It’s a total mindfuck. To think, all these months I’ve wished for Ash, and the moment he comes to me, I turn him down.
If it were only me, Sophie Addison, getting a real boyfriend for the first time, I would’ve jumped in his arms and we would’ve drunk Pink Parrot Passions well into the sunset.
It’s not just me, anymore.
Papaya rolls and jabs and pretty much does an acrobatic somersault against my bladder, a solid reminder that, yes, I’m doing the right thing. He or she will not feel the loss of a family member leaving voluntarily. They will have a moral compass and be their own person.
And I will be stronger for you.
“We’re here,” Astor says from the backseat.
We all get out of the car, Mom helping me up into my apartment, and Carter and Astor collecting the unopened presents they’d shoved in the trunk and onto their laps. The baby shower has become a somber shower, and while ascending the steps to my home without Ash feels lonely and unfinished, I hang onto my mom tighter.
“Sit down, honey. Can I get you anything?” Mom asks as we step into my apartment.
“Ice water would be great.”
“Coming right up.”
Astor and Carter trundle up the stairs soon after, laden with wrapped gifts that they plop in front of me.
Hands on her hips, Carter assesses the pile. “I’m determined to salvage this day. If you want to talk about what happened with Ash back there, we’re all ears. But if you want to tear into some wrapping paper first and discover all the awesome things Papaya’s aunts gifted, I’m cool with that, too.”
I almost feel the pull of my lips when I offer a smile. “Let’s do some presents.”
“Good choice,” Astor says as she sits beside me on the couch. Mom comes in soon after, setting down a water on the coffee table, and flanking my other side.
I make the necessary oohs and aahs over their thoughtfulness. These girls went out of their way to assist in my happiness, going so far as to fly my mother in to be by my side. In return, I make extreme effort to match their enthusiasm. I am grateful and do feel loved, I just can’t help but feel…
Something’s missing.
My heart, maybe.
“Excuse me,” I say, rising from the couch.
“Bathroom break?” They all say in unison.
Laughter escapes me. “What, am I so obvious?”
“Go on.” Astor moves her legs, so I can get out. “We know that baby does some boxing sessions in there.”
I head to the bathroom, doing my business, washing my hands, and staring vacantly into the mirror.
Michael’s execution hangs on my shoulders. Ash’s speech takes over my head. The baby takes up my center. Mom holds my arms. Astor and Carter’s efforts fill my conscience.
I’m not sure when I’m going to feel myself again.
When the bathroom door opens, I squeak in surprise.
Astor shuts the door softly behind her.
“Astor, what are you—?”
“Carter and your mom are cleaning up the living room,” Astor says. “I thought this could be my chance.”
“Chance to what?”
“Talk to you.”
She hits me with a level stare, and I know instantly what this is about. “What you overheard at the restaurant, it’s more complicated than me refusing to see my brother.”
Astor nods. “I know. More than you’ll ever be aware.”
I tilt my head at her.
“Your last name used to be Royle,” Astor says. “You’ve had to become an entirely different person due to the actions of another person. It builds a kind of resentment not many outsiders can understand.”
I gape at her, surprised by Astor’s accuracy. Either Hayes isn’t Astor’s real last name, or she knows someone who…
“It’s part of the job,” Astor says with a one-shouldered shrug. “I have a few clients in similar predicaments. I’ve heard a lot of things. Seen even more. So, if you need someone who can understand—who has an unbiased perspective, I’m here to talk. I saw the way your mom was looking at you when you said you had nothing more to say to your brother.”
“He’s set to be executed,” I blurt.
“Are you okay dealing with that?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “He did a terrible thing. But he was a good brother to me for a lot of years. How do I reconcile the two?”
“That’s not your job. It’s his. That’s his choice. You don’t do what he did without being aware of the consequences.”
“But am I going to be all right? Knowing he died without another word from me?”
Astor chews on that for a minute. “Maybe that’s the way you should look at it. Not by giving him what he wants—since he doesn’t deserve it—but giving yourself a kind of closure. He hurt you. He lied to you. And in destroying strangers, he also destroyed his family. Perhaps letting him know that might help you.”
“I tried to let go of those feelings a long time ago.”
“But it’s a poison. Believe me, it festers. It screws with your brain.” Astor puts a hand to my arm, then drops it just as quickly. “I’m not here to push you. I’m not even here to ask for details on what your brother did. But it’s affecting you, and in this case, there’s only one chance. It’s a matter of asking yourself what kind of regret can you live with? Not talking to him one more time, or facing him one last time?”
Astor puts her arm across my shoulders, a rare show of affection. “Though, I want you to know, you have one of the best support systems around. From Carter, to me, to Locke and his friends … we’re here for you. And your mom is, too.”
I resist the urge to bury my face in her neck. To hug and be physically supported, in a time when I have to draw on my own energy if I want to get through this.
“And as for Ash…” Astor begins.
I shake my head on a sigh. “It’s your question all over again. What form of regret do I want to live with?”
Astor says solemnly, “You’ve got a lot of fucked-up choices to make for a twenty-four-year-old.”
“But you said it yourself.” I tilt my chin up to see her better. “I have one of the best support systems around. I might as well use it.”
