CHAPTER THREE

 

 

SAM

“Is that what I think it is?” Ash asks from behind me as I pull the copper skillet from the oven.

I straighten up and put the hot pan down on the stove top before flicking the tea towel I’m holding over my shoulder. Turning around, I find her just inside the double doors. She pushes up one long sleeve of my oversized hoody until the opening sits snugly at her elbow. She always did look gorgeous in it. Young too. A little lost. She shoves her hands in the pockets and pulls out a candy wrapper. Mentos. The mint ones. She tears at the paper to reveal a solitary candy. “Please tell me this hasn’t been in your pocket all this time.”

I shrug. I’ve barely worn it since she left, but I found myself playing with that almost empty roll every time I did. I can’t help that she was a little obsessed with them and this hoody. Or that I couldn’t manage to throw it away. I tried to. A few times. But it always ended up back in the box in the bottom of my closet. “I guess. I pulled it out of storage.”

“Oh.” She glances around the room before deciding to shove it back in the pocket. “This used to be your favorite hoody.”

“That was a long time ago. What? I would have still been in my early twenties.” And she’d been fourteen. Just a troubled teen who needed someone to talk to while I walked her to her house. When her dad was home for a few weeks she started spending more and more time at our house, with and without Summer around. She couldn’t stand to be there when he was. It was too difficult. That was always the worst part, she told me. Having him so close made her feel lonelier than ever. Especially when he looked through her, like she didn’t exist in the first place.

We’d walked miles along the beach that night, gritty sand coating our bare feet, clear water washing up and over our toes. The bottom of her jeans were wet from it. We’d crossed from the public end of the beach to the private section that ran the length of both our houses. She didn’t want to go back, and I almost suggested she come home with me, except Summer was away with our parents for the weekend, and it didn’t seem quite right to let her stay when it was just the two of us.

The wind had picked up as we’d rounded the curve that led to the steps carved into the beach. Her house was at the top of those stairs. The lights from inside illuminated the sand. Neither of us were quite ready to go back inside. The breeze had whipped strands of hair across her face and into her eyes. Christ, I’d had the urge to push it behind her ear. I hadn’t though. Hadn’t touched her at all. Hadn’t allowed myself to hold onto the idea, let it scatter like sand in the wind. It was nothing at all. She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms and over the goose bumps that dotted her skin. Without a word, I’d taken off my sweater and handed it to her. It took years to get it back.

 

Ash walks across the room to look in the pan. A lock of her hair falls in her face, and I get that same urge to push it behind her ear as she turns her gaze on me. “You still make these?”

“They’re on the menu.” I jump into action, tossing thick slices of bread under the grill. I wasn’t prepared for her to show up here. Why wasn’t I? After Ru had played her video I should have expected it. Only I told her not to come to me anymore. And for years she’s done just as I’d asked and stayed away.

Now, am I supposed to ask her how she ended up on the internet and why? It’s not like what she does with her life is any of my business these days. She’s been clear about that since the day I told her she couldn’t bring her problems to my door. Although that doesn’t make it any easier to pretend I don’t give a shit.

“I haven’t had these in...” She rests against the cupboards, arms folded over her belly, thoughtful.

“Five years,” I say. When I thought we might find a different future than this one. “The last time you stayed with me.”

“Oh.” She glances at the cutlery, reaches out to straighten the fork against the knife. “I guess it was that long ago. That would make sense.”

“Yeah.” I pull the toasted bread out from under the grill and plate up, ladling meatballs on top, then adding a few flakes of parmesan.

“So now you serve them here?” She puts her nose to the steam and inhales.

“They’re a popular choice.” I half shrug, handing her the plate. What was I supposed to do? Forget how to cook them because she wasn’t around to eat them anymore?

“I’m not surprised.” She gives me a tortured smile that doesn’t make it to her eyes as she trails off. “I can’t believe it’s been five years.”

“We’ve both been busy. Besides, it’s not like you don’t visit Summer. We still see each other.” Sometimes. A handful of not quite comfortable minutes shared between us. Like we’re stuck in limbo. Can’t move forward, can’t go back.

