Love Disregarded

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “Pat’s right. You’re married, and then you’re not married, going after loose women in Vegas. And now you’re implicated in some major crime. What the hell is up with you?”

  “One sec,” I told him, then spoke into the speaker. “Large coffee, black.” The cheerful voice on the other end gave me the total, and I pulled my Porsche around to the pickup window.

  “Where the hell are you?” Mike demanded. “What are you doing out at this time of day, buying coffee? Jesus, dude, you just got out of jail a few hours ago.”

  “I’ve been . . . out,” I said, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel while I waited for my coffee.

  “Out where?”

  “Thinking.”

  “Aston, please don’t tell me you were where I think you were, because that’ll confirm what Patrick and I know. You’re whacked. Fucking whacked up.”

  After being handed my coffee, I took a long sip of it as I pulled away from the drive-through and made my way down quiet side streets toward my office. I’d shower and change there and then try to figure out who the hell was trying to frame me, and my fucking company. Anything to avoid thinking about where I’d just spent the night.

  “I’m not an expert,” Mike said, still ranting in my ear, “believe me. I just know you’ve stayed away from her for a long time. Why the fuck change that now?”

  “It’s out of my control. My life is a fucking mess, and she’s the only one who can make it right. I’m thirty-fucking-five years old. It’s time I made myself happy. I’ve been chasing someone else’s wishes and dreams for way too long. End of story.”

  It was the truth. Bexley would make it all right. In the meantime, I ended the call before Mike could argue with me.

  Bexley

  Two weeks had passed since I’d first seen the news, and I still hadn’t recovered. From what, I didn’t know. Constant exposure to Aston? He was everywhere. The newspaper ran a daily exposé on him. The local television station was featuring him morning and night.

  After a few days, I couldn’t bring myself to read or watch any more of it. For the last ten days, I’d become a hermit, stuck in my house, staring at a growing pile of unread newspapers and dark television screens, and I didn’t dare download the digital version of the newspaper.

  My life had become an extended version of the never-ending cycle of trying to block out Aston Prescott.

  He’s nothing to me—a fling, an obsession, someone who happened to be a part of my life a very long time ago. At least, that’s what I told myself.

  Yet, every time I glanced at the headlines, I got sick to my stomach. I couldn’t stop myself from staring an extra beat or two at his picture. Those eyes, they killed me. Then I’d quickly turn the page before tossing the paper into the recycling bin. Rinse and repeat.

  Like now, I’d given in to the urge. My finger traced his picture, an expensive dark tie knotted at his neck, a tailored suit jacket snug on his shoulders. He’d aged some, with tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes and a few laugh lines around his mouth. For a moment, I hoped this meant he was laughing some, and then I wished he wasn’t.

  I’d wanted all his laughs. They should have been mine to enjoy.

  This was how I spent most of my time when I wasn’t at work or with the kids—lamenting over what had become of Aston Prescott. What could have been between us, should have been with us.

  Get over yourself, Bexley.

  The picture was a year or two old, a company headshot I’d seen before during one of my rare Google searches. His smile was similar to the one he wore when he shook hands—half smirk, completely confident, inviting and beckoning. Despite the few wrinkles, he still had thick hair and deep soulful eyes that would sear right through you.

  Did he do what they’re saying he did?

  I couldn’t help it, but I didn’t believe the accusations. All the way down to my bones, I knew he couldn’t, and never would be, capable of what they were saying he’d done. Aston was a lot of shitty things, but a criminal wasn’t one of them. He didn’t peddle drugs. That wasn’t him.

  Thankfully, the kids were busy with back-to-school and activities, or I would have been a basket case. I didn’t have the strength to do 24/7 with them. Piper was consumed with trying out for seventh-grade soccer, and Tyler was busy convincing me to buy him a drum set and get him lessons. As for me, I was staying afloat of my emotions, working at the women’s health clinic three days a week, counseling young women about their choices.

  As if I had a freaking clue how to make good choices.

