Chapter 40
Ashby
I spent my eighteenth birthday the way I always liked to spend it.
Eating breakfast with my family, then hanging out together, talking and laughing while we ate cake.
Stan was here too. I had called him earlier to check in.
To see how he was doing and if he’d heard anything from Scottie.
She was still undergoing additional checkups and tests, with Scarlett staying by her side.
I didn’t want him sitting alone with his thoughts all day, so I told him to come over and spend the day with us instead.
It took him a bit to loosen up. His usual humor was weighed down by worry, and I could tell he was forcing himself to act normal.
But the moment Wesley suggested Mario Kart in the basement, Stan snapped right into it.
He put on his game face immediately, talking shit about everyone else and declaring himself the self-proclaimed king of the game.
And honestly, he was. Mostly because he’d played it almost every day growing up.
We settled onto the couches, controllers in hand, and the game loading on the screen.
“I’m not good at this,” Evie said, turning the controller over as if it might bite her.
Wesley leaned closer, pointing things out patiently. “It’s easy, love. Press this one to go, and use this to steer.”
Stan snorted, leaning back with his feet on the coffee table, ankles crossed. “She’s gonna lose. And so are the rest of you.”
Wesley shot him a look. “You be nice to my girl. You hear me?”
“Or what?” Stan shot back, raising his brows. “You gonna cry, big guy?”
“You better watch your mouth, buddy.”
They kept going back and forth, and I just sat there watching, amused.
“You wanna fight, hockey boy?” Stan stood up suddenly, puffing his chest and dropping his controller onto the couch beside me. “Because that’s another thing I’m better at than you.”
“Oh no, please don’t fight,” Evie said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
She loved this and would find an excuse to see them mess around whenever she could.
It was funny, really. Even though Stan trained in MMA, Wesley could throw a punch too.
He’d been in enough ugly fights on the ice to prove it, which you wouldn’t expect from how calm he usually was.
But on the ice, Wesley was different. It was the only place he allowed himself to throw punches when necessary.
He handed Evie the controller and rolled up his sleeves. “Thought you’d learned by now that you don’t stand a chance, Whitt.”
“Oh yeah?” Stan grinned, bringing his fists up like he was about to step into a real fight. “Show me what you got, Statler.”
Seconds later, they were on the floor in front of the TV, wrestling like idiots. I laughed and cheered when Wesley managed to pin Stan down.
[He really never learns,] Milow signed, shaking her head, and suppressing a smile.
“Never,” I agreed.
“You’re so weak, Stanley,” Evie teased, enjoying this more than anyone.
“Hey, I’m not weak,” Stan argued, trying to shove Wesley off. “Get off me, puck face.”
“Good one, dude,” I said, laughing.
“Say I’m stronger than you,” Wesley demanded.
“Never.”
“Just give up,” I told him, still entertained.
He struggled a while longer before giving up with a frustrated sound. “Fine. You’re stronger than me. And more handsome, even with your white grandpa hair and demonic, icy eyes.”
Wesley grinned and patted his cheek. “Good boy.”
They got up, and Stan sulked his way over to Milow, dropping down beside her and wrapping his arms around her. “Everyone’s always so mean to me, Ace,” he said, pouting.
Milow patted his arm, her lips pressed together as her mouth turned down in sympathy.
“You’ll survive,” Wes told him with a grin. “Toughen up, buddy.”
Around five that afternoon, Scarlett called Stan to tell him Scottie was allowed to go home. I thought it was strange. They still hadn’t figured out what actually caused her to faint, yet they sent her home anyway, hoping it wouldn’t happen again. That didn’t sit right with me.
Stan left immediately to go to their house. We told him to give Scottie a tight hug from all of us, but not to overwhelm her. She needed rest more than anything, and having Stan there would be enough for now.
Milow was still visibly worried. She had already sent Scottie a text, letting her know she was there for her no matter what, anytime she needed it.
For dinner, Dad ordered pizza, like he always did when one of us had a birthday.
I appreciated it. I didn’t want anyone cooking a big meal or making a big deal out of it.
Pizza was enough after the day they had already given me.
We sat in the living room with music playing softly in the background, eating and talking without any rush.
That was all I needed. My family was around me, and the girl I’d loved since we were kids was right by my side.