I push open the kitchen doors, wait for her to pass beneath my arm while I ignore her clean Ash scent that used to bring me to my knees. We’ve done well putting all our bullshit behind us. Until tonight. Until she ran to me like she always has. And that video. I’ve never been so conflicted. I couldn’t stop my dick from reacting to her, couldn’t help the anger and disappointment that flooded my senses.

“On the bar? Cognac?” She makes a beeline for the stools lined up alongside it, puts her plate down and reaches for the bottle.

“Good idea,” I say, getting her a glass and taking back the bottle she’s about to swig from. Christ, I need some perspective.

“I’m going to call a cab,” she says, cutting into a meatball until it crumbles, then swirling it through the sauce before popping it into her mouth. She makes this little humming noise that bounces around in my brain along with the audio I can’t shut off. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Ash.”

“I am. I always have been.” She leans over her knife and fork, frozen. Then she focuses on her plate. “I told you that last time. Remember. I told you. And you agreed.”

“That’s not what I said.” How can she put those words in my mouth? “And that was the time before last.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She shakes her head without looking up. “I’m all grown up now, I’m supposed to have my shit together. And my being here is a bad idea for both of us.”

“Damn it, Ash.” I set down my cutlery, any interest in food gone. “You came here because you need someone in your corner. You came to me.”

“That’s the point,” she says. “I shouldn’t just show up on your doorstep. Especially now that you’re with Mandy.”

“What?” Why on earth does she think I’m in a relationship? Okay, so the last time I saw her was last summer when there’d been a few moments between me and her friend, but it didn’t last. Couldn’t. How does she not know that? “Me and Mandy? You’re kidding.”

“You were dating when I was here last to visit Summer, weren’t you? And you have a pink toothbrush in your bathroom drawer.” She looks at me, uncertain.

“When was the last time you talked to Summer?” I lean my elbows on the bar, reach for the cognac again and pour us both a top up.

“Um.” She stares at a spot somewhere behind me. “I guess it’s been awhile.”

“Months, if she hasn’t told you that Mandy ended up with Casper Morgan.”

“She did?” Her eyes widen in question.

“She did.” I nod.

“That must have sucked.” She pushes another bit of meatball around until the sauce coating it makes her plate looks like a murder scene. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” I knew all along that it wasn’t going to work between me and Mandy, but I got caught up in her magic. She changed things for me that I didn’t even know needed to change.

Ash does a double take that’s almost imperceptible to the naked eye. Muscles in her throat catch my attention as she swallows. Is she jealous? Snatching up her glass, she drains it. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. It’s been a long time since I knew how her mind worked. I clearly don’t know the girl who would end up in some amateur porn video with two men. “What happened, Ash?”

“Did you see it?” she asks, pressing her shaking fingers to the spot that dips below her throat. “The video. Have you watched it?”

No point in skirting around it. “I’ve seen it.”

“Of course you have.” She jumps off her stool and walks behind the bar. A moment later she’s pouring vodka into her glass and swigging it like it’s water. She cradles the half empty glass against her chest and winces. “Everyone has.”

“A fair few,” I agree.

“Freaking Luca.” She sags in on herself, leaning against the bar and clutching the glass like it’s a floatation device. “I can’t believe he did this to me.”

“Luca?” He was one of the men in the video with her. I’d assumed he was someone she knew, but the idea that it was more than that gives me an immediate issue with the bastard.

“We were seeing each other. I don’t know.” She shakes her head, pours the rest of the vodka down her throat. “Maybe he didn’t think so.”

“So you agreed to make a video with him?” I’m trying to make sense of what she’s telling me, but I thought she had her head on straighter than this. She seemed to after the last time. When she left.

She picks up the open bottle of vodka and doesn’t bother with a glass this time. “Is that what you think of me? You think I would willingly spread my legs for everyone to see?”

