When it comes time to collect supplies and begin our work, Ashton waits until I’ve entered the supply cupboard and returned to my desk before going in himself. It’s awful and awkward, and though we don’t say a word to each other, the silence is deafening with our unsaid screams. Class drags slowly, my work not to its usual caliber, and when Miss Spice wanders around her students observing what we are doing, she pauses beside me.
“Everything okay, Rose?” she murmur’s softly, glancing from my work to my face.
“Fine,” I lie. But she knows. She saw the broken mess I was after Sophia, Ashton, and Grayson attacked me. She can see it in my work and probably in the depths of my eyes, and when she smiles sadly before moving on, I find Ashton watching me for the first time.
Our stares clash, intense and painful. I hold my breath, happy to die right here in this moment with him staring at me with something other than hate. Our longing stretches between us until I can almost see our souls leaving our chests to touch one another.
I want to go back, his eyes say to me. Tell me how to fix this and go back.
A tear leaks from the corner of my eye, rolling down my face displaying my sorrow. We can’t.
The bell rings, shattering our connection, and I wipe away the evidence of my weakness, returning my attention to my work that’s fit for the trash. I feel him go, notice the second he exits the classroom, and even though I can’t forgive him, a part of me wants to yell for him to come back.
Chapter 6
Ashton
After school, I walk home, needing the time it will take me to decompress after my class with Rose. It shouldn’t be possible to long for a girl I can’t stand the sight of, but I do. The week has been hell, and it’s not just because my mom hasn’t left her bed since the night Arthur’s betrayal was revealed. School is unbearable; my friends don’t understand why I no longer wish to sit at the table I’ve belonged to for all my time at Albany Nightingale. They are torn between supporting me and not wanting to lose their own places amongst the royals. They think it’s Grayson I’m staying away from—my devilish stepbrother who has somehow gotten through this entire mess with his status intact… well, more or less. I have heard Rose is making him work for it.
That’s a fact that concerns me and brings me joy. Grayson deserves to grovel, to work for something once in his life, but the fact Rose is making him do it doesn’t sit well with me. She’s changing. She’s becoming someone I don’t recognize. We are drifting so far apart from the people who used to love each other that every wicked grin and cutting line causes rage to spark inside me, threatening to explode.
But what makes me angriest is that I did this to her. I was so afraid of rocking my precariously balanced life, of the guy Rose’s presence reminded me I’d once been. Before I became the son Arthur Bishop wanted. Before I became Ashton Cole—a boy who’d never lived in Brooklyn. That I turned my back on her when she needed me the most and made her as broken as me.
I’m back at the start, with a mother who won’t leave her bed and a brother depending on me to fix it all. But how do I fix them when I can’t even fix myself?
“Mom?” I call as I step out of the elevator into the penthouse apartment Arthur owns. When I first moved in, I couldn’t imagine a hotel feeling like home, yet sometime over the past few years, it has. “Mom?”
Stomaching flipping, I toe off my shoes and dump my bag on the tiled floor, before making my way to her bedroom. It shouldn’t surprise me really, yet I’d hoped she’d somehow pull herself together while I was gone. At least enough to get out of bed.
When I enter the room she’d once shared with Arthur, I see she actually did make it out of bed today, but it’s not for the reasons I’d hoped. A bottle of expensive whiskey lies empty near her outstretched hand, the duvet twisted around her body as she lays sprawled across the bed.
Fear fills me as I cross the room. “Mom?” I shake her. “Mom?”
Her eyes blink open, a moan slipping from her lips. Anger and relief flood me at once, and I slump back against the headboard, dragging in a breath to calm my nerves.
I can’t do this again. I rub my face, blowing out my breath loudly. I can’t watch her spiral down and lose herself in drink.
“Ash?” she mumbles, rolling onto her back with a groan. “Ash?”
“Yeah, Mom, it’s me.” It takes her an age to sit up beside me, leaning her head into my shoulder once she does. “What the fuck is that?” I snarl, kicking the drink bottle across the bed and onto the floor.
