Chapter 6 Ashton
ASHTON
My ducks are not in a row. Pretty sure a few ran away. One is on freaking fire.
And I think one might actually be a baby chicken.
Can someone please tell me how the hell to get them in a row?
I’d really appreciate the cheat sheet.
If that doesn’t sum up my life in a nutshell, I’m not sure anything ever will.
—Ashton’s Secret Thoughts
“Come on, sweet girl. It’s been five days.
You’re going to have to sleep more than two whole hours in a row at some point,” I whisper as I pace around the living room at the back of Jamie’s house.
The sun beats in from the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Blue Bell Lake behind it.
For someone who doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of babies, I’ve learned a few things this week.
One—Kyrie’s in charge, not me. Not even a little bit. Once I accepted that . . . I was going to say things got better, but they didn’t. And . . . now, I’m talking to myself.
Oh well, not the first time this week, and probably won’t be the last.
My little sister—who I may start referring to as the general for the way she’s managed to whip us all into shape and get us to do exactly what she wants—seems to love the sun.
She always calms down when I’m in this room.
She doesn’t seem to care whether I’m standing in front of this bank of windows or sitting on the couch in front of the other one, if the sun is warming her face, she’s a happy camper.
Except for right now. Right now, she’s pissed because I’m trying to get her to sleep.
She fucking hates sleep.
She especially hates it when I fall asleep.
“You’ve had a bottle, you’ve got a clean diaper, and warm pajamas . . . What else do you want, sweets?” I murmur as I press my lips to her forehead and keep pacing, adding a little sway and bounce to my steps.
Twenty-three years of ballet training, and I’m dancing with a baby in front of a window.
A really cute one, but man, this is not where I thought I’d be at this point in my life.
Thank you, Mother.
“Hey, Ash, how’s the princess doing today?” Finn asks as he walks into the room, dressed for the hospital, and takes her out of my arms. The little traitor quiets immediately and blinks up at him. “Well hello there, Kyrie. Are you being good for your big sister?”
I’m half expecting her to answer him.
Not sure if that means I really need sleep or if it just shows how little I’d be surprised at the lengths she’d go to prove just how much better she likes Finn, Ryker, and her favorite, Jamie. She’s adorable, but her taste obviously leaves room for improvement.
“She’s still on a sleep strike.” I reach my arms out and wait for him to give her back. “But I spoke with CPS this morning, and everything is looking good, so far.”
We’ve had our first home assessment, and we passed with flying colors. It turns out Mrs. Lorang is going to be an ally after all, thankfully, and she’s helping me get through everything I need to do.
“Good.” He kisses the top of my head, then Kyrie’s too. “Call me if you need anything. I won’t be back until sometime tomorrow.”
He checks his pockets for his keys and phone, a habit Finn has had since we were teenagers, then tilts his head at my smile. “What?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Just you. You really did it, Finn. You’re a doctor. A surgeon. I’m so freaking proud of you.”
“Do you remember the way Evan freaked out the first time you told him we were playing doctor?” He laughs as he grabs his coat from the back of the chair. “I thought he was going to kill me.”
“Yeah well, I think that meant something very different to a thirteen-year-old boy than it did to ten-year-olds.” The memory brings a sharp pain to my chest, even if it does bring a smile to my face. “He’d be proud of you. You know that, right?”
“He’d be proud of you too, Ash. You’re doing the right thing,” he reassures me as we walk to the front door. “Have you given any more thought about talking to your mom?”
I shake my head. “Do you think I should?”
“I think you need to do what feels right for you, and I can’t tell you what that is. But I’m here if you want to talk about it.” Finn cracks the door, and a cool burst of air snakes through. “See you girls tomorrow.”
Footsteps pound down one of the two curved staircases behind me. Ones I know belong to Jamie because Ryker left an hour ago.
If someone told me even a week ago I’d be living with three men, I’d have said they needed to share whatever hallucinogen they were on.
Well . . . not really. But I’d know they were nuts.
And a week ago that would have been true.
Now—now the little girl in my arms perks up the minute Jamie reaches for her like he has a right to.
Who am I kidding?
He’s better with her than I am.
“Morning, princess.” He takes her and winks at me. “Ace.”
