by Jamie Canosa
Trash bins lined the road like silent sentries standing guard alongside their white picket fences and rows of shrubbery. It was the kind of neighborhood where people felt safe, protected by location alone. But that sense of security came at a price. Residents let their guards down. They didn’t pay attention, didn’t watch out for each other. And the police declined twenty-four hour supervision.
Pools of light from overhead streetlamps left patches of murky shadows. Yard after yard was blanketed in darkness. In truth, it wouldn’t be hard to sneak right up to any one of those houses without being seen. Ashlyn’s house alone had the front porch light on. Smart girl.
Mason’s headlights reflected off the wet concrete. He pulled to the side of the road and parked. The rain had stopped, but occasional flashes of cloud lightening warned that there could be more to come. Beyond the shine of the porch light, Ashlyn’s windows were dark. No glow of the television. At least one of them was getting some rest.
Grabbing the lever, he lowered his seat back and settled in. The local country station hummed quietly through the speakers and the heater buzzed. Mason dozed on and off for a while until he caught his second wind. As he watched and waited, his mind drifted. What would Ashlyn do if he let himself in with the key he still had and crawled into bed with her where he really wanted to be? He huffed a small laugh. She’d probably suffocate him with a pillow.
Amusement fled when he thought about her in that house, all alone. She was hurting. Probably as much as he was. She could lie, and scream, and threaten all she wanted . . . he knew her too well. She was all twisted up. Confused. Afraid. And he didn’t know how to reach her. If he could just find a way to—
A flash of movement from inside a car parked a couple houses down caught Mason’s attention. He’d been parked there for over two hours and not a single car had come or gone. Had they been sitting there that entire time?
Mason reached for the door handle. The car’s headlights snapped on and he threw up an arm to shield his eyes form the sudden onslaught of light. It blinded him as the vehicle pulled away from the curb and did a U-turn in the middle of the street. Black dots danced in his vision. By the time they cleared enough for Mason to see the license plate, the car was turning the corner at the end of the block.
“Shit.” Mason’s fist collided with the steering wheel.
It could have been anyone sitting there for any reason. Hell, Mason was doing the exact same thing himself. But his gut told him he’d screwed up. That the asshole who had been threatening Ashlyn was sitting right outside her house in the middle of the goddamn night. And he hadn’t even seen him until it was too late.
“Dammit!”
Chapter Twenty-two
Ashlyn
“Your boyfriend’s back.”
Lorraine glanced toward the door and Ashlyn whipped around. Why the word ‘boyfriend’ conjured expectations of Mason, she had no clue—and really didn’t want to think about—but that’s not who stood there with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans.
“Roger?” Disappointment rushed in. Something else she didn’t want to think about. She hadn’t heard word-one from Mason in over a week, but that was what she wanted. Wasn’t it? “What are you doing here?”
“Hi.” He gave her an uneasy smile. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“Umm . . .” Ashlyn cast around for an excuse, finally landing on Lorraine. She’d already taken her lunch break. She couldn’t bail on her again.
“Go ahead. I’ll cover for ya. Just sit in my section.” Lorraine winked. “He’s a great tipper.”
Some help she was. Ashlyn looked to Roger and shrugged. “Want to sit?”
“Sure.”
Roger trailed after her to a table near the back where Ashlyn slid into the booth across from him and watched as he folded and unfolded his napkin three times before he worked up the nerve to look her in the eye.
“I wanted to apologize.” He sighed and his shoulders slumped. “Last time I talked to you I was . . . out of line.”
Okay, that was true yet unexpected. She’d half-expected him to yell at her some more, but his sad eyes looked so contrite she almost felt bad for him. “It’s alright—”
“No. It isn’t. I acted like a jerk and I hope you know that’s not who I am.” He watched her for confirmation, so Ashlyn nodded. The Roger she’d chatted with over the years had never been anything but a perfect gentleman. “I was having a rough week and I took it out on you. It’s not an excuse, just an explanation. You deserve that much.”
A rough week was something Ashlyn could relate to and it occurred to her that outside of politics and how his family affected hers, she knew next to nothing about Roger’s life. Everyone had their own shit to deal with. The crap came in different shades of suck, but everyone had it.
“What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”
Roger sighed. “Parent drama.”
Seeing him roll his eyes made her want to laugh. He was like a completely different person away from all the pomp and circumstance. But, then again, so was she. They all played their parts. Some just played them better than others.
“I get it. Things are a little . . . strained between my mother and me at the moment.”
“How so?” He leaned in as though he were genuinely interested in listening to her bitch. His elbow landing bullseye in one of a hundred water rings left behind on the scarred wooden surface.
“We . . .” Ashlyn measured her words carefully. Complaining to a friend about your parents was common practice for most people, but in their world gossip could be life altering. “. . . had a disagreement.”
Roger’s eyes got all squinty when he smiled. “Don’t worry. Nothing you say leaves this table. I promise. You don’t have to talk to me, but I’m here if you want to. Cone of silence.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at the old-school reference far too few people would appreciate. Maybe she and Roger weren’t all that different after all. “I’m sure you heard about the trial I’m testifying in?”
