Ash to Steele

by Stewart, Karen-Anne

  “Your partner is good friends with Mr. Alcott, who happens to be the father-in-law of my grandfather’s closest friend’s daughter, who owns fifty-three percent of your partner’s business. One word to him about how you planned to cheat my grandfather out of an additional three million on top of what he already generously agreed to pay for the merger, and you will be left with nothing.”

  The silence on the other end is deafening. I give him a few seconds to process before continuing, “You can underestimate me all you want; in fact, I find it quite amusing, but if you screw with my grandfather’s business while he is recovering, it will be you who is fucked in more ways than one.”

  There’s another pause before Frasier’s enraged voice radiates through the live feed, “I will give you your dues, you have done your homework, but no wet behind the ears punk ass kid like you has the clout, not to mention the balls, to follow through on a threat that will leave Dur Acier in the lurch. You need me!”

  “Yes, Mr. Frasier, Dur Acier does need the merger, but not nearly as much as you do. We can afford to cut our losses and move on with another company, but you, now that’s a different story. You will be left bankrupt without us. And I never threaten. You have no idea what I’m capable of. If you need further encouragement, just watch.”

  Dialing Tracy Alcott, I stare outside the twenty-third story window of Dur Acier, at the majestic buildings jutting high into Boston’s painted sunset skyline. The cold brick and sleek metal bleed an air of superiority that I despise. Dur Acier can hold its own, reigning lucratively in this city, but it has never been portrayed as pretentious. Granddad made sure the reputation is as strong as the product. He told me that reputation means everything. I don’t hold that belief as tightly as he does as far as my personal life goes, but I’ll do anything to keep his name, and Dur Acier’s name, from becoming tainted.

  “Hello, Breck, I was just talking about you.”

  “Hi, Tracy. All good, I hope.”

  “Always is,” she laughs.

  “I just wanted to confirm our lunch date Thursday with your husband and his father.”

  “Of course. We are looking forward to it.”

  “Splendid. Tell Mr. Alcott that I have some important business matters to discuss with the three of you.”

  “As interesting as all of your conversations are, I’ll only relay the news if you promise to finish the business talk before the main course arrives. I find your other stories much more entertaining,” Tracy teases.

  “You have my word. What I have to say won’t take long, and I guarantee it will directly affect you.”

  “Thursday, then,” Tracy confirms. “Looking forward to seeing you again. Please tell your grandfather that we will visit him on Friday.”

  Ending the call with Tracy, I place my hands on the polished cherry table top, staring at the man who looks like he would love to have me in front of a firing squad. Smiling at the computer screen, I spell out Mr. Fraiser’s options, “The discussion Thursday can go either way for you. The interesting news can be how your merger with Dur Acier will benefit Mrs. Alcott as well, since you will be donating 5% of the profit to the anti-trafficking organization she supports, or the news can be of how you planned to line your own pocket by cheating someone she loves, and Mrs. Alcott will pull her shares in your company, which will jumpstart its fatal plummet before our dessert arrives.”

  Mr. Frasier’s cheeks become redder by the second, “You sonofabitch.”

  Patiently, I ignore his slur and wait for his decision. Besides, he’s right; I am.

  A long sigh precedes what I expected. “You will have your documents by 8:30,” Frasier growls.

  “Not one minute later,” I warn, closing the laptop before looking around the empty conference room. This company was built on personal interactions; Granddad has never warmed to the idea of transactions being completed via the web or on the phone. Dealing with these people face to face is the last thing I want to do, but I have to make sure his other partners are still on our side and not following Frasier’s traitorous ways. The pulsating throb deepens as I call Prayton, telling him to have the partners, minus Frasier, meet in my grandfather’s office at 5:00 p.m. Thursday. I’ll put up with one hour of having to deal with the corporate shit to ensure their loyalty still lies where it should. Meeting with Emma directly after the meeting Thursday soothes me, calming the pain searing my brain and leaving me shocked by the comforting reaction thoughts of her provoke.

  The jackhammer in my head was finally easing but now it continues its punishing rhythm, strengthening in intensity when I step out of the elevator to find Jason leaning against the wall with that glazed, overwhelmed look in his eyes that only Jess is capable of reducing him to.

  “I don’t have time to smooth over whatever you did this time to piss Jess off. You’re her boyfriend,” I state, not in the mood to do anything else but throw back a few shots of whiskey, “man up and handle her shit on your own.”

  “Her mom called,” Jason blurts, dragging his hand down his stress-haggard face.

  “When?” The jackhammer morphs into a wrecking ball.

  “About an hour ago. Damn, Jess went ballistic and took off. I’ve been calling her non-stop, but she won’t answer the phone and, I don’t know where she is,” Jason’s voice is laced with undiluted panic, and for good reason.

  “Calm down, we’ll find her. Have you checked to see if Emma knows where she’s at?”

  “Em’s at work. I stopped by the gallery, but she was doing a tour, so I didn’t get to talk with her. I left a message, but she can’t have her phone until her shift is done.”

