Ashton Morgan: Apartment 17B (The Wreck Me Series)

by Aly Stiles

  Blood is already boiling in my veins when he straightens and offers a cocky smile.

  “I’m really enjoying our time together, Iris.”

  He is? Because I don’t even remember his name. Starts with a D. Let’s go with Dirk. And no, what he’s enjoying is the prospect of dating Kyle Alexander’s daughter. Opportunists like him are a dime a dozen and visible from a mile away.

  “Thank you,” I say, for lack of anything else.

  Only Ashton would make this event bearable.

  He tenses at my abrupt response, but of course his ego interprets my words as flirtatious instead of dismissive. He leans even closer, assaulting me with the cloying scent of expensive cologne. Too bad I prefer drugstore bodywash.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He taps his fingers on the table, clearly waiting for me to say something, but I have no idea what. Believe me, there’s nothing in my head he wants to hear right now. When I don’t respond, he physically shifts to try a new tactic. I watch his shiny shoes pivot so he can balance his weight on the other leg. Guess not everyone thinks with their brain.

  “You know, my parents have this amazing place in Vail. Do you like to ski?” Dirk asks.

  I shrug. “Sometimes.”

  I would with Ashton. I bet he’d be an amazing skier. Even if he never tried it before, he’d pick it up in no time. I smile to myself, picturing him balancing on the island stool to fix the light that evening with my dad. I was so attracted to him in that moment, glimpsing a future with a man who could take care of me as much as I want to take care of him. It’s like he somehow knows how to do everything, and if not would be able to figure it out in a heartbeat. Capable and adaptive, my dad called him later after they left. I wasn’t sure which of us had a bigger crush on Ash by the end of that night.

  “Well, if you’re interested, maybe we can plan a trip up there one weekend.”

  Shit. I’m still in this conversation? I force my attention from the beautiful mental image to the less interesting one in front of me.

  “Thank you, but I have a boyfriend.” My open disinterest hasn’t made that obvious?

  Dirk looks surprised and straightens. “Oh. Really? I’m sorry. I didn’t see you with anyone, so I just assumed…”

  “Yeah, he’s working tonight.”

  “Ah. On a business trip, I guess.”

  “At a restaurant. He waits tables. It’s been a pleasure, Dirk.”

  The guy’s brows scrunch together as I walk away, and I smirk to myself when I catch him mouthing Dirk with a confused look. Guess that wasn’t his name. I pull out my phone to text Ash about this and make it all the way to the bathroom before I realize that I can’t.

  That I just lied.

  Then I get hit with a wave of nausea so intense, I have to grip the sink for support.

  I don’t have a boyfriend anymore, do I.

  I return to the event, weak and on edge. I shouldn’t have come. I knew I wasn’t ready, but maybe part of me hoped Dad was right and a distraction would do me good. Too bad that distraction distracted me right back into denial.

  I find a corner where I can hide for the rest of the night. No more Dirks trying to impress me with crap that means nothing. No more Ivys seeking worthless, fleeting validation. Just me and the countdown to when I can go home and cuddle up with my pain that suddenly feels more real than anything else in this glitzy charade of benevolence. One conversation with Ashton had more substance than every interaction at this event combined.

  I glance over at a clatter to my left.

  “Watch where you’re going!” a man growls.

  I stare at the well-dressed guy in a tux, my gaze narrowing on him as he towers over a server on the floor. The young woman frantically collects napkins and remnants of food scattered on the tile, piling them back on the tray.

  “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t see you,” she says in a weak voice.

  “You didn’t see me? Are you blind?”

  Yeah, hell no. I push away from the wall and start toward them.

  “No, I just—”

  “Maybe you should stick to washing dishes in the back if you can’t figure out how to carry a tray properly.”

  “Or maybe you could not be a jerk,” I quip, bending down to help the woman. She looks over at me in alarm, but I ignore her fear and continue shoveling the trash back on the tray.

