by Aly Stiles
This novel is a work of fiction and intended for mature readers. Events and persons depicted are of a fictional nature and use language, make choices, and face situations inappropriate for younger readers.
Names, characters, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover Design: Books and Moods
ASHTON MORGAN: Apartment 17B
Copyright © 2021 Aly Stiles
All Rights Reserved
Portions of the proceeds from all books in
The Wreck Me Series will be donated
to an inner city homeless shelter.
Thank you for reading!
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
More From Aly
Note From Aly
Stay in Touch
Prologue
ASHTON
“Do you have to go back today?” Braydon scowls into his cereal bowl, swirling his spoon through sweet, color-speckled milk. He better drink that. It’s the best part.
“I know, little dude. It was fun being home this week, but yeah. I have an exam tomorrow. I’ll be back for a long break after the semester ends, though. I promise.”
My little brother perks up. “Really? How long?”
“Um… I think we get almost a month for winter break.”
“A whole month? And you’ll come home?”
I hate how his eyes widen like me coming home is a rare event. I’m here as often as I can be. Every summer. Every break. Even driving the eleven hours for the occasional weekend visit to check on things. While professors and career counselors begged me to get an internship and earn industry experience, I spent every summer of my college years working and helping with the bills. I’ll have to figure out the gaps in my resume after I graduate in May. Despite all of this, I still feel guilty when those big brown eyes blink up at me.
“You’re still here. Figured you’d be gone by now,” a voice interrupts.
Bray and I glance toward our mother when she enters the kitchen with a sour expression. Why was she out again last night? She knew I was leaving today and she’d have to resume the “parent role” with me gone.
I try to keep my resentment in check for Braydon’s sake—and the fact that I don’t feel like stewing over another fight with my mom during an eleven-hour drive.
“I’m heading out in a minute. Just having some breakfast with my little man first.” I reach over and ruffle his hair, smirking as he pulls back with the indignant grimace of a seven-year-old being treated like a six-year-old.
“You get your laundry from my room? I left your stuff in the basket.”
“Got it.” I push up from the table and grab my bowl to take it to the sink.
“Hey, Ash?”
I turn, surprised to find her a foot away.
She stares up at me with a hesitant look. Her lips press together as if blocking forbidden words. She couldn’t possibly want to say she loves me, right? A mother telling a son he’s important and valued? At least a thank you for turning down a dozen invitations for a lavish Thanksgiving feast to come home and eat boxed mac and cheese?
Her eyes flicker with suppressed emotion as she seems to wrestle away whatever traitorous thought almost gained the edge. Of course she won’t say it. Probably can’t after twenty-two years of being my mother.
She reaches up and gently grips my chin instead. “I like this by the way. Looks good on you.” She rubs her thumb over the scruff on my face.
I duck away and turn to the sink. “Thanks,” I mumble, grabbing the sponge.
“Ash…”
I dig in harder against invisible food debris I might have missed.
“It’s fine, Mom. I get it.”
She squeezes my arm. “You’re a good kid. I don’t tell you that enough.”
I release a heavy breath and rinse the bowl. Shoving it onto the drying rack, I wipe my hands on my jeans and turn to her.
“I’ll see you in a few weeks after finals.”
I peck her on the cheek and start toward Bray who’s jumped up from the table. He shoots his arms around my waist, his head barely reaching my stomach. When’s this kid gonna grow? His dad must have been way shorter than mine. My smile for him feels more authentic as I return the hug and plant a kiss on his head.
“See you soon, little dude. You keep an eye on Mom, okay?”
He looks up at me, and I flinch at his watery eyes. “I will,” he says in a shaky voice. “Bye, Ash. I’ll miss you.”
At least someone will.
I clench my jaw and force myself to let go. After another unwanted hair-tousle, I start toward the living room—until bright red letters stop me in my tracks.
Heart racing, I grab the pile of papers on the counter and yank the offending page from the stack.
Mom lurches forward to confiscate it. “Oh that’s—”
I twist away and hold it out of reach, my blood going cold. “What’s this?”
She crosses her arms, clearly trying a new strategy now that she knows lying won’t work.
“It’s nothing. I’m taking care of it.”
“You’re taking care of it?”
“Ashton, please it’s—”
“What’s wrong?” a small voice asks.
We snap our attention to Braydon who’s staring at us with wide, scared eyes. Shit.
“Hey, bud. It’s nothing. Can you do me a huge favor and go look for my blue duffle bag in the closet? It’s probably buried so you’ll have to look really hard.” It’s not buried; it’s already in my truck, so he’ll be busy for a while.
He blinks in confusion, and I offer an encouraging nod. When he turns hesitantly and leaves the room, I spin back to Mom.