  Focusing on the most likely places Jess would go, memories distract me, flooding my mind, taking me back to the first time I met her; we were both four and alone. Even at my young age, I knew that she shouldn’t be by herself. She was just sitting there in the sand, underneath the swing set on the old playground. Tears glistened on her cheeks and her hair was so blonde it was almost white, and it was dirty, hanging in disheveled curls down her back. The air was cold, but she wore no jacket or shoes.

  I walked her home that night, asking if her mom knew that she was gone. The fact that mine didn’t wasn’t important to me; I was bigger and a boy. Jess was small, fragile, and it was dangerous for a little girl to be playing alone. My mom was at work, thinking I was at home with my father. Jess’ mom was asleep on the couch, oblivious to where she was or wasn’t. I remember thinking that she looked as if she were dead, but Jess assured me she wasn’t as she covered her up with a blanket. It would’ve been better for Jess if she were.

  “I’ve gone everywhere I can think of checking,” Jason states, pulling me from unwanted flashbacks. He rakes his hand through his hair, and I place my hand on his shoulder.

  It doesn’t take me long to realize where she’s gone. “Go home, Jason. You need to be there for her if she returns,” I tell him, knowing she’s not going home anytime soon, “I’ll look for her.”

  “Yeah, alright,” he concedes, appearing utterly exhausted as he gives me a look I can’t fully place.

  Jason’s from a different world than Jess and, for the most part, he doesn’t even know it. I have to give him credit, though, he’s been there for her since the day they met two years ago, even when Jess has been in full-fledged bitch mode.

  His shoulders sag as he rubs his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose before turning towards me, his stance rigid, “I know you two have a past. I’m not sure exactly what it involves, but for some reason she trusts you. Tell her I’m trustworthy, too.” His jaw tightens. “I don’t give a damn about whatever secrets you share, I just want Jess.” His voice is raw and he looks away, taking a second to gather himself before facing me again, “I know you are going to her now. Do whatever it is that you do to help her overcome whatever in the hell it is that happens inside her head when her mom calls, but, then, you send her home to me.”

  “I always do,” I reply, feeling sorry for him and his suffering from some
thing he doesn’t understand.

  Jason’s jaw twitches.

  I notice his clenched fists, doubting he’s even aware he’s doing it. “She’s trustworthy as well, Jason,” I try to assure him, knowing it’s not her he’s worried about. “So am I,” I add truthfully.

  I see the doubt in his eyes. I don’t blame him; I know how this looks. Not wasting any more time, I leave him standing there as I rush to my vehicle, speeding towards the public garden. The air is brutal when I leave the heated comfort of the Hummer and take the path towards the bridge. The thirty-four degree weather wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the 18 degree wind chill.

  The bridge is empty. I pass no one as I walk towards the weeping willows, spotting Jess sitting underneath one, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. Her arms are wrapped around her knees to shield herself from the cold, or for comfort, I’m not sure which, probably both.

  “Waiting for Prince Charming?” I ask, keeping my voice light until I can gauge where her head is at right now.

  Jess doesn’t move, doesn’t even look my way. She knew I would come. It’s several seconds before she speaks, “I gave up on that a long time ago.”

  “Really?” I wrap my jacket around her shoulders and sit down next to her, “because I’ve never known you to give up on anything.”

  Jess leans her head against my shoulder, and I wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer. “Mom’s in Charleston,” she says quietly.

  “How long has she been there?”

  “I don’t know,” Jess whispers, pulling her knees closer to her chest.

  Placing my hand over hers, I take them and rub her hands in mine, trying to warm them. “Just out of rehab?”

  She nods, swallowing hard.

  I give Jess a few seconds, knowing she’s doing her best not to cry.

  “Eighth rehab facility, that I know of.”

  “Was she clean?”

  “For now. I’ll give her less than a week.”

  Jess is being generous. My guess is she’ll be using within two days. “When is she wanting to see you?” I ask, hoping Jess doesn’t go, not again. I can’t stand seeing her hurting. Especially after the last time.

  “Now.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I told her no, to lose my number, to forget about me,” Jess states, her voice cracking as a tear slides down her cheek. “I can’t, Breck. I can’t do it anymore.” Jess drops her head on top of her knees and sobs.

  Wrapping my arms around her, I pull her closer to me and hold her, not doing well with the tears. She cries until her body is spent, leaning exhaustedly against mine. Tucking her hair behind her ear, I kiss the top of her head, wishing her mother were a man so I could beat the shit out him. “You made the right decision,” I finally say.

  “I know,” she nods, wiping her nose with the sleeve of my jacket.

  My brow furrows but I don’t say anything, it’s not the first time Jess’ tears or snotty nose have soaked my jacket or shoulder before. The only time she cries now is when her mom calls. When her eyes misted the other day talking about Emma, it knocked me off guard. Emma invades my thoughts and I try to push them away. I don’t want or need to think about her right now, or the way I seem to get lost in her eyes.

  “Jason called you?” Jess asks, saving me from thinking of things I shouldn’t think of.

  Tonight is a reminder of how Emma is the polar opposite of what I need, of what I need to want. “He came by Dur Acier.”

  Her response is a soft sigh.

