ASHTON

ASHTON DID GET OUT OF THE HOSPITAL the next afternoon. He called Laura and arranged to have his stuff picked up from his apartment. He’d have to pay the rest of the lease and that was okay, but that beat down from Gerald had opened his eyes to some hard truths.

His ugly past was never going away, not even if he left the hood, but he didn’t belong there anymore. Laura’s face when he told her about sleeping with his foster mom, and the words she had said to him about that, had loosened a hard knot in him, one he had never been able to release. Her words had made him take out a lot of the past and examine it closely, see it through new eyes, and while most of it was still ugly and awful, he could see where much of what he had done had been based on a need for survival and how those things had led him to be the man he was right then.

It also struck him that he had refused to give anything but his body and a few nights to any woman, because hard experience had taught him that he could measure his self-worth by the amount of pleasure he could bring a woman. That was exactly how he weighed himself, too – by how hard he could make a woman come – but once that conquest had been made, he had always run away. Of course, he had. He’d always been afraid that once that wore thin he’d be rejected by whomever he was with.

He’d slept thanks to the pain killers, but he had always jolted awake again thanks to the constant noise and the nurses who came in to wake him to find out how he was sleeping, something that both irritated and amused him, and as Dawson drove him toward the hotel where Ashton had reserved a room, he was tired and sore.

Dawson dropped him off, and Ashton stared around at the luxurious room – thick carpeting, marble surfaces, deep leather sofas, and a king-sized bed covered with fine linens.

This was his world now. He had the money to be there, but deep down he wondered if he even deserved that. The app that had made him rich had been a lark and fun, but he had never thought it would make him rich. He had also never considered that he might hurt people with it, that it was unfair to women and slanted in favor of men. Now that he knew that, he was glad it was gone and that he had nothing else to do with it.

The hole under the floor was always there, Ashton thought as he settled himself down onto a sofa, wincing as his ribs gave off a low throb of pain. There’s always been a hole under his feet, and he’d always dropped straight down into it.

He could recall with bitter clarity the day his mother had led him into the social services office. The sterile and cold room. The long face of the social worker who’d asked a series of blunt questions he had not understood at the time. The horrible sinking feeling as he was led into a room and left alone while his mother escaped from him.

The first family that had taken him in and then given him back because he cried too much. The days he’d spent at the adoption fairs, trying to be as funny and charming and happy as possible so somebody would want him. The hurt of being passed over or ignored.

Going from place to place, something always happened to send him packing.

Ashton had not cried since he’d been a small child, but just then a single tear rolled down his cheek. How could he deserve to be rich, to be happy? How could he possibly believe that he deserved a good life and a good woman when everything in his experience had shown him that he didn’t?

Laura had him thinking about a lot of things he was not sure he wanted to think about, like having something real and meaningful.

She was a hell of a woman. He thought that every single time he thought of her. But she was also a woman who didn’t want a relationship, and one who had no idea that he had money.

There was a problem. Lexie didn’t even know about his fortune. Dawson had always respected Ashton’s wishes that nobody would know about his money, and so Lexie could not possibly tell Laura, but she would have to know sooner or later, and he wondered if that would drive a wedge between them.

He had seen Dawson struggle with women who wanted him for his money and nothing else. The women who lived in the fancy houses and expected him to fuck them before going outside and cutting their grass had taught Ashton that women were willing to do anything to keep the money they had married into.

How could he trust Laura to be any different?

He got up and walked to the little mini bar, but he didn’t pour a drink. The strong painkillers might kill him if he mixed alcohol in with them, and he knew it.

He paced the room. After a few turns, his head began to ache and he sat back down.

He could see his reflection in a nearby mirror, and he winced. He had one hell of a black eye, and there was a large bruise on his left cheek. His head hadn’t been busted after all; the bleed the doctors thought they had spotted on his scans had proven to be not a bleed after all, and the concussion, while serious, was manageable.

The ribs were the worst, and they’d take a while to heal. Ashton didn’t like feeling helpless or sick, and he was restless as well as tired just then.

