you to a frat party. That’s not the best way to ring in your special day.”
“Neither is inviting all my friends from high school for an ice-cream party and having blow-up bounce houses in my backyard. Ponies and pink ponytails aren’t what girls turning twenty-one find fun anymore. Tell me, Dad, what did you do when you were my age?”
That caused him to pause. Infinitesimally, his eyes grew larger, and he coughed. “We aren’t talking about what I did in my twenties.”
“Oh yes, we are,” I argued.
“It’s not relevant.”
“It is too! I would ask what kind of girls you partied with before Mom, but I already know. She told me exactly the type you had brought around when she moved in with you.”
That made him smirk. “She talked to you about it?”
I think he enjoyed the idea of my mother possibly being jealous.
“Stay on subject, Dad.” The throbbing in my head wasn’t subsiding.
“The girls I hung around before your mother weren’t exactly the type I’d bring home to your grandma and grandpa.” I started to open my mouth to say, “See!” but he held up his finger. “And that’s exactly my point. The girls I dated before your mom were the girls from the frat houses who did everything they could to garner my attention.”
I rolled my eyes. “I gave one person my attention. The one person who wasn’t drinking, and the one who was ensuring I was safe. Which doesn’t say much about my own flesh and blood that wandered off on his own.”
“I’ve already spoken with Foster. He knows where I stand about what happened last night.”
“Jesus, Dad! I wasn’t implying he did anything wrong. I don’t need a sitter or a bodyguard, and he certainly didn’t deserve the third degree. I’m telling you; I was fin
e! I was barely tipsy. If Crew’s car hadn’t broken down, you wouldn’t have even known anything about last night except whatever bits and pieces Mom fed to you.”
This was a losing battle. He had his opinion, and I had mine. If I sat here on this barstool for the next hour, the same conclusion could be made. My dad was never going to be okay with me seeing someone. If that was what you would even call what was going on between Crew and me. Camden Brooks had a ridiculously high standard for his little girl, and unfortunately for me, it would be impossible to meet.
“Crew’s not bad, Dad.” I said softly.
He gave me his back, and he turned to put the pan he was cooking in, in the sink. Flipping on the water faucet, he spoke. “I just don’t want to see you wasting your time with the wrong person.”
And there it was.
He didn’t know that Crew was the right or wrong person. Just a person interested in me.
“I know, Dad. I know.” I stood from my stool and left the kitchen. I wasn’t in the mood to hear anymore.
When I walked out of the kitchen, I considered burying myself back in the comfort of my down pillows and feather-filled duvet to sleep off this shitty feeling. However, I was feeling restless and annoyed. I hated that my dad made me feel like I’d done something wrong. I hated that he made me feel like my choices weren’t good enough. I hated even more that he judged someone so harshly simply because I was giving him attention. If Crew had been a complete stranger, hell, even Foster’s roommate who I wasn’t showing any interest in, he would see zero issue with him. I wasn’t a defiant kid. Forever the rule follower. I cleaned my room, helped my mother around the house, was a good student, and did everything that was on his list of “Ashton’s Life Plan.”
Huffing, I wondered how long I was supposed to keep up the perfect daughter persona. Till I moved out? Got married? Had my own kids to torture and hold impossible standards for. It wasn’t until this very moment that I truly felt the heaviness of being the perfect daughter sitting on my shoulders. I didn’t want it anymore. Who was Ashton Brooks really? I ground my teeth together.
Operation Deviation was taking place now.
I tossed on my New Kids on the Block T-shirt I’d gotten from a concert my mom and I saw last year. She wanted to convince me they were the greatest boy band since The Beatles, but I couldn’t get on board with her assumption. I tried fixing my unruly hair but gave up when I looked more like Chewbacca had, had a bad night out. I guess this was what a hangover looked like.
I didn’t want to pass by my dad when I left, so I went out the back door and walked around the house to my car. I couldn’t deal with his judging eyes knowing damn well where I was going.
Foster was standing at the kitchen counter dishing out leftover pizza onto a plate to eat when I came in. It took three attempts to hop on the counter before I successfully made it. Normally, he would have teased me about being short, but he didn’t say a word. I knew it was because he was angry about my dad. I swung my legs back and forth like a small child and eventually stuck my finger on a slice of his pepperoni just to get him to talk.
“That’s disgusting,” he glowered.
“We practically share the same DNA. Besides, it’s not like I licked my finger beforehand. And if you keep scowling at me, your face is going to stick like that.”
That made him crack a smile. “Grandma used to always say that.”
“I know.”
He put his food in the microwave and came to stand by me as he watched the seconds tick by. I wondered if Crew was here but was still sleeping. I’d stick around long enough to find out.
“Your dad can be a real dickhead sometimes, you know that?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“You’re a grown woman, Ashton. If you thought you needed someone by your side, all you had to do was say something, and I would have been there.”
I jerked back. “I know that. Is that what my dad said to you?”
He nodded. Wavy brown hair stuck up in a wild fashion, and he was wearing a pair of sweats with nothing else. A sight I knew plenty of women would give everything to see right now. Except I knew the nasty behind the boy. He probably hasn’t showered since he’s been home, and the thought makes me want to vomit.