Her entire body stiffens beside me, and she takes so long to answer I don’t think she’s going to until she whispers, “It was just to help me sleep. There wasn’t much left in the bottle.”
I rip myself away from her, towering over the bed, overcome with emotion. “That’s bullshit and you know it. I can’t do this again, Mom. I can’t. I don’t have the strength for this anymore.”
Tears fill her eyes and fall down her face. “I’m sorry, Ashton,” she cries. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough anymore. I need you to get out of this bed and start being our mom again. If not for me, then for Josh. He’s only eleven. He needs you, Mom.”
“I know. I know… I’m just—” Her words break into a sob.
The sound sucks the life right out of me, and I scramble back onto the bed, pulling my mother into my arms. “Don’t cry, Mom. I’m sorry I shouted. Please don’t cry.”
She trembles in my arms, her tears soaking my shirt as I hold her tight. I’ve done this so many times I’m losing count, but I never expected her to fall apart so utterly over Arthur Bishop. I understood the pain and her need to drown her sorrows in the bottom of a bottle after my dad died, but I don’t understand this. I guess I never really thought she loved him like she did my dad.
“What do you want to do?” I ask her gently after her crying has settled.
“What do you mean?” She looks up, meets my gaze.
“About Arthur? Do you… do you not want your marriage to be over?” The words take effort to get past my lips, because as much as I’ve liked the benefits Arthur has brought me, I’ve never liked the man one bit.
Shaking her head, she sits taller. “I never want to see him again. He’s made a fool of me, Ash. How am I ever supposed to show my face again?”
“He’s the one who should be ashamed,” I answer, my tone gravelly as I struggle to control my rage. “It’s he who shouldn’t show his face again.”
“But you know as well as me that’s not how things work around here. I was never sure I was doing the right thing bringing you boys into this world, but I also didn’t know what else to do. Arthur was the only road I saw to get us out of the mess I’d created.”
“It wasn’t your fault Dad died.”
“It was my fault I wasn’t present enough to help you keep our heads above water.”
Exhaling audibly, I close my eyes, wishing beyond anything that my dad was here. Since the day he told me he had cancer and it wasn’t likely to be cured, I’ve felt like our life has been hurtling forward toward destruction. For a while, it seemed to slow, but I see now it was just a detour away from the inevitable. Josh and Mom are my family. My responsibility. I made my promise. I accepted my role, and this scandal has done nothing but remind me of that.
I’d been proud at the time when my father had told me it was now my job to be the man of the house. I can recall the pride swelling in my chest as he hugged me tight and said I was the only one he trusted to look after his family once he was gone.
He’d been sad, his eyes swimming with unshed tears and at the time, I’d thought it was because he’d not wanted to leave us, but looking back, I think my father knew what he was putting on my shoulders. He knew my promise would alter my life forever. And from that moment on, I was never a child again.
My innocence died that day along with him.
“Arthur’s going to kick us out eventually, Ash, you know that, right?”
I did. “He can t
ry,” I answer with more bravado than I feel. “Let me worry about all of that. I just need you to keep it together, okay. No more drinking, please.”
“I don’t do it on purpose,” she whispers. “I just….”
“I know.” But I don’t really. She’s an addict, and if I didn’t understand how she could put a glass of alcohol above her sons before, I sure as hell am not going to understand now.
“You’re a good boy, Ashton,” she murmurs. “Always strong. Always looking after me.”
“It’s my job,” I say simply, sitting up and climbing off the bed. “Get a shower and get dressed, Mom. Josh will be home soon, and it will be better for him to think everything’s going to be all right.”
But Josh isn’t little anymore. He’s eleven years old, and losing his father so young affected him more than I’d have liked. He lost his innocence too, and I can pretend all I like, but he knows we’re not okay. He knows we’re careening forward, toward our doom.
