Twenty Six
Dear Calla, I’m so sorry.
Mila sighs and leans back on her lounge chair, shading her eyes from the sun. “You’re really milking this.”
The past few weeks have been a blur of questions, both from the police and from inside my mind. The media has camped out in front of my house while Mila and Jacob have camped out on either side of me. Mila offered her mother’s lake house to escape from the vultures demanding answers. Unfortunately, the time away hasn’t distracted the vultures in my mind. I’ve spent hours piecing together the past few years, putting pins in the events that I know to be true and putting question marks on the events that confuse me. The ratio of pins to question marks is 1:1,000.
Every minute or so, an image of Ash slips to the forefront of my brain, demanding I pay attention to him. Even my memory of him is arrogant and absolutely impossible to ignore.
When I saw Ash standing on the other side of my front door that day, I almost didn’t recognize him. He was not only the size of Hulk, but he looked older, more worn down than he did a year before. At first I thought he was the man on the other side of the door who was given orders to shoot on sight. That’s when I saw the black masking tape over my peephole, and I realized no one was on the other side of the door except for more of Shawn’s lies.
I doubt I will ever forget the image of Ash when Shawn said his brother’s name. Something broke inside of him. He looked desperate, horrified. His face lost all color. His body sagged against the countertop as he stared out unseeing eyes. But when he refocused his gaze and stared at me, begging me to do something, I knew what I needed to do.
I shot the rest of the black box on the floor. Since I don’t have the best aim, I had to shoot it five times until the box was completely shredded.
I’m definitely not getting my security deposit back.
Ash hadn’t even jumped at the gun blast. It wasn’t until I dropped the gun that he moved at all. Walking over to the sink, he ran the water and grabbed a paper towel. Silently walking toward me, he reached for my hand. I put my hand in his and felt the immediate strength in his palm as I let him guide me over to the couch. He motioned for me to sit down, and I fell back, having the presence of mind to tighten the belt on my robe.
When he kneeled in front of me, I let out a weak breath and let him wash the blood from my cheeks with his steady hand. We stared at each other like we were seeing each other for the first time. I didn’t have the chaos of thoughts to distract me from the moment. I didn’t have snark or sarcasm waiting on my tongue to lighten the moment. I felt nothing but the warm paper towel against my skin.
He finally pulled back when the cops came in and he had to grab Simba, but he didn’t look away. Even as the cops spoke to us, we didn’t look away from each other. We both filled them in the best we could but my answers were brief. Ash didn’t leave a single detail out. It wasn’t until we were asked to come down to the station that we broke our eye contact and became two separate witnesses to a crime we still didn’t understand.
Mila opens a magazine and leans over, brushing her long bangs out from in front of her glasses.
“I wasn’t going to tell you, but Ash is on his way.”
Her words come out in slow motion, but my body hears the message immediately. “Ash Sanders?”
Mila looks up over the top of her magazine and shoots a quick glance at Jacob diving into the pool. “I wouldn’t let him come sooner. I figured he’d unwillingly bring the media with him.”
As with any hurricane, the media storm has had many casualties. Starting as just a disorganized line of thunderstorms, the converging winds of truth soon pulled the storms together. Seder, Cole, Rethers, Drew, their fathers, and countless other men and women seem to be fueling the storm, strengthening the range of its attack. Every day a new name is released, and every day a new life is ruined.
But I like to think that every other day a life is saved. Helping Hands gained unfortunate notoriety with how much time and money the Sanders family had given to Jacob's organization. When the theatrics of the investigation made wallets close, I was more than happy to open the envelope Ash had given to me a year ago. The money may have been dirty, but the only way to make it clean was to use it to help repair the damage they caused.
The Sanders family’s reputation has, of course, been the hardest hit. Ash’s father has sat in the hot seat for weeks. The media has charged him with innumerable crimes, while he has denied every single one. Cole and Ash have also been accused as accomplices, but there doesn’t seem to be enough evidence to hold either one of them. No one knows the direction the storm will take or how many millions of dollars it’ll cost to cover up. I just want it to be over. For good this time.
As if on cue, Jacob steps up to our chairs and shakes his wet hair out over us. Predictably, we both shriek and kick at him. I kick him a bit harder than I normally would. “You let Mila invite Ash over? What happened to ‘I’m going to burn him in my mother’s bacon grease’?”
Jacob shoots a confused look to Mila then back to me. “I told you. She didn’t have any grease left.”
I smack the seat cushion. “You know what I mean.”
Jacob throws a towel over his neck and pulls on both ends. “I also told you I’d always take care of you—always look out for you.”
He holds his arms out as if to say, “Tada.”
This time I kick him in the thigh.
“Ow!” he howls. “Geez, woman. I think Ash would be good for you and vice versa. You’re both equally aggravating and proud, but together you’re an entertaining circus act.”
Mila nods, turning the page of her magazine. “I can definitely see that.”
“Me too.”
