Ash: A Bad Boy Romance

by Lexi Whitlow

  Ash crosses one leg over the other like men do on the subway in New York, spreading out and taking up space. That’s the kind of man he is—but for some reason, when he does it, there’s such a simple strength to his gesture, like he’s got everything figured out.

  “He’s dedicated to his family,” Ash says, lacing his fingers together. “Before Cullen, the Family was ruthless—they’d kill anyone that got in their way. But if you’re Cullen’s blood, you’re protected. No exceptions.”

  “And you’re his blood, I take it? You and every other ginger Irish man in the tri-state area?”

  “Fuck no, I’m not related to that bastard. But he and my father were blood brothers. Cullen basically won me in a bet with my dad. I tried to get out of it by gambling with Cullen myself, but that fucking bastard beat me six ways from Sunday. Now I’m as good as blood. I grew up with his nephews, and I ran around his house from the time I could walk. And I took the blood pact when I turned eighteen—”

  “Please, spare me the details on that one, will you?”

  He laughs and then his face turns serious. “Sunshine, there’s a target on you and your aunt. She didn’t pay her share this month—”

  “She told me she did.” I cross my arms and try to look like I know what I’m talking about, but I can trust Bianca just about as far as I can throw her. And that’s certainly not very far.

  “She lied. She’s in twenty thousand dollars of debt to Cullen, and he’s put a hit on you and your aunt. Your mom could be next—she lives in North Carolina, doesn’t she?”

  My heart feels like it might stop--or like it could very well explode from my throat. “How the hell did you know that?”

  “Cullen’s had tabs on the Colingtons since he took over, since Bianca left him I think. He knows where every member of every family is.” Ash leans forward and clasps his hands together. “And I don’t think he ever got over Bianca, no matter what he says. Which makes him—”

  “Extra double psychotic?”

  “With a cherry on top,” he says. “And there’s just about nothing that will stop him from coming after her now. And you. Maybe her workers first, and then you. That’s usually his pattern. But he might go straight for Bianca’s throat in this. Losing money makes Cullen Flood angry, Sunshine. And your aunt’s already lost him a good amount.”

  “What do you propose—what do you propose we do?” I stutter and stumble over my words, like I’m scraping them out from the inside of my mouth and having an especially difficult time of it.

  “We get married. Then you’re blood. Period. We send Bianca away, and then—”

  “What now?” I keep swallowing to clear my ears because I think he said we get “married,” and he can’t have said that. That’s not a thing we can do, because we’ve only known each other a month, and he’s not the marrying kind... is he?

  He shrugs. “We get married.” He walks over to me with a grin on his stupid, handsome face. “Summer Colington,” he says. “Doctor Summer Colington.” He kneels down on one knee.

  “No—just—no—” I blubber.

  “Summer Colington—”

  “Stop saying my name—”

  “Sunshine, you are by far the prettiest woman—in my apartment.” He takes my hand and keeps kneeling, grinning like this is the best idea in the world—and I admit, it might be kind of clever, if it works. My heart races, and I gulp.

  “Jesus—”

  “Not Jesus, you. I’ve decided that I can’t spend my life chasing down bad guys who want to hurt you. Because you, Summer Colington—”

  “Stop!”

  “Are the best lay I’ve ever had.”

  “Nooooo,” I moan, throwing back my head. This is not the way I’d imagined a proposal going. I wasn’t one of those girls who imagined their weddings over and over in her youth, but when I’d thought about it at all, this wasn’t what I’d imagined. Not by a mile.

  “And I would like you to be my wife—for as long as it takes for Cullen to cool his shit and decide not to kill you—or your aunt. Or any other Colington family member. Because he’s a bloodthirsty asshole, and he most certainly will do whatever the fuck he pleases.” He stops and squeezes my hand. “But he won’t mess with family. He’ll make sure you stay safe if you’re mine.”

  His?

  “Yours?”