“No. Of course not.” I rise from my seat and go to her. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know I haven’t exactly behaved myself.” She slugs from the bottle. “I’ve made bad decisions.” Swallow. “I’ve dated a lot of men.” Glug. “Sometimes I haven’t even dated them.”

Air bubbles form in the liquid as she tips the bottle up again, and I snatch it from her hand. Vodka spills across the floor between us in a splattered line. I can do without the running commentary of her love life these past five years. But then I’m no saint either. We’re both just trying to make it the best we can. “The video was a surprise to you, wasn’t it? They took it without your consent?”

She holds her fist to her mouth, closes her eyes. She’s pale and swaying, and it’s hard to tell if it’s the fishbowl worth of alcohol she’s just consumed, or simply because she’s hurting. “But I’m the one the airline fired. I’m the one who is going to have to deal with men who think because they’ve seen my vagina it’s their property. And Dad’s not taking my calls.”

“Hey.” I put my arms around her and pull her against my chest. She’s silent, but there’s a hot patch growing on my shirt. “You know your dad. He probably hasn’t seen it. Is he even in the country? Maybe he’s stuck in business meetings.”

“Does it even matter?” She clings to me. “He’s going to find out, if he hasn’t already.”

Her hands are small and warm against my back. It steals my breath. So many times, we’ve landed here. This is who we are. This is us. Or it was, once, but it can’t be anymore. “He’s your dad, Ash. He’s not going to hate you for this.”

“You’re probably right.” She nods into my chest. “I guess he would have to care at all to hate me.”

“Don’t go down that road.” I squeeze her tighter. “He does care in his own way.”

“You care.” She lifts her watery gaze to mine and slurs her words. “You always give me care. That’s why I come. Here. To you. You’re the only one. You get it. You make me feel better.”

“Ash.” I put my fingers to her lips. Nothing changes. Well, the location does, but that’s about all. Still, I want her. The urge to make her feel better, to make us both feel good thumps inside me. And that video inside my head keeps playing snippets that do nothing to make it easier to not go with it. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

Those supple, pale lips part under my fingers and her tongue darts out to touch the tips of my digits. Sensation ricochets through me from that tiny bit of contact. “Make me good, Sam. I missed you.” 

“Fuck me,” I whisper hoarsely. I used to want to hear those words from her. Used to lay awake at night just hoping. I was only kidding myself. I knew it. Yet I couldn’t seem to stop.

“Please.” Her hands move to the hem of my shirt, bunching the material, trying to push it up as she surges up on tiptoe to kiss me.

“No. I’m not doing this with you.” I adjust my hold on her, so I can set her an arm’s length away from me. When I imagined doing anything to get Ashleigh Durum back in my bed it wasn’t fucking a wasted girl who’s in the middle of a meltdown over a porn video.

“You’re too good for me now? Is that it?” she slurs. “With your restaurant and your life all sorted?” She unzips her sweater and pushes it off one shoulder. I can’t tell if she’s trying unsuccessfully to strip because she’s drunk, or flirting with me by flashing bare skin. Maybe both. She rips out of my hold so that she can get it all the way off. Drops it to the floor. “Can’t handle the idea that the world’s been between my legs? You’ve given up on me too, Sam?”

“That’s not it.” I clench my jaw.

“You’re worried I’m too dirty for you to touch now? Is that it? You think I caught something? We used condoms. I got checked after…It was weeks ago. But I never thought they taped it. Not until it was already everywhere.” She grimaces. “Ever regret something the minute it’s over?”

More than I care to admit.

“I didn’t know they were going to do this. Otherwise I would never.” She flaps her hands in front of her then reaches for the hem of her T-shirt. “Doesn’t matter. I’m clean. You don’t have to worry about catching anything from me.” 

“You’re being unreasonable.” I grip her hand to keep her from lifting the material.

“Am I?” She sticks her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. It doesn’t suit her.

“Yes, Ash.” I drop her hand now that she’s lost focus on stripping out of her clothes. This game is played out, and I’m not the same man who told myself I was the idiot for wanting anything from a girl who was so young she barely knew herself. “Look, maybe it would be best if—”

“I’ve made it so even you don’t want to be around me,” she blurts out as she brings her curled fist to her mouth. Her skin becomes almost translucent under her tan, and she makes a painful sound in the back of her throat.