It’s approaching ten PM, and Astor and Carter left a few hours ago for their hotel. I had a feeling, despite her assurances, Astor had plans for a luxurious stay in a five-star hotel as soon as her feet hit Floridian pavement.
My mom remains, choosing to stay with me and sleep on the couch.
“Hot cocoa?” Mom asks as she sits down, throwing one leg up so she can face me. She hands me a steaming mug.
“Thank you,” I say, blowing into the cloud of marshmallow fog.
Mom lifts the rim of her mug to her lips. Before sipping, she says, “Busy day.”
“Uh-huh.” I scan the room, full of colorful additions, like a light-up baby walker, wooden blocks, and a foam playmat. I’m thankful my friends thought of things—namely Carter—like a bottle sanitizer and swaddle blankets.
“How are you holding up?”
I shrug, blowing on my mug more for something to do. “I’m doing okay.”
“You’ve had a lot to deal with, in addition to figuring out how to bring a baby into the world.”
“I know, Mom.”
It comes out more curt than I intended, but I’m silently begging her not to bring up Michael again.
“That Asher gentleman.” Mom brings her other leg up, curling into the cushions. “He certainly tried to make his case.”
“He’s very good at that,” I mumble under my breath, “but I’m pretty sure it’s too little, too late.”
“Pretty sure?”
“He brings in a lot of emotions, right here.” I point to my heart.
Mom puts a hand on my thigh. “Most men who are worth it, do.”
I’m surprised my mom’s going to bat for him. “Last I checked, you didn’t like him at all.”
“But it’s not about me, i
s it? I don’t like how he treated you when you found out you were pregnant. I don’t like that the two of you weren’t careful enough. I wish you’d spent these last months with the father supporting you. I hoped you would’ve told me about this much sooner, so I could’ve been there when he didn’t want to. But that’s not how the world works. We are responsible for our own happiness, as well as our misery. And you, my love, have made me so proud.”
I turn to her.
“I know I haven’t done enough to show that to you, but it’s true.” Mom leans closer. “Michael has taken up a lot of my time—my heart. And you became the child nobody had to worry about, and I’m sorry for that. I am. And when you needed me most, I wasn’t there.”
“Rightfully so,” I say. “Michael didn’t just drop out of school or shoplift. He—”
“Honey.” Mom puts a hand to my cheek. “This is about you right now. You. My daughter. The girl who became faced with a woman’s toughest choice, and you made it on your own. Despite having your world crushed, being forced into a new last name, a different life. You are the reason I can face my days. Because I know, despite everything that’s thrown at you, that you’ll be okay.”
“Now I have someone else to think about.” I rest an arm across my belly.
“Yes. And you’re already taking control.”
I look down. Admitting quietly, “Sometimes, I don’t want to fight anymore.”
“Oh, honey,” Mom says. “Welcome to motherhood. It shows us our greatest strengths but highlights all our weaknesses. No mother is perfect.”
“Mom.” I put my mug down. “What Michael did is not your fault.”
Mom’s chin drops. She shakes her head.
“It’s not.” I scoot closer and take her hands in my own. “You and Dad were the best. We were raised well, and happy. All my Christmas memories are of you, helping us bake cookies for Santa. And Easter egg hunting. And the Halloween costumes you stayed up all night making for us, constantly forcing us to be a team. Sully and Mike. Jessie and Buzz. Beauty and the Beast. And when our Disney obsession was done, a cop and a donut. And all those times in between when you soothed our nightmares and stayed home from work when we were sick.” I squeeze her hands. “I don’t know why Michael chose to kill. But I do know it is not because of his upbringing. This. Isn’t. Your. Fault. And I’m sorry I didn’t do enough to show that to you.”
“Sweetie.” Mom’s eyes well up, and she releases my grip to cup my face. “That was not your duty. You’re my child. You are my light in the world. I love you so much.”
Tears fall down my cheeks. “I love you, too, Mom.”
She brushes the tears from under my eyes. “If he makes you happy, you should trust in him.”
I sniff and draw away. “Who? Ash?”
“I have a lot of what-ifs in my life. Happiness is based on risk. So, if any part of you believes what he said this afternoon, you should give him a chance. All it takes is one second, a brief period of ignorance, and everything changes.”
“But it’s not about me, anymore. It’s about Papaya.” I hold my stomach with both hands, remaining amazed at the curvature.
“I know you, Sophie,” Mom says. “And you planned on having the father be involved, however you could do it. You were not going to deprive this child of a dad, and you were going to do everything in your power to make it so. Even if it came down to monthly visits. Or holidays. Or a summer weekend. If Asher wanted to be, you were going to let him in this child’s life. You are putting this child first.”
I can’t argue with her.
“So, tell me, why aren’t you giving yourself the same respect?”
I frown. “I—”
“Do you love him?”
“I … I don’t know.”
Mom rubs between my shoulder blades. “Maybe you should give yourself the time to find out.”
“So much has happened between Ash and I meeting to … now.”
“Yes. History creates itself no matter how hard we try to change it. Look to the future, instead.”
“And if I’m still unsure?”