  He moves his hands to my waist. “Mine. Until you get sick of me. Because Summer Colington, you are one fine piece of ass.”

  “Christ—we can’t—”

  “Stop with the ‘we can’t,’ bullshit. My proposal, although hilarious, is as serious as a fucking heart attack. It is the only way to protect you, Summer. And I want to protect you.”

  “Marriage isn’t as simple as you’re making it out. It’s never simple, Ash.”

  He slips his hands around my waist in response and then flips up the hem of the green dress I’m wearing. “But it seems like so much fun.”

  “Are you sure you want this—want me? You said you didn’t date women—“

  “This isn’t dating. We can skip that part. For right now.” He pulls me to the edge of my sofa and lets his fingers linger along the inside of my panties. Warmth spills through me.

  In his apartment, the city rolling on outside like there’s nothing going on in here, it feels like this could be a reasonable idea. When he pulls my panties off and tosses them on the edge of the couch—quickly wrecking the illusion that this whole place is out of a neat-and-tidy Ikea catalog—it seems like an even better idea. And then, when he pushes me down on the couch and pulls my ass to the edge of the sofa, spreading my legs and diving between my thighs like a starving man, I grab his hair and whisper his name.

  And then I say yes.

  Present Day

  “I saw that young man dropping you off here last night.” My mother, Linda Colington, comes around the side of the breakfast table and puts a plate with biscuits and lavender honey in front of me. She’ll get me fat as hell before I even finish one year of my residency. But residency doesn’t pay much, and my mother’s breakfast is free. She kisses me on my cheek, brushing away a few of the loose tendrils of hair from the messy bun I’ve started wearing for work.

  “He’s not young,” I say. I shove a bite of biscuit into my mouth, and it practically melts on contact. My mother’s biscuits are some of the best on the island, and there’s absolutely no one here to taste them. “And he wasn’t exactly dropping me off, not like you think. I mean, he walks me to my apartment from work, and sometimes he drives me here. But it’s not like you think.”

  My mother nods and sits down across from me, holding her tea with both hands and then pressing it up against her cheek. “He’s tall, and he’s handsome. And he’s asked about you several times. Very handsome. Not much my type, but Bianca—well, she liked them tough. One time when he came by, he told me he was starting his own fighting thing—studio or whatever it is—”

  “A gym.” I look over at her and dump a generous amount of sugar in my coffee, stirring it slowly and popping another piece of biscuit in my mouth. “Since when has he been chatting with you?”

  “Since you came back. He came by and said he was hoping to see you, and then I asked him if he was handy. And he’s been by a few times to fix some leaks and nail in some boards on the back porch. He actually knows a fair bit about tools and man stuff like that—and he won’t let me pay him—”

  “Mom. Oh my God.” I drop my face into my hands and start turning pink. “You can’t just go and ask my—“

  Boyfriend? Husband? What the fuck?

  “Your what? Are you going to tell me he’s your ‘friend’?”

  “No, not exactly. He’s not really my friend. He’s—well, I know him from New York. And he’s been living here—”

  “Interesting coincidence,” she says, sipping her tea. I know I’m growing more and more flustered—there’s no one in the world that can agitate me like this woman can. Her sister runs a close second. “He met you when you were living with B
ianca?”

  “Yes—well—kind of. I guess that’s right. He did.”

  “And he’s living here now?”

  “Mom, you’re repeating yourself.”

  “I was just getting the story. I know there’s a big story about some man. Bianca hinted at it.”

  Of course she did.

  “And I thought it was all done—” My mother goes on, as I sink lower and lower in my chair, my nose almost touching my biscuit. “But if this is the guy...”

  Instead of answering, I give her a look of death and finish my coffee. She shrugs and keeps fiddling with her tea bag, then gets up and flits around the room like she always does, dusting the mantle above the fireplace, even though she probably already dusted it this morning.

