CHAPTER TWO
Ashley Cooper ducked just in time to avoid the vase hurtling towards his head. When it crashed against the wall and exploded into hundreds of pieces, he cursed. That vase had sentimental value. He'd purchased it at a local thrift store during a green-tag special. Ugly and crudely made, the vase wasn't worth more than a dollar. But to him, it represented the brilliantly good time he'd had with the pretty, red-haired store clerk during her fifteen-minute break.
Bending down to retrieve a shard, he tried to recall the clerk's name. Was it Heather? No, he didn't think so. Maybe Heaven?
"Are you listening to a word I'm saying, Cooper?"
As he continued to stare down at the broken pieces, he nodded. "I hear everything you're saying, Paulina." The moment he heard her shrill scream, he knew he'd fucked up. Ashley pulled his gaze from the floor and found Paulina storming across the room. His eyes widened as she launched forward, placing her palms against his chest and shoving him against the wall.
"You asshole!" she yelled into his face.
Standing this close to her, he noticed the acne scars she tried to hide beneath her foundation and concealer. He found it odd that he hadn't noticed before, considering how frequently he found himself pressed against her. But at this very moment, he did notice; the scars didn't detract from her beauty, but they reminded him that even aspiring models had their imperfections.
"I've been thinking," he said.
She tightened her grip on his shirt. Her full lips were twisted in a snarl, and her right eye twitched. He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. "How about I make us a nice cup of tea, and you can tell me how much I disappoint you. Again."
It must have been the wrong thing to say, because Paulina suddenly released him. As if dazed, she raised a hand to her strawberry-blond hair, and she began scratching her scalp.
His eyes darted from left to right. Paulina, with her hand still buried in her hair, spun on her heel and stormed out of the room. He released a sigh of relief before he realized where she was headed.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." He ran after her, but he was too late. She had already entered his den and was standing at the glass case where he stored all his hockey trophies. He lifted placating hands in her direction. "Sweetie, we can work through this."
Paulina froze. Then her head and neck began to twitch like a zombie on one of those network shows.
"Paulina," he whispered, hoping not to startle her. He crept up behind her and grasped her upper arms. She was stiff as he placed his lips against the nape of her neck. He felt a slight softening in her stance. Emboldened, he then shifted his head so he could rest his chin against her shoulder. "How about we go grab some ice cream? You like ice cream, right?"
Her head swiveled and she cut him with a piercing gaze. "I'm lactose intolerant, you fucker!" She sprung out of his arms, grabbing his desk lamp. To his horror, she pulled back her arm and launched the lamp into the glass case, causing it to shatter into pieces.
"Why?" He knew he was whining, but he couldn't help himself. "You're being ridiculous."
Paulina whipped around. Her violet eyes were narrowed to slits. "Ridiculous?" She pointed at the shattered case. "What's ridiculous is that you care more about those fucking medals than you ever did about me!"
Ashley clucked his tongue. "That's not true."
She slapped a palm against his chest and pushed him away. "When is my birthday?"
He would have widened his eyes if she wasn't watching him so closely. Taking a deep breath, he propped a leg against his desk and sat down. He wiped all traces of panic from his face. "March 12th."
"August 30th," she replied.
"Well, shit."
He watched as she shook with helpless rage and then squeezed her eyes shut, tears running down her cheeks. Biting down on her lip, her nostrils flared as she sniffed loudly. After a few moments, she opened her eyes. He could see his emptiness reflected in those depths.
He opened his mouth, then closed it with an audible click when he failed to think of the right words. He was usually good at explaining himself out of these situations. It typically involved him making promises that they both knew he would never keep. But watching her struggle to maintain her composure, he decided it was better to remain silent.
Lest she decide to completely fuck up his stuff.
"I'll get my things," she said, pivoting on her heel.
He watched her storm out of the room and up the stairway to the master bedroom. Swinging his leg, he took a deep breath and listened to her slam dresser drawers and curse in Ukrainian. After another fifteen minutes, he heard the front door slam shut.
Pushing away from his desk, he looked at the shattered case and sighed with relief. "Thank God, she only broke the glass." He reached through the gaping hole and adjusted a medal that had fallen eschew.
When he finished, he left the case and walked out of his den. As he entered the hallway, he heard the faint buzzing of his vibrating phone. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then tightened his jaw before searching for his phone.
He found it on the dining room table. Picking it up, he expected to see a call from Paulina. Instead, it was a call from his younger sister, Jacinda.
Accepting the call, he placed it on speaker then plopped down into a dining room chair. "What's up, Jack?"
There was a brief silence before he heard faint voices in the background, and he realized his sister was not alone.
"I'm not bailing you out again," he said, tightening his grip on the phone.
He heard her draw in a quivering breath. "I'm not in trouble, Ash." Only family called him Ashley or Ash. All his friends, girlfriends, and co-workers called him Cooper or Coop, for short.
He tapped his thumb against the tabletop and waited for her to continue. After several moments passed with her sniffing and murmuring answers to someone else, he finally lost his patience.
"Look, Jack, it's a bad time. Can I call you back later?"
"Wait," she said. He could hear her shuffling, then the distinct sound of a door closing. "I'm not calling about me. It's not Fred, either. It's Aunt Reggie."
A heavy weight seemed to settle on his shoulders. He placed the phone on the table. "What's happened?"
"They think it was a stroke."
"And?"
She inhaled loudly. "And they don't think she'll last very long." Her voice faltered as he heard her struggle to keep her tears at bay. "Can you come home?"
He placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands together. He felt the heaviness spread from his shoulders and settle in his chest. "I'll see what I can do--"
"It's an emergency. A family emergency."
"I know that, Jack." He heard the anger in his voice. He took several deep breaths and reminded himself that his youngest sister was the most sensitive of them all. If he didn't adjust his tone, she'd abruptly end their conversation. "You know I don't have a normal job. I can't just call and tell my boss that I won't be in tomorrow morning. I have to formally request leave, and there is absolutely no guarantee that they'll grant it immediately."
"But you'll ask, right, Ash?" Her voice lowered to a whisper. "She's been asking for you."
His jaw tightened, and he ran his fingers through his hair. "I'll see what I can do."