After a few seconds of thought, Mom says, “A baby is only as happy as its mother. So, if you think your path leads you to Ash, then so be it. I have no doubt that whatever happens, you will protect Papaya at all costs.”
“I don’t let on how hard it is sometimes,” I admit. “To my friends, I like to pretend I have it all under control, when really, I’m drowning with indecision. So, if it’s okay with you, Mom…” I lean my head on her shoulder, staring at our two cooling cups of hot chocolate, side by side on the table. “Until I find my own strength, I’m going to borrow some of yours.” I raise up to kiss her on the cheek before settling back in. “Because you’re the strongest mom I know.”
“Sweetie…” Mom chokes back whatever she was going to say next.
Instead, she wraps her arms around me, holding on.
History creates itself no matter how hard we try to change it. Look to the future, instead.
Mom’s words spin around the room restlessly as I try to get to sleep.
Slumber is more of a relative term these days, since no mattress or pregnancy pillow seems to allow me the small gift. Adding today’s events to it doesn’t help, either.
I give up. Prop the pillows so I can sit against the headboard.
And grab my phone.
At first, I scroll through Facebook, pretending to pay attention to the posts. Then, I turn to Instagram, but I’m staring through the photos. I decide on an eBook, try burrowing into my covers, and get to reading.
Only all the letters blur.
“Fine,” I mumble to my traitorous brain. “Fine.”
I scroll through my contacts and find the number I need.
He picks up on the third ring.
“Soph?”
“Hi, Ash,” I say into the darkness.
He breathes on the other end, small inhalations with a deep exhale. “I wasn’t sure if I’d hear from you again.”
“Me, neither.” I pick at invisible lint on the comforter. “Are you still here in Florida?”
“Yeah. My plane needs to refuel.”
A swell of relief lightens the weight against my ribs. “Good. I was thinking … we didn’t say everything that was needed today. There were a lot of people around us. It was loud, my mom was there, and I … I cut you off pretty abruptly.”
“It wasn’t really the place to make such a grand gesture,” Ash admits. “But I couldn’t wait any longer, bombshell. I’d lost enough time being my typical selfish self.”
“Well, I was wondering.” I’d slid down the headboard, so I shimmied back up. More of a distraction than necessity. “If you wanted to come on a ride with me tomorrow.”
“Ride? Where?”
“It’ll be a fairly long road trip. But I can’t fly, for obvious reasons. And honestly, I’d like you there. It also gives us some time alone, to talk.”
“Yes, Soph. Absolutely. Where?”
“To Georgia.”
“Uh … not to question the second chance you’re giving me, but why Georgia?”
“It’s where my brother is.”
I’m met with a speaker full of silence.
“I’d like to talk to him, too. One more time,” I say.
Ash doesn’t say anything. Too many seconds are ticking by with his silence, and I’m getting worried he’ll reject my offer. Ash has issues of his own, but maybe it’s possible for someone else to come into his life with too much baggage.
“You have me,” Ash says at last.
A smile plays against my lips as I breathe out. As the implications of seeing my brother for the first time in almost a decade sink in. “Thank you.”
“I’ll pick you up first thing.”
“Okay.”
“Goodnight, Soph.”
I murmur goodnight, and this time, with resolution settling over my body like a thick blanket, I have no trouble rolling to my side and falling asleep.
&nbs
p; Papaya elbows its approval.
28
Ash
As promised, I pick Sophie up first thing in the morning.
Dawn has barely broken through the sky as I roll up on her building, my rental as quiet as a purring feline. I don’t cut corners when it comes to a good ride. Especially considering my cargo today.
I step out and shut the door quietly, conscious of who may be staying with her and waking them. Mostly conscious of her mom, whom I doubt thinks good thoughts when I’m around.
But I’m dressed in my Sunday best, in suit pants and an unbuttoned collared shirt, most of my ink covered tastefully with fabric.
I also want to make a good impression on the prison guards.
Before I get to the entrance, Sophie steps out into the brimming sunshine, perfectly round and beautiful in a denim dress.
“Hey,” I say to her.
That’s what you say to a girl who stuns you senseless in just one step, right? A girl who has the rising day behind her, and me, the goof who didn’t know what he had when he had it, in front of her.
“Hi,” she answers, and adjusts her purse on her shoulder.
“Let me take that.” I lift it off her arm, not surprised at all at the heft and weight of the thing.
I use my free hand to open the door for her. “Your chariot awaits.”
“Thank you,” she says, and I rush around the barrier of the door to help her in. “I’m not as graceful as I used to be.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been graceful,” I say with a smile, then shut the door.
I get in my side, turn on the engine, and merge into traffic, but I don’t push her. She asked me to be here, and that means something, but it doesn’t mean I have the right to start grilling her.
What are you thinking, bombshell?
Sophie’s face is a pale moon against the lemon yellows and rosé pinks of the rising sun through the windows.
Do you want to give this a chance?
Her profile moves away. All I can glance at are the golden strands of her hair.
Have I ruined everything? I’ve woken up, Soph. I wasn’t the man you needed me to be, but now I am … at least, I think I am. I don’t know myself anymore.
Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection) Page 76