  “Look, Jess. You know I love you, right?”

  “Yeah, I do. And you know that I love you.”

  Squeezing her shoulder, I lean my head against the top of hers, “Jason loves you, too. Differently, I mean,” I stumble with my words, completely out of my element. “I love you like family, someone I would fight an army for. Jason loves you like one of those whipped pansy’s who carries his girlfriend’s purses around the mall for hours. He isn’t the man from that stupid ass animated movie you used to beg me watch when we were kids, but he’s a good man, and I’m pretty damn sure he would fight an army for you, too. He’d lose, but that’s not the point.”

  “Are you trying to say that you love me, but Jason’s in love with me?” Jess asks, her eyes brightening a little when she smiles, “because I already knew that.”

  “I know you knew about us, but I wasn’t so sure if you knew about him, and I’m fairly sure that he’s not so sure about you and me.”

  “What?”

  “Dammit, Jess, you know what I mean!”

  “Sadly, I do,” she teases, “but you really suck when it comes to talking about feelings.”

  “I find that to be a positive characteristic I possess,” I laugh. Taking a deep breath, I nudge her with my elbow, “You need to tell him, Jess. Everything.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Jess replies flatly.

  I let it go, knowing her reasons. Jason won’t though, not anymore; that was evident tonight. This is her choice to make, I won’t force the issue. “Alright, but if you change your mind, I think he’ll take it a lot better than you’re giving him credit for.”

  “I know he will. That’s not why I don’t want to tell him.” Jess looks up at me, the tears glistening on her cheeks just like twenty years ago, “He has this idea of me, like I’m invincible. When I look at him, I see what he sees, and I need that! I need to feel strong, like he believes me to be, not like who I am.”

  Grabbing her arm, I pull her to where she’s facing me. “That’s enough!” I yell, “you are who he sees you to be. If you weren’t strong, you wouldn’t be sitting right here at this moment.”

  “We both know that the only reason I’m sitting here, the only reason that I’m alive, is because you saved me,” she yells back.

  “You did the hard part, I just changed your location; you saved yourself. Jason will see that truth as clearly as I do.”

  I watch as her anger starts to fade when my words sink in. After several seconds, she pushes me, laughing, “For someone who doesn’t believe in love, you sure are pushing for me to embrace it with Jason.”

  “I didn’t say that it doesn’t exist. I just don’t believe in it for me,” I clarify, helping her to her feet. “I want you to be happy.”

  “I want the same for you, Breck.”

  My cell phone rings before I can respond, Emma’s name illuminated on the screen. My thoughts stray, betraying me. Fuck. Hitting the off button, I shove the phone back in my pocket. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “Was that Jason?”

  “No,” I answer, hesitating before continuing, “it was Emma.”

  Panic flashes across Jess’ face, “Did Jason tell her anything? I don’t want her to know anything about my past?”

  “He left a message for her to call if she saw you. That’s all I know,” I answer bitterly. “You said she’s different, Jess. If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be worrying about her judging you.”

  Her eyes fall, and I close mine, taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry.”

  “She is different. The past is easier left in the past,” she looks at me pointedly, “but, you can’t hide it forever. You’re right; I do need to tell Jason.”

  “Go straight home. Call me when you get there,” I demand, returning her pointed look.

  “I stopped taking orders from you years ago,” she laughs.

  “You never took orders from me,” I remind her.

  “Not without pitching a fit. I’ll text you when I get there.”

  Closing her door, I hold up my cell and she nods, smiling.

  Cranking the heat in my vehicle, I stare at my phone, waiting several seconds before listening to the message Emma left. Not wanting to, I return her call.

  “Is Jess alright?” she asks, worry spilling into her words. “Jason said she still wasn’t home yet.”

  “She’s on her way home now. She just had a hard night. Don’t call her tonight. I will see yo
u Thursday evening,” I state curtly.

  There are a few seconds of silence before I hear Emma’s soft voice again, “Okay. If I can do anything, just let me know.”

  I hear another voice in the background, a man reprimanding her about being on her phone. I can tell by the nervous tone of Emma’s response to the man that she’s not used to being reprimanded, probably because she’s never broken one damn rule in her pristine life.

  “I have to go,” Emma states quickly, her words rushed, “tell her to call me if she needs me.”

  The man’s voice calls her name in a voice too sharp for my liking, and anger riots inside of me again. The phone goes dead, and part of me wants to head to the gallery and defend Emma, smashing my fist against his head, which further infuriates me. I don’t want to care. Tossing the phone on the seat next to me, I head towards the closest bar instead, needing to find someone to get my head back where it needs to be, which is as far away from Emma as possible.

  There are several women whose body language shows that they are very willing participants as I walk by. Two blondes in the corner catch my attention, and one simple nod their way brings them strolling towards me as I take a seat at the bar. The taller one is a real blonde, the other’s comes from a bottle. Both are attractive and eager. That’s good enough for me. I halfway listen as they ramble for a few moments while I let two shots of whiskey run down my throat before slipping my hands around their waists, leading them towards the door.

  Chapter Five

  Holier-Than-Thou

  Emma