My body responds to Ash’s deep voice by shrieking. Out loud. As if that’s not embarrassing enough, I also let out a loud gasp and watch helplessly as my spit flies everywhere.
I really am so classy.
Just as he walks up next to Mila’s chair, I reflexively blur my vision and keep my expression as neutral as possible. I get an eye cramp from the strain and focus my eyes just as he lifts his head to acknowledge me. His eyes hide behind aviator glasses, but his face isn’t what I’m now focused on.
The man left his sleeves at home and instead brought beautiful arms and crazy, sculpted shoulders. First chance I can, I’m burning the rest of his shirts and finding out what other muscles hide underneath the cotton. His chin dips like he’s assessing my body, so I try to suck in every ounce of skin, praying I have long-term muscle memory.
Ash takes a in long breath and nods his chin down at Mila. “All right, scoot, short stuff.”
Mila folds her arms and doesn’t budge. “No way. You’ll totally screw this up.”
“Yeah, because your plan is going so well.” Ash bends down and picks her up. She’s yelling, but she takes off her sunglasses and shoes, knowing men well enough to know where he’s going to move her. A few seconds later, Ash dumps her into the pool.
She comes up sputtering and smacks the surface of the water. She’s trying her damndest to keep the smile off of her face as she yells at him. “You think you’re all big and tough now. I’d like to see which one of us could win in a fifty meter race.”
Ash regards her with his hands on his hips. “Care to wager?”
She swims to the edge of the pool. “If I win, I get my chair and my plan back. If you win, you get my chair, and I don’t interrupt you and Calla for an entire hour.”
Ash brings his hands around to his upper back and pulls the shirt overhead.
Holy mother of God. Mental fucking orgasm.
I think my mind powers down as I focus all of my energy on studying the muscles on his back as he dives into the pool. As soon as he goes under, I close my eyes just to try to cling to the afterimage.
I hear Jacob chuckle from next to me.
I open my eyes and point to the pool. “Did you see that man’s shoulders? Did you know you could get muscles here?” I gesture to the middle of my back. “I never even knew we had muscles there.”
Jacob rolls his eyes and puts on his sunglasses. Leaning back on the lounge chair, he sighs. “We haven’t talked much since everything happened.”
My head snaps in his direction. “What the hell are you talking about? We’ve done nothing but talk. I can’t go two hours without one of you calling me.”
“We haven’t talked about that guy.”
I shift my attention back to the pool, but I can’t see either of them underwater. “Don’t think there’s much to talk about. His dad’s lawyer is saying I made the whole thing up. Says I’m a gold digger, looking for attention.”
A muscle ticks in Jacob’s jaw. “Except everyone that matters knows that’s not true.”
He shakes his head and tips his head toward me. “That night at the fundraiser? Was the first time I saw you come alive. I’ve known you for years, Cal. Watched what the world did to you, but that night? I finally watched you wake up.”
I shake my head and groan. “Like Sleeping Beauty, huh?”
He grabs my hand and squeezes. “Like Calla Kennedy.”
Mila pops out of the water, glaring at Ash. He has his elbows relaxed on the brick behind him, and he’s barely breathing heavy. She splashes him with a huge gush of water, but he doesn’t flinch. Instead he turns to me and our eyes lock.
I sense something shifting in the air between us. He sees it, and I think he feels it too as he puts his hands on the side of the pool and lifts himself out of the water. Had I been lightheaded by the size of his back, I am literally swaying in my seat at the lean, powerful body walking my way. His broad and sculpted chest isn’t the only thing that has me drooling. Snaking around his upper arm is a black barbed-wire tattoo that I hadn’t seen before.
Jacob leans into me and whispers, “He’s going to eat you alive.”
I straighten my shoulders, embarrassed by my body’s reaction. “God I hope so.”
Jacob groans. “Yeah, I’m out,” he says, then walks over to the pool.
Ash stops at the foot of my chair, but his normal arrogance seems buried by a hesitation that I hate. Water droplets drip down his chest, changing direction every time it reaches a muscle. I watch as a single droplet tries to move through the maze of lines all over his torso before disappearing behind the drawstring of his suit.
I swallow hard, pretending I’m not jealous of a drop of water.
Clearing my throat, I sit up and hold out my hand. “Calla Kennedy.”
He nods and without missing a beat, shakes my hand, “Ash. Just Ash.”
A wave of emotion flashes over his face like it still hurts him to distance himself from his family, but he recovers quickly and grabs an extra towel out of the bin.
Searching for something to say, I stupidly gesture to his body. “That’s new.”
Thinking I’m talking about his tat, he holds out his arm to look down at his ink. “Would you believe me if I told you it didn’t hurt a bit?”
I tilt my head and study the deep lines of the vines. “No.”
He lets out a breath. “Good, because it hurt like hell. I mean, seriously? What was I thinking?”
