Chapter 49
Chapter forty-nine
ASH
My key sticks in the lock like it always does, forcing me to pound on the door frame.
I give Estelle an apologetic smile and say a prayer that the rickety stairs can hold us both.
My brain feels wrapped in cotton. I am so tired.
Bella said I could “process” it all later, but I don’t know what that means.
My fingers tremble slightly as the lock finally gives.
“Sorry,” I mumble as the door swings open. “It’s not much. Kinda messy.”
Estelle steps in behind me, and I cringe knowing she’s seeing the wobbly table, the pot on the stove that still has ramen in it, and my pathetic excuse for a nest.
“It’s all good, Babe.” She touches my elbow and drops the tote bags she brought with her in the middle of the room.
“Are you sure Papa won’t show up?” I ask, chewing on my lip, not knowing where to start.
“Tony says he’s sleeping it off in his car at the Hangman. But let’s not chance it.”
Beckett’s house might be a little boring, but it’s cozy and warm, where real people live.
Tia’s condo is stylish like her. Closets full of designer clothes and throw pillows that are great for decoration but not for napping.
It looks like a magazine room, but it has family photos everywhere.
I don’t even have one picture of Reed. This place? It’s garbage.
Estelle doesn’t comment on the shabby, hand-me-down-ness of this place. She simply opens her oversized tote bag and pulls out a duffel.
“Essentials only,” she says, unzipping it with a decisive yank. “Clothes, toiletries, anything you can’t replace. We can get you whatever else you need later.”
The matter-of-fact way she says this makes something twist in my chest. “How long am I staying with Tia?”
Estelle pauses, her expression softening just slightly. “Let’s focus on getting your things first. Worry about timelines after.”
I nod and move to the plastic three-drawer organizer that holds most of my clothes.
My fingers sift through the meager collection, a few pairs of jeans, a handful of T-shirts, the single nice sweater I got on a half-off special at the thrift store.
I begin pulling items out, trying to be selective, but Estelle steps in and just scoops everything up.
“You’re not a clothes horse like Tia. Let’s take all of it,” she says. I jump to hold the duffel open as she wrangles the mass in.
“Did you sleep at all?” Estelle asks as she helps fold a worn flannel shirt. I feel like she’s making conversation to distract me.
“No.” I don’t elaborate. My brain hasn’t kicked into gear yet. The lack of sleep and emotional whiplash have left me foggy, running around like a zombie.
“Bathroom stuff,” Estelle prompts when I stand staring at the drawer for too long.
The bathroom is barely a closet. I snort, trying to picture Beckett in here.
He’d have to duck his head and bend his knees.
I gather my toothbrush, the half-empty bottle of shampoo, and deodorant.
There’s not much to take. When I emerge, Estelle is carefully wrapping my two coffee mugs in a T-shirt like they are centuries old family heirlooms.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, embarrassment heating my face. “They’re just cheap mugs I found in the trash.”
“They’re yours,” she replies simply.
I move to the bed and begin stripping the sheets. Liam’s iPad breaks free from its hiding spot under the pillows. I have to dive for it before it hits the floor. My hands are shaking as I stand there, just holding it.
“This is important,” I whisper, holding back stupid tears.
“I got it.” She slides it from my hands and puts it in her own giant handbag for safekeeping.
My hands pause on the tapestries hanging from the ceiling. I fold my arms across my chest and back up.
“We can take them,” Estelle says, following my gaze. “They roll up small.”
“I can’t.” The lump in my throat is so large it hurts.
“Ash?”
Suddenly my eyes are full of tears and my bottom lip is trembling.
“It’s my nest. I can’t take apart my nest.”
“Okay. We’ll deal with that later.” She rubs my arms until I sniff and nod my head.
For the next few minutes, I stand in the middle of my tiny room while Estelle dances around sorting through my life. Some things she just stuffs into a bag, others she holds up and waits for me to nod or shake my head.
Estelle picks up the half-dead plant by the door and places it on top of the trash.
“No!” I rip it out of her hands and cradle it for a second. My fingers close around cool metal, and I pull Reed’s pocket knife from its hiding place. The dirt falls away as I wipe it on my jeans. It’s not much to look at, but it was his. This is my family heirloom.
“My brother’s.” My throat feels tight again.
As we continue packing, a strange feeling comes over me. This doesn’t feel like packing for a sleepover. It feels like an evacuation.
“Estelle, how long am I staying with Tia?”
She straightens, pushing her hair back from her face. “As long as you need. Could be a while.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re not coming back here.” Her voice is gentle but firm.
“But Papa will…”
“Your father can’t force you to do anything. You’re an adult. You’re not his property.”
“He won’t let me go,” I whisper. “He’ll come after me.”
Bending to check under the sink, she makes a disgusted noise. “Is there anything else you want from here? Anything we’ve missed?”
“I don’t know what to do about my nest,” I say, miserably.
“I’m not an omega, so I’m not on the same wavelength with stuff like this. Should we ask Bella?”
I nod and she digs in her bag for her phone. Waving it, she nods towards the bathroom.
“I gotta pee. Bella loves it when I text her from the john.” She smiles big and winks at me.
Three duffles and Estelle’s overflowing handbag are in the center of the room. I nudge one with my toe. It’s not even that heavy. My whole life fits into three bags.
My head snaps up and panic drenches me instantly when I hear the bottom step outside creak.