Chapter 7
Rose
It’s Thursday evening, one more day until the weekend, but it won’t give me freedom. I’ll be lucky if I can get Sunday to myself after my weekly brunch with the grandmonsters. Since being back in America, you’d think I’d know my grandparents a little better, but all it’s really done is given me a deeper insight into my mother. We might meet weekly and share a meal together, but it’s an occasion for show, not to develop relationships, and I can’t decide if that bothers me or not.
I’m at Penelope’s with a few of the other girls—Autumn, Bree, Camilla, and Porsha. They are each as dull as each other, Penelope being the only one who remotely has a brain. Sophia did her job well, surrounding herself with the wealthiest students who were the least likely to try and stab her in the back.
Tuning in a little too late, I realize Camilla was asking me what our plans are going to be for the weekend. Day in bed with a book? I’m exhausted. The game I’m playing is taking a toll on me, I wasn’t expecting. New York City isn’t really all that different from my London life, yet it isn’t as enjoyable as ruling St. Patrick’s was.
Penelope coughs under her breath. Oh yeah, you need to make the plans, Rose.
Plastering a smile on my face, I twirl my hair as if in thought. “Do you know what we should plan?”
“What?” a few girls answer together.
“A welcome to Albany party. We should celebrate my rise to power, don’t you think?”
“Awesome idea,” Camilla agrees, her big brown eyes a few shades darker than her skin.
“When?” Porsha asks as she takes delicate sips of her drink. Her hair’s styled into tight ringlets that fall around her round face, giving her a china doll look.
“Saturday,” I answer, meeting each of their gazes.
“Where?” Penelope questions.
“Somewhere without parents,” Bree adds, smiling wide from her position sprawled out on the floor. “And with boys.”
“It’s not a party without boys,” I agree.
“Well, my parents are back tomorrow.” Penelope groans. She’s curled up on the armchair, feet tucked under herself, a can of soda in her hands. “My father is so strict; he drives me batshit.”
“I’ll host it at mine,” I inform them, my mind already whirling with ideas. They’ll not be happy with a bowl of chips, pizza, and cheap booze; I’ll have to rope my mother into planning. But she owes me. I’ll make sure she doesn’t say no.
“Will your mother mind?” Autumn says. Her hair is so blonde it’s almost white, and I still haven’t decided if she’s dyed it that way or it’s her natural color.
I shake my head. “The divorce is making her soft.” Meaning she’s made that many mistakes as a parent, I have enough ammo to bribe her with until I graduate and leave home.
Penelope claps her hands. “This is going to be so much fun. Get texting, girls. We need to put the word out.”
Climbing to my feet, I look down on them all, taking my chance to escape while they’re busy messaging. “I’ll leave you to that and go talk to my mother. Message me your ideas.” I grin. “We’ll make it a party to remember.”
“Bye, Rose,” a few of the girls say, but Penelope unfolds herself from her chair and follows me out.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she begins quietly. The edge in her tone tells me whatever she’s going to say, I’m probably not going to like. “Where does Ashton stand in all of this?”
Yup, hate it already.
“What do you mean?” I ask cautiously.
“Well… like, should we invite him to your party? He’s not sat with us at lunch, but you’ve also not openly shunned him. Gray’s groveling, but Ashton… he’s kinda just floating in the wind.”
“Ashton is paying the price. Don’t worry,” I answer, hoping she’ll drop it at that.
“But is he? He took a big hand in hurting you at the gala from what Sophia said, and you’ve not really done much about it.”
“Look, Penelope, Ashton and I, we’ve got history, and I can assure you he’s hurting enough with the fallout of Arthur Bishop’s affair. Just leave him in the wind. He’s far better there.”
She studies me, eyes narrowed. “Yeah, but he’s taking all the football team with him.”
Oh, so this is about boys. “Then invite him. I don’t care.”
“Well, if you’re sure?”
“Of course,” I lie. He’ll likely not show anyway. There’s a reason he’s been hovering in the background outside of the social ladder; he doesn’t want to deal with me as much as I him. I don’t know how I feel about him rejoining the royals. I don’t want to hurt him anymore, but that doesn’t mean I want him sat at my table every lunchtime either. Truth is, I’d rather not think about him at all, and that will be far easier with him not being right in front of my face.