“Tell me what the hell is going on,” I say, shoving the notice at her. My stomach feels sick when I see two others peeking out from the pile.
“Like I said, it’s nothing,” she repeats, waving her hand.
“It’s an eviction notice!” I hiss.
She shrugs, and I could punch my hand through a wall right now.
“When were you going to tell me about this?”
“You don’t live here anymore. It’s none of your business.”
I wince and step back. “Really? You’re really saying that to me right now?”
Forcing in a deep breath, I swallow my hurt and anger. Bray needs me to stay calm. I drop the eviction notices on the counter and start sifting through the other bills and letters. My stomach rolls with each one, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. Mom looks on with a sullen expression, offering no resistance this time. Despite her earlier barb, she knows who runs this household and holds this family together.
When I get to a credit card bill in my name, my lun
gs seize in my chest.
“Mom…” My voice comes out cracked and scarred.
She doesn’t acknowledge me when I finally look up. “How…? I mean… What the fuck, Mom?!”
“Don’t curse in my house,” she quips, glaring at me in belated engagement.
“Oh, it’s your house? Not according to these,” I spit out, slamming the pile back on the counter. “In fact, nothing we have belongs to us, does it? When’s the last time you’ve actually paid a bill? It wasn’t enough that you trashed your own credit? You had to ruin mine too? Fuck!”
I run my hand through my hair as I pace the entrance to the kitchen. I can’t breathe with reality crashing down in a suffocating cloud.
“It’s fine, Ash. It’ll be fine. I’m figuring it out. Just go back to school and—”
“Don’t,” I fire back, turning on her. “Don’t you dare act like you’re giving me a choice.”
She looks down.
I close my eyes.
For ten seconds nothing exists in the silent darkness. No success. No failure. No dreams that can be crushed in an instant. No, it’s just a gnawing wave of panic that when I open my eyes it will be to watch my entire future collapsing around me.
“I’m sorry, Ashton,” she whispers, breaking my truce with the darkness.
Chapter One
ASHTON
Eight months later...
“Hey, Ashton, you have guests at table twelve,” Leah calls out as I move past, balancing the drinks for table ten.
“Great, thanks.” I toss her a smile that widens when she discreetly rubs her fingers together in a clear “money” gesture. Man, I hope so. I could use a decent tip tonight. To say it’s been slow for a Friday is an understatement.
After delivering the drinks and entering the orders for table ten, I plaster a warm smile on my face and head over to my new table.
“Good evening, ladies.”
A quick scan tells me Leah might be right. These twenty-somethings ooze money with their expensive clothing and manicured everything. Still, it’s the air of entitlement that gives me hope I might actually finish making rent tonight. Then again, I’ve also learned having money isn’t correlated with sharing money. Some of my best tips have come from customers who seemed even worse off than I am.
“Hello… Ashton,” one of them says, leaning forward to inspect my name badge.
I grin and pinch the plastic pin on my black uniform t-shirt.
“Hi, yes. I’m Ashton, and I’ll be serving you tonight. Would you—”
“Oh, we’re counting on that, cutie,” another interrupts with a flirtatious glint.
Stunned, I swallow my discomfort and try for a quick smile. “Okay, so would you like to start off with a drink? Our cocktail tonight is the Shelton Barn and Table Signature Margarita with—”
“Just a bottle of nineteen-eighty-five Deluca pinot noir, if you have it,” the first says with a snicker. They laugh at that, and I force a tight smile.
“We don’t, but you’ll find the full wine list on—”
“I’m kidding, Ashton. Of course you wouldn’t have vintage wines in a place like this.” She waves her hand around the restaurant with an air of disdain. “Lighten up, sweetie.”
Shit. So much for an easy tip.
I clench my fist behind my back, hoping my lips are still turned up in a pleasant arc. If this place is so beneath them, why are they here?
“We’ll all have the margaritas. That okay?” she asks her friends who nod in agreement.
“Great. I’ll get that in for you. Would you like—”
“Actually, I take that back.”
I pull in a long breath through my nose.
“Maybe I’ll have an appletini instead.”
“Okay.” I glance around the table to see if anyone else is changing their orders. No one moves. “Great, so—”
“Wait. Me too!” the third one says, exchanging a look with her friends before bursting into laughter. “Oh my god, you should see your face. You seriously need to relax. You’re too hot to look all old-man cranky.”
“Maybe he needs to get laid.”
“Oh, I’m so there for that.”
“Ivy! Vi! Seriously?” the fourth one hisses, entering the fray for the first time. “I’m so sorry,” she says to me, meeting my gaze. Her eyes search mine, broadcasting the rest of the message she can’t say in front of her friends. They’re being horrible. It’s not you.
“Oh my god, relax, Iris. We’re just teasing him. You can take a joke, right Ashton?”