  “Excuse me?” the man barks.

  I straighten and look him in the eye. “Would it kill you to be a decent human being?”

  “How dare you?! Who do you think you are?”

  I shrug. “Good question. I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  The man’s mouth opens to retort, and I return a challenging look, daring him to continue. I want him to. I can’t freaking wait to hear the next stupid thing that comes out of his mouth. I rest a hand on my hip in encouragement.

  After several seconds of the standoff, he huffs in offense and stalks off in the other direction. I roll my eyes and crouch down to help with the cleanup—no easy task in this mermaid gown and heels.

  “What an asshole,” I mutter, tossing another handful of used napkins on the tray. The server looks over at me, her face bright red, fear still burning in her eyes.

  “I didn’t see him,” she says quietly.

  “Of course you didn’t. He was hidden by that column.”

  She bites her lip and stares back at the tray.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  Her gaze flickers to me in surprise, before darting away. “Um, Katie.”

  “Hi, Katie. I’m Iris.” I hold out my hand, but she seems hesitant to take it. I keep it there, hovering awkwardly between us until she finally touches my fingers in a tentative grip.

  “I know who you are. You’re Mr. Alexander’s daughter,” she says with a hint of awe.

  I nod and offer a stiff smile as we push back to our feet.

  Yep, famous billionaire. Isn’t that great.

  She bites her lip, and I’m surprised when emotion filters into her face. “He donated all the toys for my kids’ Christmas last year. It was a really hard year for us, and I thought…” She swats at her eyes and sniffs. “Anyway, can you… can you tell him thank you for me?”

  I blink back my own reaction, embarrassed by my hasty assumptions. Maybe my critique of humanity needs to start with myself. I study her earnest expression, wondering about her life. Where does she live? Who are her children? What was it like to watch them smile on Christmas morning after spending months fearing they wouldn’t?

  “Of course,” I say gently, swallowing a lump in my throat. “He’d be honored to know he was able to help.” Just like I’m honored to be part of this moment. To be linked to a man like my father.

  Yes, Katie. Mr. Kyle Alexander is my dad.

  A knock on my door pulls me out of the latest battle between my brain and my heart. I look over from the bed when Dad peeks in, still drained and exhausted after the rollercoaster of tonight’s event.

  I learned later that the man I told off was Hempton Carthridge, some dude who owns a Maserati dealership. I actually laughed for the first time in a long time when I learned Dirk is actually Dante Carthridge, his son. Explains the weird car obsession, I guess.

  Mentally, I’m sobbing in the shower when my father moves into the room, but the girl he finds on the bed is still dressed to perfection in a black gown and waterproof mascara. By the way, it turns out waterproof mascara is another lie when you keep forgetting, then remembering, you’ve been dumped by Ashton Morgan.

  “Hey,” Dad says gently. Have to admit he looked quite dapper in his tux tonight. But it was Katie’s story that made me most proud to be his daughter. “Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

  I offer an absent nod before returning to the stare session with my ceiling. I’ve learned if I trace the patterns in the crown molding I can distract my mind enough to get a brief reprieve from the pain.

  “I had a blast tonight. Can’t you tell?” I twi
rl my finger in fake excitement.

  Dad sighs and drops to the edge of the bed, studying me studying the ceiling.

  “I heard… rumors. Apparently, you had an eventful evening?”

  I glance over sharply, relaxing when a smile slips out on his lips. “The guy deserved it,” I mutter.

  “Which one of them?”

  “Both.”

  He chuckles. “I’m going to guess we won’t be invited to a Carthridge event any time soon.”

  “Did we want to be invited to a Carthridge event?”

  Dad grins. “Not really.”