  Normally, I was packing healthy lunches, doing laundry, and carpooling every other free minute, but recently anything that wasn’t completely necessary fell off the radar.

  Typically, I dreaded the one weekend per month my ex graced the kids with his company, but not this weekend. Most divorced couples fought over custody, but not Seth and me. He was happy to give up his time with the kids ninety-five percent of the time.

  He had his reasons, and I had mine. Either way, it worked in my favor.

  But this Friday, I needed the weekend to get my head right.

  A man who I’d carried a torch for—for almost fourteen years—is accused of drug trafficking.

  I couldn’t wrap my head around that. The very same man I’d dreamed about, night after night. The one I’d convinced myself would eventually come back to me.

  In my mind, Aston was nothing short of the most amazing man. If I closed my eyes hard enough, I could picture his large hands cupping my cheek and skimming over my shoulders, caressing my skin before pulling me in for a kiss.

  Like he did that first night on the golf course.

  I needed to read the articles in the newspapers, the ones stacked up in the garage, and scour the internet for information. I needed to convince myself he wasn’t good for me.

  Forget the fact he was married, or maybe not. I didn’t know. He was probably looking at a conviction, and whether I cared to admit it or not, the idea hurt. It ripped through my heart, my soul, my entire being, like a fire through a dry forest. For other reasons, reasons I absolutely never, ever thought about. I’d buried the real reason for it hurting me way deep in my mind, locked it up, and tossed away the key.

  Tonight, though, when Seth sent his mom to pick up the kids after school and I had two days to myself, I dealt in the only way I could. I raced to the liquor store at three o’clock on a Friday.

  This was my weekend to drink, study those rags, and drink some more. Forty-eight hours to get my shit straight.

  Settled in my garage, I lifted a newspaper, thumbing through the pages until my eyes blurred at the local section, my head going hazy, my hand trembling. I shut my eyes tight and reopened them, hoping and wishing what I’d just read was a figment of my imagination.

  Nope, it was still there.

  Police detain Federal Stars Hospitality Supplies’ CEO, Aston Prescott, overnight on drug trafficking charges. Rumors of additional allegations filtering in. His family is well known for providing the highest quality toiletries and custom amenities to all the five-star resorts on the West Coast, and has been known to donate thousands of extras to local shelters.

  I refolded the paper into a neat stack and shoved it back in the pile, walked inside my house, and pretended like none of it mattered.

  I wasn’t waiting for Aston Prescott anymore.

  My phone buzzed early Saturday morning, drawing me out of my stupor. I’d fallen asleep in the damn window seat again, an empty wineglass discarded by my side, my hair in knots, and my heart and mind equally clouded.

  Why do I even care about him anymore?

  I slid my finger over the answer call button without looking at Caller ID. “Hello?” I croaked out, my throat dry and my eyes crusty.

  “Bex, you okay?”

  I leaned against the glass, the sun heating my back. “Hey, Milly.”

  “You can’t keep avoiding me,” she said, coming right out with it. There was no chitchat when it came to Milly. She was a s
traight shooter, even before her husband helped her perfect the art.

  “I need to get my head wrapped around this on my own. Please—”

  “That’s bullshit. You know it, and I know it. You don’t want to talk to me because you know Mike’s talked to him. We made a deal a long time ago that what happens between him and Mike stays between them. But I love you, and you love me, no matter what.”

  I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. “Say his name, for Christ’s sake. Say it!” When she didn’t utter a word, I yelled, “Aston. His name is Aston.”

  “We haven’t said his name in almost fifteen years, Bex. I’m following your rules, not mine.”

  “Forget it. What did Aston say to Mike? Is he okay?”

  “I can’t tell you that, and you know it. They’re friends, and we’ve always kept that separate. I’m here for you.”

  On weak legs, I stood and made my way into the kitchen, looking for hot coffee, but I knew I wouldn’t find any. Seth always made sure we had coffee. Sadly, it was the one thing I missed about being married to him.

  “This is why I’ve been avoiding you, Milly. Because I want to know about him. I’m desperate to know about him. I’d gobble up the tiniest of crumbs when it comes to Aston right now.”