My nails press into my palm as I force another smile. “I’ll grab your drinks.”
I turn and start my escape.
“Oh, hey, we were joking about the drinks too,” someone calls out. I can’t tell which one with my back turned, but what does it matter at this point?
I clench my eyes shut to pull myself together. I’d talk to Leah about switching tables, but I can’t live with the guilt of forcing these people on someone else. I command my body to face them again.
“We’re all just going to have waters,” the woman says with a coy look. Her gaze digs into me, as if daring me to react as she snaps the drink menu closed and flips it toward me.
I stare hard at them, straining against the urge to tell them to go fuck themselves. But I need this job. My entire family needs this job.
Drawing in a breath, I lean forward and take the menu from her. This time I can’t muster a comment as I back away from the table. The brunette in the front is staring me down again, and I let my gaze stall on her. Another message waits for me, but I don’t like this one as much. Pity. No fucking way any of them get to pity me.
I feel her stare in my back as I stalk away.
Nothing improves after the drink orders are delivered. They insist their appetizer is wrong, even though I know for a fact it’s what they ordered. The entrée is too cold, even as the steam wafts from the plate into the toxic air around them.
I know they’re messing with me. Some sadistic game to flirt maybe. I’ve seen enough friends’ nights transform into teens’ nights to know adults can regress several years when they’re out having “fun.”
Most of the time it’s easy to brush off, but when each of tonight’s complaints is followed by more laughs and innuendo, it gets harder and harder to keep my cool. One of them even asks point-blank if I’m single. I pretend not to hear it, and if I didn’t have a brother and mother at home relying on me to keep them off the street, I’d be throwing my apron on the table with their check.
But every time I get struck with another burn, deep blue eyes wait to soothe it. Iris they called her. It’s a good name for her. Iris with the vibrant blue eyes that almost look violet in this light. She’s the prettiest of the group, then again, I might be biased since she’s also the only one I don’t want to punt through the neighboring wall of glass right now.
There’s zero surprise when they leave me with more suggestive looks than tip money. Ten percent? Ten fucking percent? I’m about to toss it across the room when I spot a piece of paper folded under Iris’ plate. Surprised, I pull it out, my heart stopping when I open it.
Two crisp one hundred dollar bills rest inside. Their entire check was only one-fifty. After the shock wears off, I let my gaze drop to the handwritten note.
I’m so sorry you had to endure that. No one deserves to be treated that way. I’m sorry for not speaking up more. You were a saint tonight. x Iris
There’s a phone number printed neatly beneath her name.
I’m mentally and physically exhausted by the time my shift ends at eleven. When I let myself into the apartment around midnight, everyone’s already in bed as usual. I sigh when I remember tomorrow is Saturday, which means the longest day at my landscaping job. Lane lets us off at four on the weekdays, but Saturdays are seven to dark. In mid-July that’s at least a twelve-hour day.
Still, Lane pays decent and also does snow removal, so he’s got work for us year-round. In addition, he’s a fair
boss—one of the few who doesn’t mind if I call off on the rare occasion Mom works and I need to stay with Braydon.
Mom.
She’s never been good at holding jobs. Or working them when she actually has one. We’ve been fighting about that fact non-stop since I dropped out of school to move home and sort through the mess she made. Fifty thousand dollars she owes. Fifty thousand racked up in bad loans and credit card debt. Twenty of it is in my name.
Eight months and two jobs later, I’ve finally managed to get us back on a sustainable trajectory, but it’s been a brutal climb. Still, rent is being paid, the lights and water are on, and food makes it to the table every night. I’ve even started chipping away at the principal of that massive abyss. If she could manage to hold a job for more than a week, maybe we’d actually get somewhere. But that’s not Gianna Morgan’s M.O. At least she hasn’t brought one of those loser boyfriends around in a while. The last one was five years older than I am. Since she was sixteen when she had me, the math isn’t as bad as it sounds.
After a quick shower and cleanup, I collapse onto the pull-out couch, grateful Mom remembered to set it up for once. I’ll be gone tomorrow before they wake up anyway.
Six AM comes way too early, but I roll off the lumpy mattress and shuffle to Braydon’s room for a change of clothes. I try not to wake him as I pull out my Lane’s Landscaping t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. Today’s project is some VIP patio job at one of the giant mansions up in The Hills. With my granola bar, lunch, and to-go cup of coffee, I jump in my truck at just after six-thirty.
It’s only a twenty-minute drive to the posh upscale haven of Suncrest Valley’s uber-wealthy, but it might as well be another planet. My entire apartment building could fit in some of these homes. Of course Lane’s directions dump me in front of the biggest of them all. They can’t be loving the fact that there are a bunch of muddy vehicles lining the quiet drive outside the gate. It’s currently open, probably in light of the work being done today.
