Chapter 22 Ashton
ASHTON
I want a lot of things from this year, but dragons may have just been moved to the top of that list.
—Text from Ashton to the Badass Book Club
“Jamie . . .” I snuggle deeper into his side and throw my arm across his waist, loving the feel of his hot skin under mine.
I swear pregnancy has made me colder. Screw the people who say their body temperature rose.
Mine has plummeted. Lucky for me, I now sleep next to a furnace.
A deliciously muscled, hot furnace. One who likes it when I use him as a heater.
And maybe use him in other ways too. “Your phone is ringing.”
Even half asleep, this man presses a kiss to my forehead, something that’s become so normal you’d think I wouldn’t feel my entire body and soul relax when he does it.
You’d be wrong. But you could think it. There is something so primal about the way this man makes me feel safe when I’m with him.
Like nothing can hurt us. And the freedom in that feeling is extraordinary.
“It’s not my phone, Ace.”
A grumbly whine gets stuck in my throat, and I begrudgingly roll over and grab the offending object from my nightstand and silence the call. “It should be illegal for telemarketers to call this early.”
“Agreed.” Jamie pulls me back, wrapping those delicious arms around me. “It’s been a month, Ashton.”
“I know,” I admit, tracing the lines of his tattoo.
“You still haven’t moved into my room.”
“Why do I have to move into your room? I’ve already moved into your house.” I prop myself up on his chest and stare down into his beautiful face. “Compromise, charmer. Ever heard of it?”
“My room is bigger.” His hand cups the back of my head. “My bed is bigger.” His lips brush over mine. “And my shower is bigger.” His brows lift, tempting me to argue.
“I do like your shower,” I tease.
“I like you in my shower.” His fingers trail down my spine, and I purr with the delicious sensations. “I’m in your bed or you’re in mine every night, Ashton. We live together. We’re raising Kyrie together, and you’re pregnant with my baby. Why won’t you move into my room?”
Shaking my head the tiniest bit, I lick my lips and smile. “We’ve been over this, Jamie. We went about things backward. I may be six months pregnant with your baby, but we’ve only been together for a little over a month. I don’t want to rush this.”
Although that argument is beginning to feel ridiculous because I do want to rush it.
I want to move into his room.
I want to create the beautiful life he paints so vividly. The one he’s so sure we can have.
The one I have absolutely no doubt we’re going to build together.
But I want to start that life on a solid foundation, and doing it this way feels more . . . well, more solid.
Kyrie’s babbling voice echoes through the monitor.
“Mimimimi . . .”
“Sounds like you’re being summoned,” I growl and push him away.
“Don’t hate the player, beautiful. Hate the game. It’s not my fault Jamie is easier to say than Ashton.”
He’s still an ass. A sexy one. A sometimes sweet one. But still an ass.
I scrunch my face up and shove him away with my cold feet. “She’s not saying Jamie.”
“Oh yeah? Then how come you get pissed when she says Mimi?” He throws his long legs over the bed, and my mouth waters.
Jamie Murphy in black jersey sleep pants hanging from his lean hips with his deliciously muscled chest shirtless and bare might just be my second favorite sight to see.
Him, dressed exactly this way with Kyrie asleep on that bare, beautiful chest is by far my first. “If you started calling yourself Mom when you’re talking to her, I bet she’d start babbling that too. You’re still her favorite person, Ace.”
“Yeah well . . .” I force myself out of bed and throw on my sweater right away. I swear these men keep the air-conditioning at frozen levels of the tundra cold. “That meeting with my mother is this afternoon.”
He grabs me by the waist and spins me around as I try to bypass him for the bathroom. “I’d feel a whole lot better about it if you’d let me go with you.”
I don’t dare tell him I would too, even if it’s the truth. “I know, and I love you for it. I do. But I have to do this alone. I need to have the kind of conversation with my mother that we can’t have with anyone else around. And you, Jameson Murphy, are kind of a distraction.”
I lift onto my toes and kiss his cheek as his hand settles on the small swell of my stomach. “Speaking of conversations . . .”
Well, damn. I walked into that one.
“I know,” I growl.
“Camp starts in less than two weeks, Ace. Either the two of you are getting together or not. But if it’s not, you’ve got to at least let me talk to your dad before then. I can’t walk into training camp without my coach knowing I’m in love with his daughter.”
My growl turns into more of a happy sigh. This man can play me like a freaking piano. “Think he’s going to put you in the penalty box for knocking me up?”
“Oh, beautiful, you fucking kill me. That’s hockey. There’s no penalty box in football. It’s a bench, and I might run the risk if he doesn’t fucking know how much I love you. But I know how you can fix it,” he taunts as I laugh.
“I’m not marrying you so you can touch the ball more, Murphy.”
Jamie shakes his head and chuckles. “You’re hopeless, Ace. My job isn’t to touch the ball.”
Kyrie’s babbles become more insistent. Our little princess is awake and hungry, and there’s a fine line between hungry and hangry with her. One I don’t feel like crossing. “You’re on Kyrie duty today. I have to get ready.”
“Finn is off today. He can watch Kyrie, and I can go with you.”
“Go,” I push. “I’ll be fine.”
Jamie drags me against him for the kind of kiss that promises so much more as Kyrie screams riotously through the monitor, and I laugh.
This is my life.
And I’m actually falling in love with it. It’s time to face my mother so I can take what’s mine and make it permanent.
Sabrina Cabot Murphy introduced me to one of the partners in her law firm months ago.
She knew, if it came to it, I’d need a shark on my side.
Someone who specialized in family law, who also happened to be vicious enough to help me fight for my sister, whatever it takes, so Kyrie could have a better life than what she’ll get with our mother.