“Damn it, Ash,” I bark, grinding my palm into my hair. “You know that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” She focuses those gorgeous eyes on me, mischief flickering to life in them. She presses white teeth into that pale bottom lip as she walks toward me, drawing her fingers down her chest between her breasts to draw my eye. “Show me you still care, Sam. I need you to show me that you mean it. I need to feel it.”

Damn, she affects me just as she always has. Dragging her to bed would still be so easy. And fucking her…The need to have her starts in my blood, works its way along my spine, and makes me hard. I push the instinct away. Suck it up through my lungs and push it out through my lips on a breath. I can’t do it. Not this time. I grab her arms, try to get her focused on my mouth instead of my shirt that she’s wearing. “I’m not going to be your quick fix. I’m not going to be responsible for you feeling even shittier tomorrow. I can’t do this, Ash.”

“You don’t know what I need,” she retorts. “I knew I was wrong to come to you, to think you could still care.”

“Don’t tell me I don’t care.” I spin her around and wrap both arms around her, trapping her against me. My lips skim the side of her throat. “But this isn’t a game we play, you hear me? Not anymore.”

Wriggling and writhing against me she tries to get free until she’s panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Sinking into my hold, she moans. “You always did like coming at me from behind.”

Like I don’t know the difference between her exaggerating and the real thing. Like I don’t remember every damn sound she makes. Anticipate them with every fiber of my being. Used to. Feels like an eon ago since the last time we got that close. Another soft sound as her head slides across my chest, her hair getting caught under my arm and fanning across my pecs.

Could someone please tell me why it doesn’t get any easier to be this close to her? Why it becomes difficult to breathe when her hair smells like rainwater and limes, and the overhead lights hit it just right so that it shines? And why is it when she’s not fighting me I don’t want to let go?

I slip an arm behind her knees and scoop her up. I thought she was better. I thought she had her head on straight these days. Kissing the top of her head, I carry her up the stairs like it’s the most normal thing in the world for me to do. But it shouldn’t be.

It’s not supposed to be like this. We’re not meant to do this to each other anymore, and I don’t know how to make it stop. As long as she keeps coming back, I can’t move on and trying to is killing me.

***

Five years ago

Christ. I yank at the knot in my black tie as I walk out of the room where everyone’s gathered. Can’t stand much more of this bullshit. It’s a who’s who of L. A.’s finest in there. Or at least skinniest. Sasha looks like a coat hanger for widow’s fashion. If that’s a thing. It probably is with this bunch. She swans from person to person, dabbing her eyes and making a scene out of her grief. I doubt anyone here gives a shit about dad.

Uncle Caleb left straight after the funeral, and Aunt Lucy sent her condolences, but the rest of this crowd is Sasha’s people. I duck left and make my way to his study where dad keeps the good stuff. Kept the good stuff, I guess.

I close the door behind me. It’s so quiet in here without him, even with the muffled noises from other parts of the house. He’s supposed to be here, sitting in the leather chair behind the desk. I can practically see him lift his head and then reach up to remove his glasses. He opens the top drawer and pulls out a cloth that he uses to wipe the lenses with, then he smiles. “Pour us a drink, will you, Sam.”

I trudge across to the cart that holds his collection of spirits. Pick up a couple glasses from the antique silver tray embossed with his and Sasha’s initials and turn them right way up.

“The Ladyburn.” he says, clear as if he really is behind that desk.

I almost turn around again just to look at him, but this is all in my head. This memory is a hodgepodge of the last time I saw him and what I wish our last visit together could be. If I turn around now this moment might end and I’m not ready to be faced with his being gone. My eyes burn, and I take a deep breath while I try to hold shit together. There’s not enough kitchen twine to keep me from falling apart.

I pick up the bottle and study the white, red, and black label of the 42-year-old single malt liquor before I pour a generous measure into two glasses.

