by Aly Stiles
We’re interrupted by footsteps and a surprised, “Oh!”
Dad walks in with plaid lounge pants and a t-shirt, his reading glasses propped on his head. “Thought I heard voices.”
Ashton has stiffened on the stool when I check, the fear on his face making my stomach ache.
“Oh hey, Dad. This is Ashton Morgan, the person I was telling you about.”
Only I would notice Dad’s brief look of awareness before he smiles and extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ashton.”
Ashton shakes it, shooting a confused look at me. “Nice to meet you too, sir.”
I smile back and focus on my father. “Ashton is a broke nobody who waits tables and shovels shit for a living.”
Ashton seems to choke as Dad nods thoughtfully. “Oh? And which shit business are you in, Ashton? Horses? Dogs? Humans?”
I press my fist to my mouth to cover a laugh at Ashton’s bewildered expression.
“Um…”
“Don’t answer that,” I rush out. “Dad! That’s insider trading. You know better.” I turn to Ashton. “He has a stake in several horse shit companies. He’s just trying to get some inside information.”
“Not true,” Dad says. “I sold off all my horse shit shares last year when the market started moving toward dog shit futures.”
I snort a laugh as Ashton stares at us like we have three heads. Dad winks at me, and we exchange a warm look.
“Human shit,” Ashton blurts out.
Our gazes dart to him, and he shrinks as he taps his fingers on the counter.
“Lately, it’s mostly been human shit,” he explains quietly.
Dad studies him for a moment, his eyes grazing mine before landing back on him. “Ah. Human shit. The worst kind. High supply, low demand.”
Ashton’s lips curve up. “Yeah. Pretty much the definition of a negative ROI, although it tends to have pretty high elasticity.”
Dad’s smile falters before growing, and I can tell he wasn’t expecting that. To be honest, I wasn’t either. Another secret of Ashton Morgan.
“It’s actually not as bad as you’d think,” Dad says, rubbing his chin. “Human shit can have a surprisingly high return on investment.”
Ashton squints at him. “How do you figure?”
“Well, it brought my daughter into your life, didn’t it?”
Ashton flinches, a pensive expression breaking over his face.
“Dad,” I hiss, blushing, even though I’m all fuzzy inside.
He smirks and squeezes my arm. Ashton is still staring at me with an unreadable look on his face. I’d do anything to be inside his head right now and find out what’s going through that brain. Also, ROI? Elasticity? How many career yard workers can drop economic principles into a conversation about shit?
Dad smacks his palms on the counter. “Well, I’m off to bed. Some of us have to work in the morning.”
Ashton and I exchange a glance at the irony that he’ll be working here in the morning. Not sure if Dad’s ready for that quite yet, though.
“You kids have fun. If you’re planning to make grandbabies, make sure your insurance is up-to-date.”
“Dad!” I cough out. “For real?”
He flutters a wave and disappears.
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry about that,” I moan after we’re alone. I’m surprised to find an amused smile on Ashton’s face when I look over.
“It’s fine. He seems really cool.”
“Told you.”
“Yeah.” He stares into the dark hallway after my father before shaking his head as if clearing it.
The water is ready, and I start on our tea through the new silence. I don’t like how shocked he was to be accepted by my father. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, given the reason he’s here in the first place. It makes my chest burn that his expectations for people are so low. How many times do you have to be betrayed before you stop trusting?
I guess that explains even more about his hesitance toward me.
“I’m guessing you’re not close with your mother,” I say cautiously, setting the two mugs on the counter. I push one toward him. “Careful, it’s hot. You may want to add sugar, milk, or honey. We’ll also have to find out what kind of tea drinker you are.”
He returns my smile but there’s no substance to it this time. Probably because of my first question, but I don’t want to let it slide anymore. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that any conversation with Ashton could be my last. I have to make it count.
“So your mom?” I press, lifting the mug to my lips. It’s too hot to drink, but we need a barrier for this conversation. “You two aren’t close?”
“What gave that away?” he says dryly.
With a sigh, he stares into his own cup. “She’s not a bad person,” he continues cautiously. “She had me when she was really young and just… stayed in some weird teenage loop, you know? It’s like she’s stuck in this alternate reality where she never grew up.”
“So you had to.”
His gaze locks on mine, piercing me through the dim kitchen light.
For several seconds we stare at each other in the silence, our worlds crashing together in a heavy collision. It’s beautiful and terrible and heartbreaking as he finally lets me glimpse his broken soul.
Not broken.
Crushed.
Crushed but somehow holding on through the fire.
“Since I was old enough to take care of us, yeah,” he says, averting his eyes again.
A strange chill shudders through me when our souls disconnect.
“So why don’t you leave?”
“I can’t.”
“Ashton, I’m sure you feel responsible for her, but at some point you have to realize you can’t help her and let go. You deserve your own life. You shouldn’t have to give it up to take care of her.”
“Not her, my little brother.”
My stomach drops, and he skims my eyes again before pretending to stir something in his tea.
“You said you have honey?” he asks.
