Chapter 35 Allie
ALLIE
I wake up thankful that my poison of choice last night was ice cream and not tequila.
I still feel like shit, but maybe not as much as I would have.
I still haven’t drunk alcohol since that night at the inn with Ashton.
Not that my life has improved. I traded one addiction for another, and my new one hasn’t proven any less damaging.
The girls stayed with me last night until the chocolate peanut butter carton was empty and Emory passed out, softly snoring on my couch.
Skylar left shortly after that. I texted Luke to let him know, so he didn’t worry.
Of course, he came over immediately to carry her home.
He seemed weird when he came in the door, but I shrugged it off.
I told Emory just to give him broad strokes, so he doesn’t know the whole story, but maybe Ashton said something?
Is it possible he’s on Ashton’s side? Luke has his demons, just like me.
He’s not perfect by any means, but I can’t imagine he would ever lie to Emory for an entire year.
I rip the covers off like a band-aid and head straight for the coffee pot.
When I enter the kitchen, I notice that it’s already brewed, a mug waiting beside it.
My mother is drinking hers at the kitchen island, her nose in that book Emory lent her.
It has a black-and-white picture of a shirtless man with an eight-pack in a suggestive pose on the cover. I roll my eyes.
I told my mom about Mark last night right after I got the voicemail. She insisted on going back to her house today, so I’m going to drive her over after a much-needed caffeine fix.
“Thanks for making coffee,” I say as I pour some in my mug. My mother jumps up as if she has just been caught shoplifting and slams the book shut, a blush creeping over her cheeks.
“Oh, right. Coffee. Of course, sweet pea.”
What is in this damn book? If Emory gave it to her, I can only imagine.
The unease on her face turns into something that looks alarmingly like pity. As if she knows something she shouldn’t.
“Everything okay?” I check.
“Absolutely.” She nervously nibbles on her bottom lip.
I go to the fridge to grab my favorite creamer, pouring it into my mug. I look over and now she’s stirring her coffee slowly, just staring at me. She’s acting like Luke was last night. What the hell is going on?
“Okay, what is it?” I snap. “You’re acting really fucking weird.”
“Just don’t freak out,” she says carefully. “I know I’m the last person in the world who should be giving relationship advice, but—”
“Relationship advice? What does that have to do with anything?”
“I always knew they were wrong, Allie. There was only one man for me, and if he showed up at my doorstep right now, even after all this time, I’d like to think I would hear him out.”
My brows pull together in confusion. Is she talking about my father? She gives me a sad smile and walks into the bedroom.
Doorstep.
She said if he showed up at her doorstep.
I run to the door, swinging it open, but no one is there.
Looking down at my bare feet, I notice a glint, like the sun is reflecting off something.
That’s when I see it. The shiny copper watch.
And the man who’s holding it, sprawled out on my front porch, fast asleep.
He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a maroon Blackwell College hoodie.
No blanket, no pillow. His elbow is propped up behind his head to keep it from hitting the ground.
His hair is messy, finger-raked, his cheeks slightly flushed.
I watch as his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm.
How long has he been here? Since last night?
Is that why Luke was acting so weird? Clearly, my mom saw him.
Ashton stirs, moving from his back to his side, and I slowly close the door, making sure the latch doesn’t make any noise.
My mom comes out of the bedroom with her bag packed. “I'm ready when you are,” she states.
“How long has he been there?”
She purses her lips. “I’m not sure. I found him there this morning when I went to get the mail for you.”
“So that’s what you were trying to tell me?
I should hear him out?” I didn’t tell my mom the whole story.
I wasn’t ready to get into everything about my dad.
That information affects her just as much as it does me, but I need to figure out how I feel about it on my own first. Maybe that makes me a hypocrite, but it’s not like I’m going to wait a whole year to tell her.
I’ll give her the same details I have, and she can decide what she wants to do.
But I have to make my own decision first. Plus, she’s still recovering from this last relationship.
All I told her was that Ashton lied to me and that I couldn’t forgive him.
“I wasn’t trying to tell you what to do, sweet pea. Second chances are tricky. Sometimes they give you something new that you would have missed out on. They can also lead to cycles you can’t break. I can’t tell you what’s right. It has to be your choice. And it’s a hard one.”
I nod. “Let’s get you home.”
By the time we walk out the door, Ashton is awake, sitting up against the wall of the house, his legs bent in front of him.
I walk by, ready to go straight to my car without even sparing him a second glance, but I halt in my tracks. My mom looks over and gives us both a soft smile.
“I’ll be in the car,” she says, walking ahead of me.
“I know I don’t deserve anything from you.” His voice is still rough from sleep. “I’m going to try, though. You don’t have to talk to me today or tomorrow, but I’m not giving up. I’ll sleep here every night until you kick me off your property and the cops drag me away.”
I don’t say anything. What is there to say? I stare straight ahead, still not willing to look at him.
“It’s okay,” he says, reading my mind. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”
At that, I walk toward my car.
Of all the emotions swirling in the pit of my stomach—anger, resentment, frustration, sadness—it’s the one I’m not expecting that outweighs all the others.
Relief.
Because he didn’t give up like I thought he would.
He’s on my porch fighting for us.
That scares me more than anything, because what if that’s enough for me to give in?