“Don’t be stodgy,” he tells me. “Today is a day for drinking. Pour yourself a double. And bring the bottle.”

I do just that. Take the whole lot to his desk. I set a glass down in front of his chair before sitting in the chair I would normally take.

“Cheers.” He lifts the glass and smiles at me. I’m going to miss this.

Hiding away in his office, when Sasha’s on one of her missions to make us all miserable with kale or tofu or whatever the next trend she’s obsessed with are some of my favorite memories of him.

“Cheers,” I echo the sentiment and sip the scotch. It’s smooth as silk going down.

“Good, isn’t it? There were only a few of these made before the distillery was demolished. Now each bottle is worth a pretty penny.”

“It’s good.” I nod as I take another sip.

“Yes, well, my death seems like the perfect occasion to drink it.”

I almost spit the scotch back into my glass. I’m aware this isn’t real, this isn’t his ghost. I’m not delusional. I just don’t know how to not have him in my life on a day-to-day basis. It’s too soon.

“I’m so proud of you, Sam. Proud of the man you’ve become.” He wrinkles his brow like he’s concerned, the same way he did the last time I saw him when we shared almost this exact conversation. Then he puts his glass down and sighs. “But you’re not happy. You haven’t been in I don’t know how long. A couple years now.”

Since Ash told me she couldn’t handle the idea of being tied down. To one man. To one place. There was so much to see and do and experience. How could she be expected to stay in one spot when she was barely nineteen?

She was right of course. What we had... it was ridiculous. She didn’t need to be stuck with a man so much older than her. I shrug and stretch my legs out in front of me. I’m only missing her because I expected her to come home for this. “I’m happy. I’m doing what I love.”

“You’re not doing something you love.” He hits the table with his fist. “You’re skating. Skating at work, and at life. What are you going to do about it?”

“Christ.” I rub my temples with forefinger and thumb, blocking him out for a moment. “You don’t know everything, old man. I’m doing the best I can.”

He’s gone when I look up. I mean he was never really there, but he’s truly gone now. My eyes water, can’t stop them from tearing up as I sit there and stare at his empty chair. I drop my head and press my forehead into the heel of my hand. What do I do without you?

The noise from outside gets louder for a second and then fades away as she closes the door before walking across the room. I know the way she moves, can’t seem to forget it. Her hands squeeze my shoulders, move across my chest until I’m wrapped in her arms. I grab her wrist, don’t dare let go.

“My turn,” she says as I twist to hug her back. “My turn to hold your pieces together.”

“Ash.” There’s nothing I can say to tell her how much I need her right now.

“Your dad was a great man.” She’s teary herself. “He was the best dad any of us could have wanted. I wish he was still here.”

I squeeze her just that little bit tighter, for her sake or mine, who knows. “I don’t know how to say goodbye to him.”

“Then don’t. Not today.” She cradles my head against her belly. There’s a hot wet patch where my face is pressed to her navy linen dress.

I want to ask her how she expected me to say goodbye to her the day she walked out two years ago. How I was supposed to just put it behind me like it never happened. But she’s right, today is not the day. I let her go long enough to climb out of the chair and pick up the bottle of Ladyburn.

Outside Sasha’s voice gets closer. “Stephen has cigars in his office. I’ll just be a moment.”

“There’s no way she’s giving away dad’s cigars to this crowd.” I stomp around to the other side of the desk and rip open the third drawer. I know the woman is my mother, but sometimes I don’t understand how we can be related. Or how my father put up with her for thirty odd years. And now he’s gone. He’d want me to make sure she’s taken care of, but that doesn’t mean she’s giving away his stuff like it doesn’t mean anything. The box of Montecristos sits front and center and I tuck it under my arm so that I can grab Ash’s hand. “Come on.”

We’re out the French doors that lead into the rose garden off Dad’s study before Sasha enters the room. We’re swigging from the bottle, share for share before we find the exit that leads past the swimming pool to the guest house. She’s in my arms, she’s all mine again before the door shuts.