  It would be easier if I could tell her, if I could explain everything about Ash and the entire debacle. But there are parts of the story my mother wouldn’t exactly be happy knowing. Like the entire month she didn’t hear from me when I landed myself in a Damascus hospital, dreaming about Ash every night and desperately working to transfer to the Ukraine.

  There are golden memories with Ash, but most of them happened while we were lying together in bed. The rest are colored gray, listless and sad and tired. I spent three years trying to erase all of it, but here he is, doing odd jobs around the inn for my mother, buttering her up and probably eating biscuits and asking for peppermint tea. I groan at the thought.

  “What, honey? You’re blushing.”

  “Am not,” I huff. “I’m just a little miffed that you two have been colluding behind my back.”

  “Jonathan and I aren’t colluding, or whatever you want to call it. He’s just been nice enough to help me out.”

  “Jonathan? Do you call him that?”

  “That’s his name, sweetheart. You do know that, don’t you?”

  “Christ, Mom. Everyone calls him Ash.”

  “He told me to call him Jonathan.” She’s still dusting, and I can tell she’s trying not to look at me, like she kept doing the last time she brought this up. “I’m sorry if you didn’t want me talking to him. He’s the one who came and introduced himself, Summer. He is tough-looking, but he really seems like a nice boy. And I can use any help I can get right now.”

  I look up at her, and I can tell she’s clenching her jaw tight. “What’s that supposed to mean, Mom?”

  “It’s just that I haven’t gotten a lot of guests recently. Bianca was supposed to help me with marketing, get me on Yelp.”

  “Mom, her business completely failed. Why are you going to her?”

  “She’s smart about these things. She’s been helping with a club up in New York, some gambling place—”

  I cut her off before she starts talking about Bianca’s business savvy, which I know for a fact doesn’t exist. What Bianca is good at is somehow convincing the Irish mafia not to kill her, though I’ve never quite figured that one out. “Is your business here okay? Do you need anything? I can pay for the biscuits—”

  “No you don’t.” She whirls by and clears my plate away, brushing her hand against my shoulder. She’s still thin in her upper body, but her hips seem to be slowly expanding each year. “You’re my miracle girl, my gift, and I just want you to go to your internship—”

  “Residency.”

  “Residency, yes. And I don’t want you to worry about anything here.”

  My chest tightens. No inn in the Outer Banks should be empty at this time of year, and it occurs to me that maybe it’s not just empty because it’s not on Yelp. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “No. Well.” She walks off into the kitchen and turns on the water.

  “Mom!” I shout. “Don’t walk off like that!”

  The water turns off, and my mom stands in the kitchen doorway. Everyone has always said her face is plainer than Aunt Bianca’s, less striking. But the way she stands, back lit from the kitchen windows, red hair now with distinguished streaks of gray, she looks incredibly beautiful—and vulnerable. “The inn is empty because it’s failing,” she says, with a wistful smile. “I’m behind on my mortgage payments, and it’ll be repossessed next month. I haven’t had the energy to get guests or do any advertising.”

  “Mom, that’s how you pay your mortgage.”

  “Too far gone. I need too much, and there’s really no way it’ll stay in business. Not with what I owe.”

  God, I’m glad I’m not looking into running a small business because fuck me, no one in my family can do it.

  “Can you borrow from Bianca?”

  “I won’t ask her to do that, and I’m not asking anything of you. Or anyone else. I have plenty of waitressing experience—I can do that.”

  “Mom, no.” I try not to let my voice break or the tears start to flood my eyes, but I know they will. This has always been my mother’s dream, and this is the place she’s been happiest. It’s meant stability for me, a place I can come home to. With everything going on, I hadn’t thought to ask why it was empty, hadn’t thought to push her on it. There were excuses—yes. Having the mold cleaned out of the eaves, the porch resurfaced, carpets replaced in each of the rooms. But I hadn’t seen trucks here the times I’ve visited, no crews in and out doing all the things she said they’d do. Apparently the only one doing things for my mom has been Ash, and her professional life has been crumbling behind my back. “Mom, there’s got to be another way.”