  He reaches over and squeezes my arm, and a fresh ache washes through me. I can’t stop thinking about Katie, which makes me think of Ashton and how unfair I’ve been over this past week. I keep insisting I understand him and yet, that’s not how I’ve been acting. In fact, as I think back over the course of our relationship, it’s always been me making assumptions and interpreting his world through my warped lens. I should know by now that Ashton doesn’t do anything for himself. He wouldn’t have hurt me without hurting himself more.

  “Daddy?”

  He looks over with a tender expression, and I take his hand.

  “You know the worst part about it all?” I swallow the lump in my throat and stare back at the ceiling. “Deep down, I know he had a reason. I know something happened to him, and it kills me that he’s in pain right now and I can’t be there for him. That’s the part that hurts the most,” I whisper.

  Dad’s hand tightens around mine, and when I look back at him, I know he understands.

  “Ashton’s a level-headed, respectful young man. If I had to guess, he didn’t share his reasoning with you because he didn’t want to hurt you more than you already were.”

  “Well that worked out super, didn’t it?” I huff through a strangled laugh.

  Dad looks away, probably to hide the humor in his eyes.

  “Iris, I know things don’t make sense right now. Everything is fresh and painful and overwhelming. I also know I can’t say anything to make it hurt less. But there’s a huge world out there that needs amazing women like you on the front lines, making a difference.

  “So grieve. Cry. Sit here and stare at your ceiling and wallow in your loss for a few days, but please, when you feel like you can breathe again, pick yourself up and give the world it’s beautiful, compassionate, radiant Iris back. You and I both know that’s all Ashton ever wanted for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ASHTON

  I stab at my phone to delete the latest message before tossing it on the cushion beside me. Yet another thanks but no thanks.

  Leaning against the backrest of the couch, I press the heels of my palms against my aching eyes, trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do next. It’s been ten days since Lane fired me, and I’ve applied to everything I can find. Eight phone calls and three interviews later, all I’ve got is an offer for an overnight shift at a convenience store. I didn’t even apply for that. I applied for the dayshift because, like I said in the interview, I can’t do the nightshift.

  As if everything wasn’t bad enough, I just learned yesterday that my truck won’t pass inspection without at least two thousand dollars’ worth of work. I need new brakes, rotors, and tires on both front wheels, plus I have to replace the catalytic converter. I had to pick up my piece of shit truck from the mechanic without a new inspection sticker and a promise to return before the end of the month when it expires. I have exactly twenty-six days to figure out how to pay for the repairs or I’ll be risking fines and worse every time I drive.

  I hate to admit it, but Iris’ food is getting us through right now. I’ve cut back as much as I can for myself, sometimes only eating on my shift at Shelton’s where employees get a free meal when they work more than four hours. Today will be one of those days because we just finished the last of what was in the freezer and the flash of panic in that moment was real.

  My stomach aches like it so often does now. I can’t even tell if it’s from hunger or missing Iris anymore. Every time we eat her food, or I sleep in this bed, or turn on the floor lamp, she’s back in the apartment. Of course, she’s always in my head. I’ve picked up the phone so many times to call her. Just the thought of hearing her voice can be enough to get me through the day. My finger hovers over her number, shaking as my brain fights with my soul. But the temptation is getting easier to resist the further I slip into the darkness, where evidence mounts that I did the right thing. She doesn’t belong here. She never did.

  I can’t be the man who chokes out the flower of hope with ashes.

  Today I face another temptation, though. This one is uglier and inverted from my battle to stay away from Iris. This is the temptation not to do something I’ve needed to do for a while now. After checking on Bray to make sure he’s occupied, I lock myself in my mom’s room and dial its former occupant.

  I pace the area in front of her bed while the phone rings, both praying and fearing she’ll pick up. We haven’t corresponded since I told her she couldn’t talk to Bray, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s petty enough to freeze me out forever over that. I actually would’ve been fine with it if I wasn’t literally starving right now.

  “Come on, Mom. Pick up,” I mumble.

  When the call clicks to voicemail, I drop to the edge of the bed in defeat.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say in as neutral of a tone as I can muster. “So, listen. Things aren’t going so well for us right now.”