I nod and retrieve the jar along with a fresh spoon. When I return, the mood has shifted. Maybe it’s the weight of the subject or the late hour, but suddenly we both seem too tired for words.
I watch him meticulously stir honey into tea he probably won’t drink. “If she kicked you out, where are you staying tonight?”
“Don’t know yet. I’ll probably just sleep in my truck.”
“You can’t sleep in your truck.”
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Besides, I don’t sleep much anyway.”
“You should stay here.”
He tenses before relaxing into a smirk. “Right.”
“I’m serious. We have plenty of space.”
“I can see that,” he says bitterly, his expression suddenly dark. Shoving the mug away, he slides off the stool. “Look, I should get going. Thanks for listening to my sob-story. And the tea,” he adds, waving toward the mug. “How do I get through the gate? It’s locked, right?”
It’s my jaw that tightens in the silence this time. My muscles constricting in resistance. I think maybe he’s trying to hurt me right now and I don’t understand why.
“I’ll walk you out,” I say stiffly.
He flinches but covers it quickly with a nod.
We don’t speak the entire journey through the house, down the driveway, and up to the gate. I punch in the passcode, my fingers slamming into each number like they know this is wrong. But there’s nothing I can do to reach a person who’s going to fight so hard to remain untouchable.
“Good night, Ashton,” I clip out.
He hesitates, and my anger starts to slip.
“I meant what I said,” he says quietly, lifting his head. “Thank you, Iris. You’re a really good person.”
His haunted eyes collide with mine one last time before he disappears into the street.
Chapter Nine
ASHTON
I startle awake, stiff and disoriented
when my alarm sounds at six. I only pulled into the lot of our building four hours ago.
Gonna be a long day. At least I don’t have a shift at the restaurant tonight.
Forcing my limbs straight, I groan at the pain, doubly assaulted by the remnants of last night’s altercation. Is prison dude still up there? It doesn’t matter. I just have to sneak in, grab my clothes, clean up, and get out.
I climb the stairs to our floor, hesitating just a second before inserting the key into the lock—that’s already open. Apparently, keys aren’t necessary at the Morgan house when Mom’s in charge. The anger returns at her carelessness.
Then again, if Prison Dude is still here, maybe it’s better he has as few obstacles to get out as possible.
Closing the door quietly behind me, I move to Bray’s room, relieved to find it empty. Thankfully, he’s still with Marla which means he’s been spared this entire blowup, assuming I can smooth over any remaining fallout by the time he comes home. I pull out my clothes and cross the hall to the bathroom.
One look in the mirror, and I cringe.
Damn, I look awful. My hair is disheveled, my eyes bloodshot and drooping with heavy bags I can barely distinguish from the swelling. I probably smell as bad as I look from not showering after my shift, and a rush of panic spreads through me at the thought that Iris saw me like this.
I shake off the strange reaction and harden my stare in the mirror. Who cares what some rich girl in The Hills thinks? Especially when I worked so hard to keep her at arm’s length last night. I never should have put myself back into her life. What was I thinking when I texted her back?
I wasn’t. That’s the problem. Because as much as I know she’s a mirage, she makes it so difficult to resist with those saturated looks and charming sincerity. Plus, she’s freaking hilarious, and yes, straight-up hot. Even in her sweats she looked better than I do on my good days.
Haven’t had one of those in a while.
I grunt and tear my gaze from the mirror to take a quick shower.
I’ve just stepped into the stream and pulled the curtain closed when the door bangs open without a knock. What the hell?
“Mom?” I call out.
“Nope. Sorry, sweetheart,” a voice growls back. “Just taking a piss.”
He’s still here?!
My fists clench, blood searing in hot streaks through my fingers as I press them against wet fiberglass. I gain nothing by challenging him from this vulnerable position. Especially since I’ll be gone in ten minutes.
Sooner if I could take a freaking shower in peace.
“What’s wrong? Nothin’ to say? Not so tough this morning, huh?” he taunts through his trickle of urine.
Who does that? Shares a bathroom with a total stranger he just went to blows with the night before? Losers my mom dates, that’s who.
But I ignore him, deciding that’s the response that will irritate him the most—finding out I don’t actually give a shit.
He flushes the toilet, and our old pipes react in protest.
“Fuck!” I rasp, jumping back when the water turns scalding hot.
“Ah. There he is,” the voice says. “Knew you were in there.”
He rips the curtain back, exposing his disgusting, gloating face. His sick grin widens when I fire back a heated glare. He scans me, smirking at the evidence of the damage he caused.
“You, uh, missed a spot,” he mocks, touching the side of his face.
I grab the curtain and yank it closed again.
His laughter grates all the way out the door and down the hall.
Yeah, it’s gonna be a helluva day.
I lean my head against the shower wall to steady my trembling body.
Fifteen minutes later, I knock quietly on the door of apartment 4A. Marla’s an early riser, so I’m hoping I can check on Bray before heading to work. Relief washes over me when the door cracks open.
“Ashton, hi,” the older woman says. “Come in.”
“Thanks, but I have to get to work. I just wanted to make sure Braydon’s okay.”
She smiles. “He’s fine. Still asleep. He and my granddaughter had a blast last night.”
