by Melissa Blue
But she hadn't driven for an hour to enjoy the view. No one had seen or heard from Porter since the big blowup. He'd let his calls go to voice mail and ghosted from their lives. She’d decided the pier would be the last place she'd check before worrying herself sick. She'd probably even ask Victor to hunt him down, because if there was a digital record of something, he could find it.
She meandered around, picking up a corn dog as she went. The docks were at the end of the carnival. That was the last place she could check. She rounded the corner to walk down the pier, tossing the stick away since she'd demolished the food.
A lone black man sat on top of the tables, facing the water. The knot in her stomach loosened. Porter was alive. Having confirmed that, she thought she should probably turn around to let him have his alone time. From where she stood, she could see his hands weren't broken and he could have damn well called. He just hadn't wanted to reassure her or anyone that he was fine.
She wouldn’t have gone looking for him at all, but for the last week, Vic had had an anxious edge to him. More than once, she'd caught him picking up his phone, then realization settled in and he'd set his cell back down with a dejected expression flitting over his face. She had to do what she could to fix them. Failure wasn't an option.
Steeling herself, she walked up beside her brother.
His scoff was harsh as he lowered his head with a slow shake. “Go away, Ashley.”
She climbed up to the table using the cement bench as a step and settled next to him. “You're not dead. Happy to see that.”
“You don't get to—”
“'I'm alive.' That's all I needed.”
He waved the words off with a dismissive gesture. “Don't start with a lie.”
She raised her brows. “So, I didn't want to know you were okay?”
“Show me a police report,” he threw back.
She flinched, but kept pushing. “A grown man disappears after he finds out his friend is sleeping with his sister?”
He shrugged, conceding. “Well, you can see that I'm fine. Leave me the hell alone.”
Ash wanted to reach out and take his face in her hands, force him to look at her—to yell at her so they could get past the hard part, but that was her guilt. They had to work through their conflict the ugly way.
“You won't even look at me,” she said. “You're not fine. We're not fine.”
He turned his gaze to her, and she wished he hadn't. No warmth or kindness could be found.
“For a week I came out here, to this same bench trying to forgive you, and I just keep thinking of more evidence that you...” His lip curled and he forced his gaze back to the water.
She clasped her hands together, not wanting to ask, but needing to know. “I'm what?”
“From day one, I had to be careful because you were new and precious—a gift our parents hadn't expected.” There was no give in his voice or in the hard lines of his face. “Never ended, though. ‘Look out for your sister,’ or ‘Don't turn her into a tomboy playing all your games,’ or ‘Why did you let your sister do that?’” He lowered his voice. “'Don't tell Ash about your father. It'll break her heart.’”
The words battered at her. She hadn't known the last confession, and her heart hurt for him.
Heat stung at her eyes but she blinked back the threat of tears. “I never asked you to do any of those things for me. That was Mom and Dad being a mom and dad.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He threw up his hands and shrugged. “I don't care anymore. You can do whatever you want, whoever you want.”
Her back slammed straight up. It wasn't a blessing, but a write-off. She'd expected him to be pissed, not apathetic. “Because of Vic?” Disbelief was clear in her voice.
His laugh was short and sharp enough to cut. “No, because of you.”
Her lungs squeezed, and hard. “Wow.” She looked out to the water, unable to hold his gaze. “Wow.”
He nodded as though he was working himself up to a good steam. “I asked you if Victor was it for you and you practically said that he was a fling. Do you get how screwed up that is? A twenty-year friendship tossed away for an orgasm. You didn't even look guilty or ashamed. Did you even care what that could mean to Victor? He could lose all his friends because you simply wanted to fuck him.” He looked at her again, his face twisted in disgust at her. “God, Ashley, did you even hesitate?”
Ash tried to tell herself he was just speaking in anger. She should let him spill out more ugly words and force herself to take the abuse. She understood he needed to unload, but every word seemed to dig out a small piece of her.
“Yes,” she said. “I did.”
“And, Victor... poor bastard. He wouldn't have done what he did unless he loved you. I know him. He just wouldn't have.”
She could only blink at her brother's assertion, but the truth of his words sank in. Victor had been in the military. He had the fortitude to hold his liquor. No matter how many times she kissed him or goaded him, if he hadn't wanted to end up in her bed, he wouldn't have. Ash had just assumed lust had gotten the better of him.
Her brother went on, leveling her world. “The more I thought about it, the more I realized Dad wasn’t the only reason why I had my rule. He walked away unscathed after he left everyone else around him flattened. I never wanted you with any of my friends because you are so much like him.”
“What?” All she could really do was snap as shock rooted her.
“The stakes were high for Victor, but you?” His tone was just as aggressive. “You'll be my sister, always. What did you have to lose? Not a damn thing. I wasn't protecting you with my rule. Definitely not myself. I was protecting my friends from you.”
The anger blinded her. Her hand was up and striking him across his face before sense could cool her temper. “Screw you, Porter. Poor Victor, because he could love me, right? I'm horrible and vapid and selfish. Dumb him. I wonder what you would say if it were Oliver or Grady instead of Victor. Would you just call me the Whore of Babylon outright instead of implying I'm some kind of man-eater? And that your friends are my preferred prey?”
