Chapter Twenty #3
Thomas and Ashton exchange words, but they’re too quiet for me to hear from the kitchen. Whatever our host says is short and sweet, maybe a warning to behave. Maybe something else.
I’ve got you.
I believe him.
Wetting my lips, I try not to react as Ashton walks into the kitchen and holds out his hand. He looks so much like Adam.
Staring at the angular face and the almond-shaped eyes that are the color of brown that isn’t quite chocolate or golden but a shade in between is a punch to the gut.
His features are nothing spectacular. Nothing unique.
Yet, I’ll never forget that face. Not even when I’m old and gray and have forgotten my own name.
That face—Adam’s face—will be imprinted in my mind until the day I die.
Because it’s the shade I saw when Adam Burgess yelled out to Kourtney and me as he was being taken away in handcuffs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I don’t remember.”
Kourtney and I held on to each other so tightly that day that we gave one another bruises.
Ashton still holds out his hand, but I don’t take it. Not out of spite, but because I can’t will myself to lift my palm. I swallow, finding it hard to get past the lump forming deep in my throat as I stare up at him and notice every similarity he shares with his brother.
His throat bobs as he watches me, trying to keep an even expression but not hiding the dim in those brown eyes. “Hello, Winter.”
If he’s offended that I don’t shake his hand, he doesn’t show it. He simply lowers it, clears his throat, and slides that same hand into the front pocket of his slacks.
Say something, a voice in my head urges.
The two-letter greeting is on the tip of my tongue when I find myself saying something different entirely.
“You look so much like him,” I whisper, blinking at the same shape of his nose and lips and the way his jaw is not quite square or round but still a masculine shape.
His brother was a little heavier, like he didn’t really work out or eat right.
He was probably on a liquid diet only, or whatever food was served at bars. Peanuts? Wings?
I wouldn’t know. I refuse to step into one.
Ashton’s throat moves again. “We used to get that a lot,” he answers, voice cautious.
Used to.
But not anymore.
He gestures toward one of the stools at the counter. “Would you like to sit? I’ll answer any questions you have. Tom said you wanted to speak to me.”
I don’t know why, but my eyes go over his shoulder to where Thomas stands silently just outside the kitchen. He nods once, encouraging me to say what I need to.
So, I find myself sitting down and doing my best not to fidget with my hands or squirm on the stool. If Kourtney were here, she’d be stick-straight and glaring at Ashton to death.
Once again, my eyes dart to Thomas for a microsecond before returning to Ashton’s face as he searches for the right words. He knows apologizing isn’t going to help. What is he sorry for that would make a difference?
I swallow, reaching into my pocket and unfolding the scholarship award letter before sliding it over to where he stands on the other side of the counter. As soon as he sees the letterhead, he closes his eyes.
The only thing I ask is, “Why?”
I hear the creak of the floorboard by the kitchen, and see Thomas shift as if to see what I showed Ashton. From his vantage point, he has no idea what this is. And that’s probably for the better. Because if he knew, then I wouldn’t believe him at all when he said he got me.
Ashton lets out a small breath before picking up the paper.
He doesn’t need to scan it because he knows exactly what it says.
Which tells me what I already knew. This isn’t a coincidence.
“I watched my brother ruin a lot of people’s lives because he wasn’t learning from his mistakes.
I’m as guilty of looking the other way as my parents were, and it led him down a path he can’t come back from. ”
I don’t say anything because I can tell he’s far from finished. So, I sit on my hands and hold my breath as my heart thumps hard in my chest.
Ashton sets the paper down. “I don’t want to be like Adam.
I want to make a difference. To help people.
Not just rich clientele or people Adam harmed, but people in the community who need the extra assistance.
” His hand flattens on the piece of paper.
“My mother, Marjorie, has always been the same way. She’s been a part of various foundations and charities that have bettered the community.
Her work in the education field primarily focused on Greenwich, where I was born.
We were well off, and my mother wanted to use some of our fortune to help those less fortunate.
So, she started a foundation called the Marjorie D.
Essen Grant, which awarded students scholarships to help pay for their education.
She’s given out millions of dollars over the years to people who want to better their lives with a college degree. ”
“So this grant already existed before…?”
Before Adam killed my parents.
Before I received the money.
He dips his chin once in confirmation. “It’d been around for at least a decade before the accident.
After my brother went to jail, her personal involvement…
waned. I took over to make sure Adam’s mess didn’t impact more people than it needed to.
She cares deeply about people, and the fact that she could raise someone who was so careless hurt her in ways I’m not sure I even fully understand. ”
I shake my head, staring at the paper and not the man explaining himself. I can’t. If I look up at him, all I’ll see is Adam. “Did you hand select me to receive the scholarship for college? Did you do the same for my sister?”
There’s no hesitation. “Yes.” But that answer comes with an explanation that isn’t hurried or shameful.
“But it wasn’t money to silence anybody or heal the wounds Adam caused.
I knew better than to think that was possible.
My mother’s foundation is supposed to encourage people to get a higher education and chase their dreams. You and Kourtney fit that perfectly.
Neither one of you was going to let my brother stop you from bettering your lives.
You could have, but you didn’t. So, I reached out to your school to make sure your names were both on the list of recipients. ”
A sour feeling enters my stomach and curdles there. “You may not think it’s blood money, but it may as well have been.”
He opens his mouth as if to argue, but a throat clears from the hall that Thomas stands in. I glance in his direction to see him staring harshly at his agent. This is all news to him.
Ashton sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and nodding. “I understand why you think that, and I’m sorry for intruding. I only wanted to help you. My parents may have chosen to avoid the past we were all intertwined with, but I wasn’t going to do that.”
I scoff. “You changed your name to associate it with something positive.”
His eyes sadden. “You’re right,” he agrees. “I did do that. And perhaps the reason was selfish. I was young and wanted to make a name for myself and refused to let Adam drag me down.”
“Like he did us?” I question.
This time, he doesn’t reply.
I take a deep breath and press my thighs into the hands I’m still sitting on.
“What else?” I ask, afraid of the answer.
“Did you do anything else to get me where I am? Because you’re right.
I wasn’t going to let Adam take away my ability to live just because he did that to my mom and dad.
Kourtney made sure we would be better than him.
We were going to make our parents proud.
And if you did anything to get me there, it’ll feel like—” My voice cracks, and I hate the weakness in it.
I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly to ease the tension in my lungs.
“It will feel like I cheated to get there. Like I didn’t earn this. ”
The room is quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator behind Ashton. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear little feet pitter-pattering around. Oreo.
But that’s it.
I finally meet Ashton’s eyes, not allowing myself to be afraid. “Tell me.”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “No,” he says, nostrils twitching. “It was only the scholarship. I checked in, made sure you two were okay. But that was it. I had very little power to impact your lives in the way I wish I could have.”
I stare at him for a long time, trying to determine if he’s telling the truth. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t back down. So, I reach forward to take the award letter back, crumple it into a ball, and throw it in the trash.
Because I wish I’d never accepted it.
I wish I could somehow give it back.
“You have earned it,” Ashon tells me as I slide off the stool. I can’t sit any longer. I’m too anxious—wound too tight. “I’ve watched my family unravel and become ghosts of themselves for what Adam did. For what he continues to do by blowing up his life. You and your sister—”
“Stop!” I cut him off, glaring at him. “Stop talking about me and my sister. Stop saying that your brother ruined your family’s lives. At least you have one still.”
He pales at the comment.
Thomas walks into the room, putting a hand on my lower back as he stops beside me. “I think we need to take a break.”