  “None that I can see. I’ve been foolish, thinking I could make this place into some kind of escape. Bianca’s a good bit younger, but she knows how to live in this world. Even after her running away from here like a crazy woman, and...”

  Her voice trails off, and she drums her fingers against the cherry wood doorway. Everything about this place is beautiful—crown molding, antique furniture, pale blue walls and tastefully selected paintings. To think of it going away makes my heart hurt indescribably.

  “Mom—” I start again. But I don’t know what to say. It feels like there’s a brick in my gut, weighing everything down, pulling at the small happinesses I’ve known since I’ve been back. It feels like my life—no matter how I try to work it—is filled only with duplicity and loss, and pain for the people around me.

  I do the only thing that I can: I go to her and draw her into a hug and hold her for a long time. I barely even notice when my phone alarm buzzes, alerting me that my shift is starting, that I’m beginning another day again. My mother lets go and kisses me on the cheek.

  “Don’t think about this,” she tells me. “I’ll be okay. Just go to work and go see your boyfriend.”

  Husband. But who’s counting?

  “He’s not my—”

  “Whatever you say, Summer. But either way, don’t worry about me. Not right now. I’ll figure something out. I always do.” She pats me on the cheek, and I walk out of the front door and down the grand old steps that won’t belong to my mother for very much longer. I’ve had enough hurt in my years to know that sometimes, when there’s loss, humans feel it physically. There aren’t any studies published on this kind of thing, but I’ve been through it enough to know.

  It feels just like my mother is trapped, like she’s been taken, like there are walls closing in around her and no way out.

  When I start my drive to the hospital, I have a flashback to living in New York and all the pain that stemmed from every decision I made. I thought I’d gotten away from it, but it turns out that the past repeats itself again and again.

  If I were younger, I might call on Ash to solve this problem. But he’s just as messed up as I am, or so it would seem. I don’t know about all the losses and traumas he’s been through, but I can guess it would be a lot by this point.

  This man, he’s never far from my mind.

  And it’s in moments like these that he nags at me like a low-grade fever.

  I try to remind myself of the time I needed him most, when I was alone in Syria. He never knew, but that was the thing that broke my heart for good. And the reason why th
ere’s no way I can go there again. Even if he does know what to do about all of this, I can’t weave him into my life again.

  There’s no way.

  I’m not his anymore, and I’m not sure if I really ever was.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Three Years, Four Months Ago

  The fear in Summer’s voice—it leads me out to my car, barreling down the street to Cullen’s club, through the pouring rain. I’m moving on automatic, running to protect a woman I don’t even know, moving faster than I do even for Cullen.

  For a girl. For one girl.

  I could say it’s because she’s innocent, but I’ve broken a lot of innocent fingers before. There was always whiskey afterwards, and women.

  Since Summer though, whiskey has mostly lost its flavor. And she’s the only woman I notice now, no matter where I go. Cullen’s guys would call me whipped, would laugh at me until they were blue in the face. But I’m still Jonathan Ash, and I could rip them all to shreds.

  When I roll into Cullen’s place, not one of the guys is there. The lights in the bar are dim, and the door to Cullen’s back room is open.

  That’s where she’ll be. You’ll roll in there, Ash, and then fucking what? You’re going to save the day? Grab Cullen’s ass and cut his throat?

  I chuckle. This is almost comically stupid. I’ve been in Cullen’s family since the day I was born. If I weren’t saving for my own place somewhere fucking far away from New York, I’d be gone and not worrying about this pretty little girl at all.

  Cullen speaks from the darkness and I turn slowly towards him, an icy chill creeping through my body. “Come in Jonny.” He opens the door to his back room, and welcomes me in magnanimously, his smile bright and fake. He’d still be handsome if it weren’t for the eye, but those days are long past, and now he simply looks cold and cruel. Probably against my better judgment, I walk in, and I see Bianca, just as Summer said I would. “You were with the girl?”