He sat there, shock on his face.
That only made her want to growl. After all he'd said, he was thunderstruck she'd lost her shit?
“I've wanted Victor since before I even knew what want really was,” she said. “We never did more because we loved your stupid ass. You needed it, no matter how irrational.”
Porter opened his mouth to interrupt, but she wasn't done. She'd sat there taking his crap thinking he needed to get some things off his chest, but—God. How could he think so little of her? He'd apparently held some resentment for all those years. The revelation boggled her mind and hurt her.
He'd taught her to be strong—to never let someone make her feel ashamed about who she was. He'd been her support and the man she'd looked up to. And now he was saying this? That didn't even touch what he must have thought of Victor.
“You sit there and call me Dad,” she said. “Call your best friend all but stupid. He was the one there for you when you found out about Dad. When you were failing Intro to Engineering, he stayed up late with you that entire semester helping you study. He's cheered the hardest, the loudest, whenever you achieved some milestone in your career. The last four years he hasn't been perfect, and now he's what? Unlovable? He deserves to be stuck with a man-eater?”
She rose from the bench, her every limb shaking from anger. “Screw you with a sandpaper condom, Porter. Have your pity party. And it's fine if you don't care about me anymore. If what you said about Victor is love, then I'm better off.”
She didn't give him time to reply, just stalked off back to her car, so disgusted and pissed. She shook the whole way.
Ash probably should have thought twice before getting behind the wheel, but she was on autopilot. The only thing she needed was to get away from him and the words he'd thrown at her.
The rage burned through her for a good forty minutes during the drive home as the conversation kept ree
ling in her head. Eventually the emotion petered out. Then again, she never could stay mad for long. Staying pissed took too much energy to keep the blaze going. When the last tendrils of rage finally burned away, she had to pull over. She wasn't going to make it home before crumbling.
So she sat in her running car on the side of the street, let her throat get tight, her nose get hot, and then, finally, the pent-up sob lashed out.
Most people assumed she was the only one who could really get under Porter's skin. That was probably true, but the sword cut both ways. He knew exactly what to say to bring her back down to reality.
Apparently, he knew how to strip a few pieces of her soul too.
She was nothing like her father, but still she'd worried. Her mom was solid. So was Porter. They always stayed the course.
Was it impulse or just genetics that made her jump headfirst? Did she live to the beat of her own drum, damning the consequences because that's how one should live? She, everyone, only got the one chance. Or was she selfish? Not just a word to throw around in the heat of an argument, but did she truly only care about herself? Those doubts nipped at her when alone.
Her brother—one of the only people in her life she thought would love her unconditionally—hadn't thought she was worth the worry. Angry or not, there were just some things people never said...unless they believed them.
She didn't know how long she’d sat in her car and cried, but by the time most of the tears had dried up, she couldn't breathe out of her nose. Her eyes were swollen and no amount of makeup could hide the evidence. She just wanted to go home and crawl into bed.
Pulling herself together, she finished the drive home. The sun was setting and that seemed fitting somehow.
At home, a figure hunched against her doorway—one her body recognized before her brain did. Her skin tingled with anticipation despite her having just cried her eyes out. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror and winced. Everything had a tinge of weepy red. Victor would push and ask questions.
He had licked her, so she was his for all intents and purposes. Whether Porter was her brother or not, Vic would take issue at the words that had been said. The last thing she needed was to drive another wedge between the men. She'd just have to lie through her teeth, and hopefully send him packing for the day.
After parking, she dug into her glove compartment for the sunglasses she stowed there during the summer.
He straightened from her door as she walked toward him, and that was the only acknowledgment he gave her. Even hurting, she still felt a punch to the gut at the sight of him. Any other day, she would have listened to her needs for him. At the moment, she wanted to lick her wounds and not have an audience if another wave of crying hit.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she said back, her voice still raw. “Vic, I'm just not feeling too well today. I think I'm coming down with something.” A believable lie from the sound of her voice—gritty, raw, and nasally. “Catch you later?”
His gaze roved over her face for a moment. He gripped her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “You've been crying.”
She opened her mouth to double down on the lie, but he plucked the sunglasses from her face.
“What happened?” he murmured.
Shaking her head, she said, “I really don't want to talk about it.”
He stepped in her way, cupping her face, reading it. “Only Porter puts that look on your face.”
She gasped. “What look?”
“When he told you Santa Claus didn't exist in the second grade, you had the same expression. The same one when he told you he saw Owen in the backseat with another girl. Lastly, when he told you your dad was a bastard.”
Ash tried to scrounge up a joke about him paying too much attention to her when he shouldn't have, but Porter had ripped off her mask and stomped 0n it. All her sass, brazenness, and courage had been scooped out. Soon, she’d be able to lift her head, kick ass, and take names. But at the moment...
She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “Yeah, well. He's alive.” She turned her face from his touch and unlocked her door.