“I’ve heard a mention or two.” He nodded. “Scary stuff.”
“Yeah, well, the D.A. isn’t exactly happy that the senator is commenting on a case that hasn’t even started yet.”
“So ask her to stop.” He made it sound so easy.
“I tried. She said it’s all the reporters are asking about. What’s she supposed to do, ignore them?” It was a logical argument. One Ashlyn still didn’t have an answer to.
“Well . . .” Roger glanced out the window as a semi-truck sped by. “You may have heard that my family has some sway in the media industry.”
“Some.” They were only the owners of the biggest international conglomerate of media networks in the world.
“Let me talk to my father, see if he can help swing their focus in another direction.”
A rush of air passed Ashlyn’s lips. “You’d do that?”
“For you?” He looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Of course. I’d—”
“Bring me anotha round, Sweetheart.” Three guys sat at a nearby table, one of them waving his beer bottle at Lorraine. His voice carried, louder than necessary, broadcasting the slurred speech.
Lorraine glanced at the bar and Jay gave her a subtle shake of his head.
“Actually, we’re . . . uh . . .” She wound her fingers in the sash of her apron. “. . . out of that beer.”
The guy smirked at her all pompous swagger. “Then bring me another.”
Again she looked to the bar and again Jay shook his head.
“Um . . . actually . . .” Her knuckles whitened. “The bar’s closed.”
“Doesn’t look closed to me, Sweetheart.” He looked pointedly at the three guys sipping drinks at the bar.
“Well, it . . .”
Ah, hell. This was a disaster waiting to happen. Ashlyn scooted to the edge of her bench. “It is to you.”
The guy gave her an unappreciative onceover and scoffed. “What’s it to you, Princess?�
�
“Please,” Lorraine tried again. “Just pay your tab and go.”
“What if I don’t want to go? Unless . . .” He leaned back in the booth, arms spread along the back. His lip curled as his gaze traveled from her face to her feet and back up again, lingering in all the wrong places. “You wanna come home with me, Sweetheart?”
Oh, no. Oh, hell no.
Ashlyn jumped to her feet and stomped up to the table. “You’re done. Pay and get out.”
“This ain’t none of your business, Princess.”
“Oh yeah?” Ashlyn folded her arms and looked down on him like the piece of dirt he was. “She’s seventeen, Asshole. Want to see if the police think it’s their business?”
The asshole stood, all lax, drunken swagger evaporating under the reign of a barely controlled temper. Suddenly he looked a hell of a lot bigger. And meaner.
“Ashlyn.” Roger warned that she was poking a bear with a stick.
Part of her knew that she was acting reckless, but she didn’t give a damn. It had been a long, stressful, sleepless week and she had a lot of pent-up frustration. This guy was just the target she needed to unleash it on.
“C’mon, Sweetheart, gimme a taste.”
He reached for Lorraine and Ashlyn snapped. This was the same bullshit Preston thought he could get away with. Em’s uncle thought he could get away with. Dirtbags all over the planet thought they could get away with. Well, not today.
A dull, highly unsatisfying thud sounded on impact and Ashlyn clutched her hand. Shit, it felt like she’d just punched a concrete wall rather than some guy’s jaw. His head snapped back, but he recovered all too quickly.
Jay was already ducking under the far side of the bar. He had a zero tolerance policy when it came to assholes harassing girls. But the asshole’s friends were too fast for him. Two of them stood shoulder to shoulder blocking his path. Jay didn’t even hesitate, didn’t try to talk his way through. He walked right up to the pair and slammed his fist into the first guy’s face.
That’s when all hell broke loose.
Ashlyn grabbed Lorraine’s arm and dragged her back to the table where Roger was on his feet.
“Go.” She shoved the girl toward the waitress station. “Call the police.”
Lorraine stumbled away and Ashlyn turned back to—
“Oof.” A heavy weight hit her from behind and she collapsed to the floor just as glass shattered and beer rained over her.
Son of a bitch threw a beer bottle at her.
“Ashlyn, you okay?” Roger grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her to her feet.
“Yeah.” If he hadn’t pushed her out of the way she might not have been so lucky. “Thanks.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Bart stormed out of the kitchen. Ashlyn could count the number of times she’d seen Bart leave his grill on one hand.
He was a big guy and he had the strength to match. Grabbing up one of the two still fighting with Jay, he tossed him into the wall. The guy and a plaque with a little league team the restaurant had sponsored sometime back in the nineties crashed to the floor. Jay charged the other, ramming him in the stomach with his shoulder and taking him down, as well. That just left the asshole, who without his friends around didn’t look as brave as he thought he was.
“The police are coming,” Lorraine announced.
“Dammit,” Asshole roared and apparently decided that was Ashlyn’s fault because he lunged at her.
She caught a glimpse of movement in her periphery and then Roger was there, standing between them. He wasn’t a big guy, but still he managed to hold his own. A swift jab followed by an uppercut showed he had skills. Boxing maybe? Karate? Asshole doubled over, clutching at his nose as blood dripped between his fingers. Roger grabbed him by the hair and brought his knee up into his face. A sickening crunch sounded and the asshole crumpled to the floor, moaning.