Until now, I truly believed that was going to be the key to navigating this standstill between my mother and me. I was shocked yesterday when I received the call from Charles Baker. Even more so, when he told me Mom’s demand.
But now, over four months after I flew into Kroydon Hills for what I thought was going to be a quick trip, I sit in a private room inside the Philadelphia Women’s Correctional Facility with Charles, her public defender, by my side, waiting for my mother.
It’s awful to realize how little I want to be here.
How the anger and disappointment has turned more toward hate than love.
At least for her. If it was just for Mom’s sake, I wouldn’t have even come.
But it’s not just for Mom. I’m here for Kyrie.
And a few minutes later, as my mother is escorted in by a corrections officer who looks a little bit like Arnold Schwarzenegger circa Terminator 2, I resent her even more.
Resent having to be here and having to clean up her mess, even if that mess did bring me to Kyrie.
She looks thin, thinner than she did the last time I saw her, and she’s never been a woman who could keep weight on.
Her blonde hair seems stringy and broken, kind of like her, and the circles under her eyes make me think she hasn’t slept in weeks . . . maybe months.
But none of that makes me feel bad for her.
Not when I think about how easily she could have killed Kyrie.
The man I will be referring to as Arnold gives my mother a look, the kind that tells me she’s a problematic inmate, before nodding at Charles and walking out of the room.
Mom immediately reaches for my hands before Charles clears his throat, stopping her.
He nods to the mirror that’s no doubt two-way and gives her some kind of nonverbal warning that has her shrinking in her seat.
“Look at you, Ashton. You look so pretty, honey.”
“Hi, Mom.” God, I want to feel something besides anger, but I just don’t. I can’t. The anger is too overwhelming. “Charles said you wanted to talk.”
“I’ve wanted to talk for months, Ashton Elizabeth. But you haven’t accepted any of my calls.”
“Oh please, don’t try to full-name me like you’re the righteous one here, Mom.
Just tell me why I’m here, so we can get on with this.
” I shove my hands under the table and rest them on my lap, hoping to hide the way they’re shaking.
She doesn’t get to see my anger, not like this.
I refuse to give her anything. Not ammunition. Not sympathy. Nothing she can use.
Mom’s eyes dart to Charles before focusing back on me. “You don’t know why you’re here?”
“I know what Charles told me. That you were ready to strike a deal but only on the condition that I come in and speak with you.” I glare at Charles, still pissed I agreed but so unbelievably ready for this to be over. “Please, Mom. Just tell me.”
“How’s Kyrie?” she asks, running her index finger over her thumbnail, picking at a blood-crusted cuticle.
I refuse to let her see the smile thinking of Kyrie typically brings to my face. She doesn’t deserve that. She hasn’t earned it.
“You mean the sister I didn’t even know I had, until I walked into the hospital, and a nurse and social worker introduced me to her and said either I could take her or they’d give her to a stranger?”
Mom sinks back in her chair, and bites that thumbnail between her teeth, waiting.
“She’s good. Healthy . . .” I choose my words carefully, unwilling to give her more than she deserves.
“Happy. She’s starting to babble, and she’s hitting all her milestones.
We had her six-month checkup, and the pediatrician said she’s perfect.
Like she was never even in an accident, where her crackhead mother drove, while high, into a tree, and the car flipped. ”
Okay, maybe that was cruel.
Mom’s eyes narrow. “We . . .” She ignores the crackhead comment and goes right to the digging for information. “You and who else? That Murphy boy? Finn?”
My chest vibrates with a silent laugh. Did the entire world think there was something going on between Finn and me? “First, Finn isn’t a boy, Mom. He’s a man. A good one. He’s a surgeon now.”
“And you’re what? In a relationship with the grandson of the former president of the United States?” She was always jealous of the Murphys. Guess some things never change. “I’d say you’re overreaching, Ashton.”
This bitch.
“Yes, Finn is one of my roommates, but no, I’m not in a relationship with him,” I tell her, unsure of how much leeway to give but knowing I need to keep myself in check and move this along.
“Is he helping you care for Kyrie?” she pushes, and I look at Charles.
“Are we on some kind of a time limit here?” I ask, standing, ready to end this meeting if she’s not going to give me what I came for. And she’s clearly not interested.
“No. This is an attorney-client meeting. Take as much time as you need.”
Great. I was hoping for a different answer.
My mother looks at me, her greedy eyes staring at my stomach as I sit back down.
“You’re pregnant.”
It’s not a question, and I refuse to engage.
“Finn is helping me take care of Kyrie. So is Jameson. I live with them. That is all that should matter to you. Now can we please talk about this deal you’re willing to take?”
“Not until you answer me,” she hisses, and I regret ever agreeing to come see her.
“Yes, mother. I’m pregnant. Now can we please—”
“With Finn Murphy’s baby?”
“I just told you—” I fist my hands, my nails digging into my palms.
“With Jameson Murphy’s baby. . .” The way she says it makes my skin crawl.
“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you and this plea and signing away your rights to Kyrie.
I want to adopt her, Mom. I want to give her a better life.
Charles told me with you being a repeat offender, you’re not getting out of here for at least ten years unless you take the plea.
And even then, you might only get it down to eight years.
I know you don’t care about anyone but yourself, but if you ever cared about me or her, let me adopt her.
Let me give her a mom and dad who love her—”
“You never even had a father who loved you. You had a man who thought he was your father. Yours and Evan’s.
And when he eventually found out he wasn’t, he pulled away.
All those years meant nothing to him. That’s what you had.
So what makes you think some man who isn’t her biological father will treat her any differently than your dad treated you and your brother?
” She shrieks but it fades as all the noise, all the oxygen, all the gravity in the room falls away and my world gets upended. . . Again.