“Such a charmer,” I grumble as my sister enjoys all the Murphy attention she can soak in, and as much as I hate to admit it, I take a minute to soak in just how good this giant jerk looks holding her in his massive arms. Arms I can still feel holding me when I close my eyes, which only manages to piss me off even more every single time I see him.
Suddenly being insanely attracted to someone you hate, while living with said asshole, might just be the only thing as difficult as trying to figure out my life right now.
If just one thing would click into place, maybe I’d feel like I could breathe, but nothing has. Not yet.
“Did you get any sleep?” he whispers as he lifts his eyes from Kyrie, and I realize he’s asking me, not her.
I’m still not used to this . . . being cordial with Jamie Murphy doesn’t come naturally, it hasn’t for years, and it doesn’t help even a little bit that every time I close my eyes, I see—
No. I am absolutely not going there.
“Ashton . . . ?”
“Sorry,” I shake myself out of that little nightmare dressed up like a daydream. “No, I didn’t really sleep. Kyrie had another rough night.”
Jamie palms her little head like a basketball, then runs his hand down her back, and I see her face again. Her sleeping face. What the hell?
Is it possible to love someone with your whole heart after only a few days but also to wonder whether you could run away from them? Asking for a friend.
“How do you do that?” I don’t bother to hide the frustration I’m feeling. It’s bone-deep at this point and no doubt written on every inch of my skin.
He adjusts her, holding my tiny sister in front of me and lying her back in my arms. “I don’t know. I guess I just have a calming personality.”
The fuck he does.
“Do you need anything while I’m out?”
I hate that he’s being nice. I like Jamie better when he’s a jerk. At least, that feels right. Nice Jamie is just another change, and I’m not sure I can take many more changes.
“No thanks. I’ve got some work to try to take care of, if she’ll nap for a little bit.
” Like finding a job since, according to the email I received this morning, the Philadelphia Ballet is currently at the start of practices for their next ballet.
That means ten weeks of practice followed by ten weeks of performances.
So at least five months before they’re auditioning again, if they take a month off after wrapping the show.
Five months. I can’t wait five months to find a job.
My savings wasn’t big to start with, and it’s quickly dwindling already.
Why do diapers cost so much?
“Want me to pick you up dinner later on my way back?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“Stop being nice, Jamie. It’s not like you, and I don’t like it,” I finally admit, not caring that I sound ungrateful.
“You’d rather I was an asshole?” He smirks and crosses his thick arms over his chest, stretching his gray Kings hoodie tightly around his muscles, and my mouth waters.
“Yes,” I admit forcefully, expecting a fight.
A fight I can handle.
He arches his brow, and a dimple pops in his left cheek. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that, right, Carmichael?”
I smile back at him and kiss Kyrie on the head. “Such a charmer, Murphy.”
But as he walks away, everything feels a little more right in my world.
“Sweetheart.” A soft hand brushes the hair away from my face, and for a moment, I think it’s my mother’s hand and know I must be dreaming. “Ashton . . .”
“Don’t wake her up, Sabrina. That’s cruel. The poor thing probably hasn’t slept a full night in days. You remember what that’s like.” That voice . . is that Jamie? No. I don’t recognize that voice.
And that realization has me opening my eyes faster than I ever dreamed possible.
The woman sitting primly on the edge of the coffee table, her dark hair pulled back and a black sweater set on is unfortunately not my mother, no matter how many times I wished she were, growing up. “Mrs. Murphy?”
My eyes fly across the room to the swing next to the couch in full view of the sun.
Kyrie sleeps soundly, safely buckled in place. Her small arms clutching an even smaller stuffed bulldog. One the spitting image of Gus, which Rosie brought by yesterday.
Thank God. She’s still sleeping.
But I don’t know the woman standing in front of her—or, wait. Do I?
“Miss Annabelle?” I question my first ballet teacher, and both women smile.
“Sweetheart, you’re a grown woman,” Finn and Jamie’s mom reminds me. “I think it’s okay if we’re on a first-name basis.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask before thinking better of it. This is her son’s house. I’m the intruder here, not her.
“Well.” She crosses her legs and places her hands in her lap, poised and beautiful.
A lifetime spent living life in the public eye makes each move look polished and purposeful.
“I spoke to my son, and he may have filled me in on everything that’s happening.
I wanted to check on you. How are you holding up, Ashton? How is your mother?”