  I clench my eyes shut, digging my fist into my right eye socket. “So, um, I was wondering if maybe you could help us out. You said you had that job out there so maybe you could send a little money? Or even come home to help out again. Just…”

  My voice trembles, and I force down the desperation.

  “Right, so um, call me back.”

  I hang up and drop my forehead to my fists, elbows on my knees. For a solid minute I breathe calculated breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth.

  Just breathe.

  You can still breathe.

  That’s one thing.

  You’ve got Bray.

  That’s two.

  My phone buzzes, and I glance over in anticipation. A message from mom.

  Just open another credit card, baby.

  Tears flood my eyes as I sink to the floor and collapse.

  I pull myself together in plenty of time for my shift. Dropping Bray off with Marla, I get into work an hour early, relieved when Stacie lets me clock in for the extra time. Leah is talking to me again as well, and it’s a relief to discuss something other than money, bills, or the cavernous abyss of losing Iris. Leah has a new puppy named Sir Piggins. I even smile at the photo of Sir Piggins in a bear costume. Not sure why you’d get a dog just to dress it up like a bear, but whatever.

  By the time I get my dinner on break, I do my best to remember to eat slowly and chew thoroughly. I don’t want to end up sick for the rest of my shift. Plus, making this meal last longer might help my mental health as well.

  “Hey, so, is everything okay with you?” Leah asks, picking at her roll. She took her break with me today for the first time since the date conversation disaster.

  “Fine, why?” I ask through a bite of roast beef.

  Slow. Down. Ashton.

  I take a sip of water to force a pause.

  “I don’t know. You’ve looked… different lately.”

  “Different?”

  “Yeah, like… I don’t know…” Hungry? Heartbroken? I’m going through hell? “Exhausted or something.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, haven’t been sleeping well.”

  She shoves her mashed potatoes around her plate, but all I can see is the roll she’s barely touched.

  “Um, hey, are you going to eat that?”

  She shakes her head and passes it over. “Nah, I’m on a diet. Trying to cut back on the carbs.”

  “Gotcha. Thanks.” I wrap it in a napkin and set it aside for later.

&nb
sp; “Hey, so I wanted to say I’m sorry for acting so weird after asking you out. I was embarrassed, I guess, but I shouldn’t have blown you off. You were so nice about it, and… yeah. I’m sorry.”

  I offer a sincere smile. “It’s fine. I understood.”

  “Yeah but… well, anyway. I’m sure your girlfriend is amazing.”

  I look away, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat that isn’t food.

  “Yeah, she is,” I say quietly. There’s no point in telling her the truth and opening a door that’s been so neatly shut.

  “Oh! That reminds me. Someone stopped in and gave me something for you.”

  “Huh?”

  She blushes. “Sorry. I know. I should have given it to you right away but you were busy, and then I forgot. I’ll grab it when we go back in.”

  “What was it?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. A card or something.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Some man. I’d never seen him before.”

  Confused, I do a quick inventory of the “men” in my life. I can’t think of many who don’t work here.

  When we finish our break, I follow Leah to the host stand where she pulls out a small white envelope. She’s right. It looks like a card. Everything in me wants to open it right now, but knowing my luck it’s probably anthrax or something, so I should wait until I’m alone to mitigate the fallout.

  I stuff it in my apron and try to forget about it as I finish my shift.

  In my truck, I barely lock my door before pulling out the envelope and staring at the blank surface. No name, no markings. If the guy hadn’t told Leah it was for me, no one would have known. I tear open the top and pull out a card with an ornate A embossed on the front.

  My pulse pounds as I open it, and I flinch when a handful of bills falls out. I collect them from my lap, my heart racing at the thousand dollars in my hand.

  Stunned, I focus back on the card, gripping the bills in my fist. A short note in strong, heavy handwriting is centered on the blank card.