  I held the phone between my ear and my neck, scowling as I stuck the K-cup into the coffeemaker. I hated this kind of coffee. It was never hot or strong enough for me, but it was easy.

  And made for singles. Loser lonelies.

  “I’m your closest friend,” Milly said. “I want to talk about you. Not . . . Aston. Bexley, I know you’re hurting, and I’m here for you.”

  “Well, in this case, it’s impossible to only talk about me and not him. He was in jail, his face and name all over the news, and I can’t decide if he’s guilty or not.”

  “It’s not for you to decide. You don’t have to care or even know if he’s guilty. You know that, right?”

  “Milly, please. Don’t you think I know that? But he must be hurting, and for whatever fucked-up reason, I can’t seem to let go when it comes to him. Ugh, I need a tougher backbone, or maybe a steel cage around my heart. If I think Aston is hurting, you have no clue how much that hurts me.”

  I turned and banged my forehead into the cabinet. “Damn, I wish I’d never met him. Why did I have to take that job at the club? I could’ve worked at Wendy’s and this never would’ve happened. What’s wrong with me? How can someone spend their whole life in love with someone who doesn’t even think they exist in his world? I mean, I’m nothing, the girl who made sandwiches at the club he belonged to. Not a woman. Not a person. Definitely not worthy of being his partner.”

  “Bex, honey, that was his dad, not him. You existed in his world. But he had to make a choice, and he went with his gut. Or his mom, however you want to look at it. Did you hear me when I said existed? You existed for him, but your lives went separate ways. I know it’s always been him for you, but you really need to move on. Even with your secrets, which, by the way, are pretty obvious to anyone who knows you.”

  Blowing out a breath, I said, “Existed. A long time ago, I know. Although he had a funny way of showing it. Now I don’t matter at all. You’re right. As for my secret, be quiet. I did what I did, and you know why and all that. I can’t rehash it.”

  I poured some half-and-half into my shitty coffee and took a sip.

  “Listen to me, Bex, he didn’t have a choice. His dad ran roughshod over him, held his dreams in the palm of his hand, and made it clear he’d squish them if Aston didn’t bend to him. The company was his future livelihood, the retribution his mom wanted him to have. This is how rich people act.”

  “Blah, blah, blah.” I slammed my coffee mug down on the counter.

  I thought about my good friend, my lifelong sister from another mother, and how our lives had veered down separate roads. Milly had bought into the high life, with her glossy hair with highlights, big houses, and expensive jewelry. Her weekends were filled with fancy events and activities at the club.

  “Milly, I thought you wanted to talk about me, and now you’re taking up with him? Defending Aston, taking his side. Why? Because you’re one of them now, the rich people?” I couldn’t help it, the last part came out on a sneer, but I was hurt and defensive.

  “It’s not that. I’m trying to explain how things are on the other side.”

  “You mean the richie side. Do you forget you used to be like me?” I leaned my hip into the counter and prayed for the call to get disconnected.

  “If that’s what you want to call it, the richie side, then fine. And no, I didn’t forget. You can live in both worlds. I do.” A small laugh escaped Milly, but I barely heard it as it floated in the dead air between us on the phone.

  I resisted the urge to laugh. Milly wouldn’t survive a day in my suburban subdivision.

  “Well, I’m glad you got a chance to cross over to the other side, Milly. Really, I am. Sorry I had to settle for a middle-class existence after growing up dirt poor. It’s not all that bad. At times, it seemed pretty damn good to me.”

  Milly sighed. “We’re getting sidetracked. What I mean is, Aston didn’t have a choice. His whole life, he was groomed for that damn business. He’d be nothing if his father took it away from him. I suspect he always wanted to grow the business himself, sell out, and come and get you.”

  “Still not about me or how Aston is actually doing right now. I gotta go . . .”

  “I’m in the car. What if I call Mike and tell him to deal with the kids, and then come and be with you?”