He followed close behind, not speaking, just hovering like he was waiting to catch her if she fell. She pulled off her clothes as she walked to her room, leaving her bra and panties on, and then crawled into her bed.
Victor stood beside her mattress for a moment before climbing in with her. She stayed on her side and didn't touch him. She might break again if she did.
Victor asked, “What did he say?”
She pressed her face into her pillow. Another wave of grief didn't hit as she'd expected, so she met his gaze after a few seconds. “In short, I'm not perfect.” She hesitated and added, “He wants nothing to do with me.”
He tucked a hand behind his head, his expression contemplative. “Why didn't you ask me to find him or if I knew he was okay?”
“At the time it seemed easier to not poke your sore spot unless I absolutely had to.” She paused. “You knew he was okay?”
“Grady called me a few days ago, worried. I looked into it.”
“And by looking into it you mean?”
He gave her a bland stare. “Does no one really know what I can do with WiFi and a laptop?” Vic smiled and added, “He's staying on Ocean Drive. Several charges to his credit card have been made at some small amusement park. How did you find him?”
“We went there as kids. It's probably our favorite shared childhood memory, spending a day at that place. We ate everything. Went on all the rides. He puked and then we did it all again. I figured he'd want to go to a place where he felt safe and comfortable so he could brood about life.”
Vic shifted on the bed until they were face to face. “No one is perfect.” He placed a hand on her cheek when she tried to turn away. “So, you've got to look at a person, see their flaws and then you can finally see what makes them beautiful.”
She still couldn't convince herself that her brother's words had only been ugly and angry. No need to take them personally. Yet they still tore at her little by little. Her face went hot again. She bit her lip and still a tear escaped.
Victor scrubbed it away with his thumb and then kissed her above her brow.
He murmured, “Do you want me to beat him up for you? I got specialized combat training. I could break his arm in eight places.”
She let out a watery laugh. “Is that supposed to be a romantic gesture? It's kind of savage.”
“I'm not a hearts and flowers kind of guy.” He placed another kiss on her brow but made no move to take it further. “He's going to forgive you.”
Ha. She'd thought the same. “I'm not going to hold my breath. Right now, I'm not sure if I'd want his forgiveness.”
Vic’s brows slashed downward. “What do you mean?”
“My brother listed out all my flaws and didn't see someone beautiful. And that h-h-hurts.” Her voice had cracked. Dammit. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but since she’d started, she couldn't stop. Not when she could see the understanding in his eyes. “Maybe tomorrow I won't feel as gutted?”
From the way his expression softened, the answer was no. She cursed softly, looking away. “Vic, I'm sorry. I couldn't imagine how you were feeling this week. I'm so sorry. If I could take it all back I would.”
“Ash, look at me.”
She tried to see him through the haze of tears. He was too blurry. “Can't. Crying like a girl.”
“You are a girl.” His tone was filled with warmth.
“I know. That's why I'm crying like one.”
“Here.” His voice was a comforting whisper as he wiped away what he could of her tears. The calluses on his hand were rough yet his touch was gentle. “Better?”
The way he was looking at her was gentle too.
“Better,” she said.
“I wouldn't take back a single moment,” he said. “You may not be able to tell, but I'm gutted, too. This is the eye of the storm. It's going to get worse, and the only thing kee
ping me sane is that when I wake up in the morning, you're the first thing I see.” He smiled. “Though it's a British cozy mystery I see when I go to bed.”
She sucked in a deep breath. She'd wanted her brother to be wrong about everything. She couldn't cling to one truth and reject the rest, but Victor loved her. That was so clear as he comforted her. And that could only mean she was everything her brother had said.
“Hey, hey,” Vic said. “Why are you crying again?”
Victor loved her. He thought he was the monster—was sure of it.
She'd betrayed her brother. Made Vic risk his friendships, and she couldn't even say it was for love.
Her brother was right.
Ash leaned forward and pressed her face into his chest. The second wave of tears had hit, and it slammed her hard.
CHAPTER TWELVE
~Gamer Truth: If you keep dying, level up or get better gear.~
The barista at Brew and Bagel gave Victor a tall, regular black coffee.
He frowned down into his order and knew it was some kind of omen. Two weeks had passed since he'd talked to Porter or anyone else from the Goon Squad but Grady. A week since Porter had made his sister cry.
Victor was still pissed about that. If and when his friend finally decided to pull his head out of his ass, they'd have words. Until then, Victor would go on with his new routine. Working, spending his nights with Ash, and pretending he was getting a full night's sleep in the morning.
Omen or not, he’d be late if he didn't shag ass. He made it in time, thankfully, and his workday went smoothly.
He spent most of his lunch leveling up a game character with Ash. She rounded the hour off by beating the shit out of him in a duel.
By the end of the workday, he managed to shake off his superstitious paranoia, though his hopeful outlook had a lot to do with Ash's promise to come by after her girl's night out with Iris and Eva. In nothing but a trench coat and heels.
He parked in his reserved space at home, and spotted Wade's Jeep a few rows down. Right next to that was Oliver's Camaro. Grady's motorcycle wasn't there, but that might have just meant he’d hitched a ride with his brother.