“Okay.” She hugs me tight. “See you in the morning at the MET?”
“I’ll be there.”
Leaving before she has a chance to ask me anything else, I head out onto the street and hail the nearest cab to take me home. My mother’s in the kitchen when I walk through the door, emptying groceries out of brown paper bags.
“I picked us up some salads on my way home,” she says as I toe off my heels and step further into the apartment. “I heard Bishop gossip today. Seems his board members have decided he should take a back seat from the company for a while. He must be fuming,” she explains, her expression filled with wicked delight.
“How is it you’re hearing gossip, yet the papers haven’t run any story, other than his rumored divorce?”
“Because he’ll have paid them enough to keep their mouths shut, that’s why. Arthur will probably use the divorce as the reason he’s stepping down for a while. Fake heartache.” She rolls her eyes. “Like anyone with half a brain will believe it.”
“What do you think will happen to Ashton and his family?” I ask. I shouldn’t care, but I do.
“Don’t bother yourself with guilt, Rose. She’s better off knowing who her husband is than living a lie,” my mother replies.
What a joke. Everyone I’ve met in this city is living a lie. Just because they’re wrapped in pretty bows doesn’t make it any less real.
“I need a bath,” I reply. I’ve had enough of the world today. “Oh, and before I forget,” I call on the way to the bathroom, “I’m hosting a party Saturday and it needs to be one to remember.”
I hear her tut from the bathroom. “And I suppose you are expecting me to plan this event?”
I smile. “It is your profession, Mother.”
Turning on the taps, the flow of water muffles her next words. I can’t imagine they were worth hearing anyway. “Thanks for agreeing, Mum,” I shout as I begin to close the bathroom door. “I told the girls you’d agree. After all, this is what you wanted for me.”
Laughing to myself, I picture her face. At least I can always rely on winding my mother up to lift my mood. Turning off the water when it’s full and steaming, I sink into the hot wate
r and lean back with a sigh.
It’ll get easier with time, I tell myself. Sometime soon, Albany Nightingale and New York City is going to feel like home, or at least be a little more bearable. Either that or I’m going to be as good at lying as my parents and it won’t matter either way.
Flowing under the water, I allow the heat to cocoon me fully and relax, my mind finally shutting off, and for just a few moments, I can breathe again. I find my peace.
Chapter 8
Ashton
Skipping the last two lessons of school, I head home to collect my mother, but when the cab pulls up outside the hotel, she’s not waiting on the street like I asked her to.
Fuck’s sake.
Throwing a twenty at the cab driver, I instruct him to wait for me to return and dash into the lobby, scanning my surroundings for any sign of my mother.
“Can I help, Mr. Cole?”
Pausing, I face Henry. “Has my mom been down at all?”
“I’ve not seen Mrs. Cole-Bishop, no.” Of course, you haven’t. She’s probably still in bed. “Would you like me to call up for you, sir?”
“No, no, don’t trouble yourself, Henry. I’ll go fetch her myself.”
Henry nods and I head for the elevator. If she’s not dressed, we’ll definitely be late for the meeting I made with a lawyer. I did my research and found a top guy who hates Arthur’s guts. It’s going to take someone with balls and a healthy dose of dislike to want to take Arthur on. I want him to pay. I want him for once to know he’s not invincible, and the only way I’m going to achieve that is by hitting him where it will hurt the most.
His wealth.
I know, no matter how much he agrees to give us, it won’t really affect him, but I think losing a property or two will be a good start.
“Mom!” I shout the second I arrive at our floor. “Mom, you best be out of bed!” She isn’t, and when I drag the covers from her, I’m hit with a waft of stale alcohol. “Damn it, Mom, you promised me you’d not drink again. How did you even get hold of it? I made sure to pour everything down the drain.”
The Resurrection of Us: A High School Bully Romance (Albany Nightingale Duet Book 2) Page 3