Thank god. For the first time in hours I feel like I can breathe.
“Great. Thank you so much for watching him, Marla. Really, it’s…” I don’t know how to finish that sentence, and she reaches out to rest her hand on my arm.
“No need to thank me. He’s a great kid.”
“He is,” I sigh out. Swallowing my nerves, I steel myself for the rest. “Listen, I’m so sorry to ask this, but is there any chance he can stick around a little longer? Mom is… uh… sick.”
Her face floods with understanding, and I study the frayed carpet under my feet. This shit is so embarrassing. I will never get used to it. At least I managed to escape last night’s almost-disaster with Iris when it all started leaking out on her. I still don’t know what the hell happened. No one seems to penetrate my walls like she can, and I have no idea why. Because here she is again, haunting my thoughts out of nowhere.
I shake off memories of her radiant blue eyes filled with humor and compassion. I’m going to have to be more careful around her. I let my guard down and look what happened.
“Of course, honey. It’s no problem.”
Air expels from my lungs. “Thank you. So much. If Mom… starts to feel better… she’ll come get him. Otherwise, I’ll be over the second I get off work.”
She squeezes my arm. “It’s really no trouble at all, Ashton. You take care of yourself. Don’t worry about Braydon.”
A huge weight lifts that, at least for another few hours, I won’t have to.
It’s strange pulling up to the Alexanders’ house. I feel like a criminal as I jump out of my truck and start toward the open gate. It’s not locked during the day with the workers here like it is at night. I shouldn’t know that. I definitely shouldn’t know the color of their granite countertops and the style of their mugs.
“Damn, you look like shit,” Kurt says with a low whistle as I approach the jobsite.
I fire a warning look, and he lifts his hands in surrender.
“A’ight. My bad.”
I shake my head, the slightest smile slipping out.
“Good. You’re here,” Lane interrupts, ducking around debris and supplies to get to me.
Geez, it’s not even seven and they’re acting like I’m an hour late. But he doesn’t seem mad, just relieved. Weird. I’m not that good at moving rocks around.
“I’m here,” I say dryly, not sure what else is appropriate for this odd greeting.
He glances toward the house, and my stomach gets queasy.
She’s in there. Is she thinking about last night? Is she glad I came over or wishing she hadn’t messaged me?
I swallow the random, inappropriate thought.
“Yeah, so, um…” He clears his throat, and queasy turns to straight-up nauseous.
“Lane, what is it?”
He shakes his head. Scratches his chin. “You’re off today.”
My blood runs cold “Excuse me? I’m off?”
He nods. “Yeah. Sorry I didn’t call, but it just happened. So, I guess…” He shrugs and waves in the direction from which I came.
I can’t move.
“I… What does that mean?”
“What it sounds like. You’re not working today, Ashton. Orders from the client.”
He lifts his shoulders in a not-my-call gesture, and rage sears through me. Seriously?! After all that bullshit about friendship and caring, she’d get me fired because I pissed her off? She knows my situation, how much I need this job.
“Lane, please.” I don’t even try to hide my desperation. God, I can’t breathe right now. “You can’t do this. I don’t know what I did, but I—”
“Whoa! Calm down, tiger,” he says, stepping back. “You’re still getting paid for the day. They just…” He scratches his head. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but they paid me fo
r your time and said I should send you home to rest. Double actually, so, um, guess you’re also getting a raise for doing jack shit.”
“What?!” I stare at him in confusion, having no idea how to respond to that. My gaze crosses to the wall of glass behind him.
He shrugs again. “No clue, kid. But you must have done something to please the fortune gods out there.”
I shake my head, completely numb. Angry, relieved, grateful, offended… fuck, every emotion under the sun is whirling in a violent vortex inside me.
Not wanting to make more of a scene, I duck my head and start back around the house toward the driveway. Once I’m out of view of the guys, I pivot toward the side entrance we used last night. I don’t know what my plan is exactly as I push the button by the door, but I can’t just leave. I can’t accept whatever this is without figuring out what the hell it is.
A few seconds later, some woman I don’t recognize pulls open the door, her gaze narrowing coldly.
“The crew is around back,” she clips out.
“I know, ma’am. Is Iris here?”
She likes that question even less. “She’s unavailable. It’s seven AM.”
Shit. Right.
“Yeah, uh, sorry.”
I force a tight smile and retreat from the door as she shoves it closed in my face. Sighing, I turn back to the driveway, not sure what to do next. I pull out my phone and bring up her number.
Can we talk? I type.
Please let her be awake.
I pace for another minute or so before finally giving up and heading to my truck. I’ve just fastened the seatbelt when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Iris: Where are you?
Me: Same spot as always.
Iris: Be right out.
I unclasp the belt and lean against the headrest, closing my eyes. They burn with exhaustion, trauma, confusion—you name it, it’s making my sockets water through a sharp pain beneath my lids.
I jump at a scrape on the door and look over to see Iris climbing into the seat. Déjà vu, I guess. The only thing that’s changed from last night is the level of sunlight.
“Are you crying?” she asks in alarm.