He falls into the chair next to me like he’s exhausted all of a sudden. He runs a hand over his five o’clock shadow and then grabs Mila’s white sunglasses from the table between us. Putting them on, he leans back and lets the sun illuminate every inch of his delicious body. Seems like a total overkill but I’m not complaining. God’s allowed to show off his best work any time he wants.
From this angle I can tell his eyes are closed, so I turn my head and do the same.
“I have a speech.”
A breath catches in my throat. “I thought you hate speeches.”
He sighs as a gust of wind blows over my sweaty-soaked body. Goosebumps prickle my arms and I wet my lips, tasting the suntan lotion on my face. Opening my eyes, I reach over for my iced tea and gasp when I see him staring at me. Even Mila’s ridiculous over-sized glasses can’t lighten the severity of his expression.
“I’m so sorry.” His words are barely above a whisper but he doesn’t turn away. “I know it’s not enough. I know it’s not even close to enough, but I am sorry. I don’t want your forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. My family definitely doesn’t deserve it, but I honestly didn’t know, Calla. I had no idea what my father and my brother were capable of doing. The lengths they went to ruin people over grudges and petty shit.”
He finally turns away and stares up at the sky. “Every day I hear a new story—learn about a life they completely ruined. For what? I asked my dad a few weeks ago why he did it and you know what he said? Because I could. How does someone like that exist? How does someone sleep at night?”
I know his questions are rhetorical so I take the moment to study his profile, wishing I could say something. I know he won’t believe me if I say, “It’s okay” because no amount of apology can ease the knowledge that his family is full of assholes. Not only that, but it’s not okay. I’m not okay, and I certainly don’t forgive them.
“I can’t even tell you what these past few weeks...” He blows out a breath and shakes his head, “I don’t know how you did it for as long as you did. Sometimes I wake up and I swear I can’t breathe. It’s like the second before the alarm goes off that I remember, you know? Like it wasn’t just some bad dream. They really set out to ruin people’s lives—ruin your life, and for what? Vengeance? Money?”
He pauses and wipes his hand down his face again. “I don’t know how to make this right for you. I don’t even know where to start.”
I turn away and close my eyes, taking in an unsteady breath. “Maybe it’s not your job to. Maybe there is no way to make it right, and you just have to accept that and move on.”
“Move on,” he mumbles. “I don’t even know what that means anymore.”
Swallowing, I open my eyes and look at him, feeling a surge of confidence I haven’t felt in years. He must sense my eyes on him because he finally turns his face so that he’s looking at me. “I could help you.”
Embarrassment makes me turn my head back to the sky and close my eyes, praying he thinks my blush is just overexposure from the sun. Heavy silence follows until a tapping sound makes me open my eyes. He taps out a tempo on his stomach and I get the impression the old Ash is trying like hell to break into our conversation. I’m praying like hell he’s able to. I’m tired of feeling. I’m tired of sulking. I’m tired of asking why and doubting the whole fucking world. The old Ash had energy, an optimism that reeled me in. He gave me a distraction—a place to feel normal—in a life that felt anything but. No matter that he was arrogant as all hell, his confidence was addicting.
He lets out a loud breath. “I’m glad you say that. Then at least I know I won’t have to convince you,” he finally says in a tone that’s laced with snark.
His eyes are still hidden behind Mila’s white glasses, but his smirk is what does me in. “Force me to…?”
He shrugs and runs a finger along the lines of his stomach. While I get the impression he’s touching himself without intention, my body instantly sparks to life as my eyes trace the path of his finger. My nipples push against the confines of my blue bikini, and I press my legs together to get a bit of relief from the immediate surge to my cookie.
When his finger pauses and I break out of the spell, I look up and can tell he’s staring at me. Instead of gloating. his expression takes on a heated look. Even though I can’t see his eyes, I can practically feel them on every inch of my skin as his tongue brushes along the seam of his lips.
His voice is deep and painfully seductive when he says, “I made you a promise when I said goodbye to you.”
Although it’s been a year, I know exactly which promise he’s referring to. I’ve read his letter countless times and have committed his words to memory, using them in my fantasies as often as possible. “Once you build that life—once you find whatever it is you feel like you need to find— come find me. I’ll be the one with the shit-eating grin on my face and deep inside of you.” Now that he’s lying here dripping with water and sex, I realize my imagination did a shit job painting him. He’s so much more than a piece of eye candy. He’s the largest lollipop ever created, and I’m going to have fun licking every inch of him.
“So what do you say?”
I raise my eyebrows and lick my lips, running a finger over the arm of my chair. “I don’t remember you actually asking a question.”
He sits up and puts his feet down next to my chair. Leaning forward, he puts his elbows on his knees and cocks his head. “You need me to remind you?”
I have no idea where I find the courage, but I sit up and turn to face him, putting my legs in between his. I don’t lean forward but instead mirror his expression. I trace the outline of his tattoo with both my eyes and my finger, feeling his body immediately stiffen under my touch. “Can I take a shower first?”