  Of course, Milly snagged her perfect guy and tied him up in a nice big red bow. Like in a fairy tale, she married Mike Richards. She fell for him, and he fell back. Now they lived a good life in Tahoe, where he owned a large construction company. She had the dream house and the kids to fill it when they weren’t at private school.

  “No, Milly. Don’t. I’m fine. Honestly, this doesn’t even affect me.”

  “Bexley.” She growled, and I heard her honk her horn as she muttered, “Bastard.”

  “Don’t get into an accident.”

  “I’m not. Some ass cut me off.”

  “You can’t come here. All I’ll end up doing is begging you to tell me what Aston told Mike, and we know how that went after your wedding. Not good. I shouldn’t have even asked you if they’d spoken. So, no. Let me be, and I’ll be fine in a few days.”

  It was hard to keep the relationships separate, but I’d done it for a long time and I’d continue to do it. Milly was my oldest friend . . . I owed her my loyalty. This time around, though, I needed to deal with things on my own.

  “I’m calling you later,” she said.

  “Okay, I gotta go now.” I ended the call and dumped the crappy coffee in the sink.

  I needed to make up my mind, for good, that this thing with Aston was over. This being something that never was.

  On my way to the shower, I tossed my clothes in the hamper and considered calling Seth to see if he wanted to have dinner with the kids and me.

  It wasn’t until I washed the conditioner out of my hair that I remembered what a bad idea that was. After all, that’s how I ended up married to him.

  He was available, and Aston wasn’t.

  Aston

  “I didn’t do it. Again, let me repeat, I had nothing to do what they’re saying I did. Drug trafficking,” I said, then laughed out loud. The words had already tumbled out of my mouth so many times. Each time, they sounded almost as ridiculous as I felt.

  I stuck my hands up in the air, mocking the district attorney standing in front of me.

  “Stand down,” I said to him as if he were a threat to me. “Drug trafficking is an insane accusation. I appreciate you stopping by my office, pretending to be here on a goodwill mission, but my attorney isn’t present. You can either wait for me to call him, or you can leave. Oh, and if you could tell the reporters hanging around outside that I didn’t do jack shit, that would be fantastic.”

>   Standing up behind my desk, I stuck my hand out.

  I was guessing he’d leave at the word attorney and I’d shake his hand, sending him on his pitiful way. Poor sap, he earned shit money doing civic duty. But he wasn’t going to win this one. I’d greased enough county officials’ palms to learn about the skeletons he had in his closet.

  I’m guessing that’s why he made this little visit—to see what I had in my back pocket.

  No one bested me at poker. Not to mention, I had a lot of issues, but shipping and receiving drugs certainly wasn’t one of them. Whoever planted that shit and set me up was going to pay . . . big fucking time.

  The idiot, I mean the district attorney, continued to stand there, staring me down.

  Although I’d perfected the tough-guy outer shell, I really wanted to slump down in my chair. But I knew better than to let my composure crumble. I’d been groomed all my life to keep my poker face securely fastened on.

  Of course, I’d been faced with a shit-ton of problems over the years, but my lack of business integrity was a new one. Not my personal integrity, though. That had been attacked for years, although not in the newspapers.

  “So, you admit that two years ago, you were—”

  “That’s not why you’re here. Now, if you don’t mind wrapping this up, I have a business to run, and I need you to leave.” I stood a little taller, puffing out my chest out as I stared down at the short, bald district attorney.

  “Mr. Prescott, it’s not going to be that easy. Someone has to take the fall here, and it’s not going to be me with a dead-end case. I know you’ve got yourself some hotshot lawyer who has you walking around like a free man, but I’m telling you, it’s not for long.”

  “You should’ve never searched my factory, but you were in such a hurry to take me down. The rushed search-and-seizure bullshit you tried, for real? But, honestly, I’m done with you, Myers. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out. And next time, make an appointment before you show up.”

  That’s basically how I’d spent the last two weeks. Telling every Tom, Dick, and Harry that I didn’t do shit. But the DA? The sucker was ballsy as hell showing up at my office like that.