When Roger pulled his leg back, prepared to kick a man who was already down, Ashlyn grabbed hold of his arm. “Enough.”
Roger froze, his chest laboring with heavy breaths. Several seconds ticked by. Lorraine was crying. Jay had an arm around her. Bart looked ready for another fight. Several other customers who’d stuck around for the show whispered quietly amongst themselves near the door. Behind them blue and red lights flooded the parking lot.
“Roger?”
His eyes were wide, but otherwise empty. Not a trace of the anger that had compelled him a moment ago. No surprise or embarrassment at his outburst. No anything.
“Are you okay?”
Slowly animation returned to his face. His brow creased and his lips formed a tight line. “I’m fine. Are you sure you’re okay?”
He ushered Ashlyn over to a booth where he urged her to sit and took a knee in front of her. She blinked down at him. The tenderness with which he handled her shocked her more than anything. He gently prodded her cheek and a sharp sting told her it was more than just beer that had hit her.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine.” A scratch. All things considered, it definitely could have been worse.
***
Ashlyn was genuinely surprised when the officer taking her statement had asked her name. By this point she’d figured they all have her name, address, and social security number memorized. No doubt by this time tomorrow she’d receive a call from one parent or the other, demanding she quit her job.
Scratching at the tape keeping the bandage in place on her cheek, she watched as they escorted Asshole and his friends to the back of their waiting cars. Tweedledee and Tweedledum had a few bruises here and there. Jay had a nasty one forming on his jaw. But Asshole’s face was a mess. Dried blood caked his nostrils, lips, and chin. And his nose was bent at a decidedly unattractive angle.
“Do you need a ride home?” Jay dumped the ice pack the EMTs had given him on the table Ashlyn was sitting at.
For the first time in the history of ever, Bart’s was closing up early for damage control. A few table and chairs had been busted up in the fight. Not to mention the blood all over the floor. Bart had someone coming in to document all of it, fully intending to ring every last cent he could from the insurance company he swore had been robbing him blind for decades.
“I’ll take her,” Roger offered.
“Thanks, guys.” She scooted away from Roger who was sitting beside her and smiled at them both. “But I drove myself to work. My car’s in the lot.”
“I’ll stick around to make sure it starts.”
Roger laughed like he thought Jay’s offer was a joke, but Ashlyn appreciated it. Shoving her arms into the sleeves of her coat she got up and grabbed her purse from behind the bar.
“Ready?”
The guys joined her, but as Jay pushed through the door, Roger tugged on her elbow bringing her up short.
“We’re good, right?” He studied her face closely and Ashlyn stiffened not sure where this was headed. She didn’t have the strength for a repeat of last time. “Friends?”
“Yeah.” Ash relaxed. “Friends.”
She smiled. Friends worked for her.
Chapter Twenty-three
Mason
Mason stood on the front porch, tugging at the sleeve to his black button up, telling himself for the billionth time that the jacket would have been overkill. He thought. Crap, maybe he should have worn it and just taken it off at the courthouse? Knowing what to wear as a best man to a wedding when tuxes weren’t an option and the whole thing was highly informal was complicated. Ashlyn had it easy. A dress was a dress was a dress.
The door swung open and he immediately retracted that thought. Silver and strapless, it came to just above her knees. The bodice had a black spiral design with tiny flowers embroidered on it. A layer of sheer black lace covered the skirt, but it wasn’t poofy and frilly like the last dress he’d seen her in. No this was elegant, stunning with just a little bit of edge. And oh so very . . . Ashlyn.
“You look . . .” He shut his mouth and opened it ag
ain, but still the right word wouldn’t come. Was there a right word? Finally Mason settled on, “. . . incredible.”
Her long blonde hair was pulled up in a style that somehow still made it look soft and touchable, with a few stray locks curled around her face. She tucked one behind her ear and gaped at him. “Mason, what . . . what are you doing here?”
“I believe we have a car coming to pick us up?” They’d arranged it when they still shared an address. Mason had considered cancelling, or just letting Ash have it to herself, but in the end the opportunity to see her had been too much to pass up.
“Oh . . . uh . . . right. Well . . .” She reached behind her and produced a pair of black heels which she shoved her feet into. How women managed to wear those things and not kill themselves was beyond him, but they looked damn good. “Why don’t you just take it? Harrison can take me.”
“Ashlyn—” A sleek black town car pulled up to the curb and honked. “You don’t have to—”
“Mason, please? Just go. I can’t do this right now. Not today.” She blinked hard.
Mason sighed. He was spoiling something that was special to her. “Okay, but why don’t you take the car and I’ll drive?”
A big, black head poked through the door and Mason grinned.
“Hey, boy.” Squatting, he scrubbed a hand over Tank’s head and the dog’s tongue lolled out.
“You take the car, Mason.”
The horn blared again and Ashlyn glanced at the time on her phone. They needed to get moving, but he was loathed to walk away from this moment. “You sure? I don’t mind—”
“I’m sure. I’ll see you there.” ‘
With that she nudged Tank back inside and shut the door in his face.