“He’s never going to ease up. And I am sorry for the tongue-lashing he gave you. He’s just looking for someone to take his frustrations out on.”
I noticed the dark circles under his eyes and wondered how much sleep he’d gotten. The blonde Barbie probably kept him up all night with some crazy sexcapades, trying to make him think she was the best thing based on what she could do with her vagina. I was glad Foster seemed to be a little smarter than he led on sometimes. He wasn’t going to settle down with someone who would hop in the sack with him on the first day.
“It’s fine. I’ve heard it before.”
He was right about that. My dad was forever the protector.
“So did Crew get his car?”
Foster took a Coke out of the fridge. When he popped the metal top, it made a sizzling sound before he tipped his head back and took a long pull from the can. “I don’t know. He left this morning before I got up.”
Well, that answered if he was here or not. My shoulders sagged. “Oh.”
He eyed me skeptically, and I looked down at my dangling feet. “Don’t get too attached, Ashton.”
My eyes shot to his accusingly. “Have you been talking to my dad?”
“You sure seemed to be enjoying your evening.” I snatched the green peppers that he didn’t eat from his plate and shoved them in my mouth. Grinning around the food.
He glared at me. I stole his favorite part that he always saved for last. “Yeah, something like that.”
I bit through the crunchy greens. “When are you ever going to go after someone who is more your speed?”
“You calling me slow?”
“If by slow, you mean stupid, then no. If you mean too slow to realize you’re wasting your time on airheads who are looking for a sugar daddy, which you are not, then yes.”
He fake gasped. “I’m offended.”
“Whatever. Those girls are garbage, and you’re better than that.”
He shrugged, slurping up a mouthful of mozzarella. “It’s easy.”
“Easy is going to get you nothing but one of those girls pregnant.”
“I use protection.”
“That’s not always foolproof. You don’t need to get screwed over one night when you’re so drunk you don’t know where you’re sticking it, let alone whether you put on a condom.”
He rolled his eyes. “So dramatic.”
“I’m sure I can set you up with someone. A nice brunette maybe? Or what about Holly?”
He barked out a laugh. “Brunettes don’t do it for me. And no, Holly. Goth wearing, nipple piercing, snake head eating women aren’t my thing.”
I couldn’t hold back the laughter that escaped my lips. “Snake head eating?”
“Sure, isn’t that what women like her do with their devils magic?”
“You’re stupid. And for the record, brunettes are amazing.” I pointed at my head.
Foster reached over and flipped a lock of my hair and then pointed at his own head. “Clearly, I don’t mind it. I just prefer blondes. Holly is … weird.”
“Holly is eccentric,” I defended. “And real. How about a girl who doesn’t need a specially made bra because they don’t carry her size at Victoria’s Secret?”
He wagged his brows. “Those are the kinds that I like.”
I slapped his arm. I was finally relaxing, and my headache was subsiding when the front door flew open, and Crew came marching in looking like he was ready to fight the first thing that stepped in his line of sight. He moved past the kitchen, not bothering to look at me as he went. He slammed his door, and my whole body was rigid.
“Okaaay then,” Foster exaggerated. He didn’t seem in the least bothered by the angry mechanic. As though he’d seen it before.
; I was looking toward the hallway, curiously unsure why Crew was so mad. Maybe he didn’t get his car fixed. I mean, that would tick me off. Ubers weren’t cheap.
“Suppose you should go check on him?”
My cousin groaned. “Ash, you live with a guy. All your cousins are guys. How do you not speak male yet? I’m not going to go check on him,” he said in a mock girl voice. “We don’t do that. If he needs something, he knows where to find me.”
He was right. Of course, he was right. Crew made me nervous and stupid. When a man stormed off like that or didn’t speak, you better believe he didn’t want to be bothered. I really hated that. Girls were completely different creatures. We talked, hashed things out, cried, and generally felt better after spewing our guts and drowning ourselves in Häagen-Dazs. We lived longer because we were made of sugar and spice, and emotional meltdowns.
Foster kept talking, giving me way too many details about his evening, and at some point, I tuned him out. I yanked at the rubber band holding my floppy mop out of my eyes and let it fall in a mess around my shoulders. Dividing it into sections, I began to braid it over and over again. The extreme desire to do something with my hands was not the distraction I needed to stop my mind from trying to convince me to do the girl thing and knock on Crew’s door.
I’d never seen him angry, but it was certainly something I was grateful wasn’t directed at me. Something happened, and I wanted to know what. Men didn’t overreact. They weren’t ones to have something bad happen in their day and let it ruin the rest of their day. The men in my life let things slide off their shoulders. Whatever bothered them, they acknowledged what the bullshit was and moved on.
I felt unsettled at the bottom of my stomach. And it wasn’t gas bubbles.
“Ash?”
“Hmm?” I said, breaking out of a trance and looking at him.
His tone made me think he’d said my name a few times. “He’s good.”
“What?”
“Crew.”
I tried to play it off like I didn’t know what he was talking about. “Psh, I know. I was thinking about an economics test I have coming up.”