His phone rang. He took it out and saw Laura’s number on the screen. A smile crossed his lips as he answered with a cheery, “They released me. I’m free!”

Her laughter was a cure for his troubled thoughts and spirit. “Awesome. I was going to ask. So, are you okay?”

“I am.” He added, “I’m in a hotel though, thanks to Dawson.” It was partially true. Dawson had driven him there. He didn’t want to lie to Laura. He wanted to be as honest with her as he wanted her to be with him, but that distrust he held kept him from being able to. “It’s probably a good thing. I’d hate to get my skull busted again and so soon.”

That was all true. He had had a lot of time to think about that fact the night before. Gerald had a lot to be angry about. His father going to jail had taken whatever luster Gerald had in the hood. He had been reduced to trying to get a few side hustles and calling in favors, but he was a joke in the hood. Gerald was a coward, and everyone knew it. He never got into a one-on-one fight, and sneaking up on Ashton while his back was turned and Gerald had a pipe in his hand just showed what a coward he was. But Gerald being a coward didn’t make him any less dangerous. New worries sprang up. Laura didn’t live in the hood, but what if Gerald found out where she lived?

“Yeah, me too.” Laura said, then she fell silent. His heart beat picked up. Below the dry tone of her voice lay real concern. Maybe they might have a chance at something, but what?

He said, “So, how are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, all things considered.” He managed to inject a note of cheer into his voice. “It only hurts when I laugh or cough.”

“Then I’d advise you not to do either.”

He laughed. Laura said, “Shit,” and he laughed harder, one hand going to his ribs to try to stem the ache there. When he quit laughing, he said, “Are you busy tonight?”

“Not at all.” A long pause. Then, “Would you like some company?”

“I’d love it. I owe you dinner, so how about room service?”

“Oh, room service, is it? Fancy?” There was laughter bubbling up in her voice. “I’ll take it.”

“Great. What time?”

Laura said, “Well I am sitting in my car in the parking lot, so if you’re closer to my job than my place now might be a good time to know that.”

“I’m at the Swaros.”

“I don’t know where...oh wait, is that the big one downtown? The one by the park?”

“Yup.”

“Okay that’s not far from me. Would it be okay if I came now, or do you need to rest or something first?”

“Now’s great.” His voice dropped a little. His body, despite being battered, was awash in desire. He didn’t know how he was going to manage to make love to her, but he knew that he wanted to.

They hung up and he stood, making his way to the bathroom. He needed a shower. He couldn’t get the bandages around his ribs wet, but he would figure out a way to get clean. He smelled like blood and the astringent hospital odor, and he wanted that gone before she got there.

The shower – a massive thing made of marble and cultured tile – had a bench in it. Ashton muttered, “Well, here’s to hoping I don’t accidentally somehow turn my bandages into some kind of mummy wrapping,” and disrobed.

He caught sight of his body in the mirror and paused. His face was bad. His body was worse. His heart raced so hard he could feel the dangerous quickness of its pace in his ears.

He’d had worse, sure. But the sight of the ugly bruises – black and blue and turning yellow and green in spots – brought home to him again that he didn’t want his old life anymore. His fingers dropped to the scar on his abs, the old scar that had come from a knife a rich guy had cut him with, and a fight that had caused he and Dawson to nearly lose the friendship that had been all either of them had ever had to depend upon.

That life needed to be done. He knew that. The boy he had been and the man he had become needed to grow up a lot. It was time for him to try to be a better man, and he knew that, too.

The question was, who was he going to be, and how was he going to be that better man?

He had the money to buy himself a great place, sure, but he knew all too well that a nice house didn’t make a person better.

As he showered carefully, he thought about that. He found himself wondering how many women that app he and Jackson had made had hurt. That was an uneasy thought, but he thought about it anyway.

It wasn’t cool the way they had set it up. He knew that now. There was no way to fix it since he no longer owned it, but what if he created an app with Laura that was less sex-centric and more focused on helping people find actual dates?

Maybe he could help make the world a better place in some way. Wouldn’t that be a change?