23. Gilbert
23
GILBERT
Eventually, I make my way upstairs and to my bedroom, shedding my shirt and slacks before stepping into the shower. The hot water cascades over me, washing away the tension of the day, but Ashlynn’s words linger in my mind.
Despite her nonchalant approach, I can tell that being the topic of gossip at the studio bothers her, and it weighs heavily on my mind. I wish I could do more to shield her from the cruelty of her peers, but I know she must navigate her own path.
That, and I’m still unsettled by my conversation with Principal Richardson a few weeks ago. Sadly, it hasn’t made much of a difference. There have been fifteen trespass incidents at the Crane house since, and the security company now has the police on speed dial. It has all been students from Bluegrass High School, all juvenile delinquents looking for an adult-free house to hang out in.
I want it to stop. Will does, too, but he wants to wait until Bonnie returns. He also said there’s more to it than simple trespassing. We haven’t had the chance to check in with Bonnie since her assignment was extended. I know she has been checking in regularly with Ashlynn, at least once a week. I don’t want Ashlynn worrying about this too, so in the meantime, we’re letting the justice system do its thing.
After drying off, I change into something more comfortable for the evening: gray sweatpants and a soft white t-shirt. I head downstairs to the kitchen, intent on making her tea for a change. The room is quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator. I pull out the jar of “Sweet Dreams” tea, a soothing blend of chamomile and lavender she loves.
As the fragrant steam rises from the cup, I hear footsteps approaching. Turning, I find her already there. She’s changed into a cozy cream sweater and navy leggings, her hair still damp from a shower.
“Great minds think alike,” I quip, holding up the mug.
She laughs softly, the sound light and genuine. “Looks like it. Thanks. Gilbert.”
I hand her the steaming cup, our fingers brushing briefly. “Sit with me for a bit?” I ask, nodding toward the island.
“Sure.” She hops onto one of the stools, and I take the seat opposite her, cradling my own cup of tea.
“Melissa said yes,” I blurt out. I’ve been sitting on this news all day.
Her smile widens, a flicker of warmth in her eyes. “When does she start?”
“Tomorrow. You’ll get to eat some real food for a change, not just bland… crap.”
She chuckles. “Can I be the one to fire the catering company?”
“Please. I hate doing it.”
“Lucky for you, I’m known for my abrasiveness.”
We sit in companionable silence, the kitchen filled with the comforting scent of jasmine and the weight of unspoken understanding hanging between us. Ashlynn sips her tea, the steam curling around her face like a comforting embrace.
“Are you free tomorrow?” she asks, breaking the silence. “Say, around 1:00 P.M?”
“I could be. Why?”
Ashlynn takes a sip of her tea. “Principal Richardson wants to talk.”
“She does, doesn’t she? Did she say why?”
She shakes her head. “We didn’t get that far. She tried, but I told her what you said: that she’s not allowed to talk to me without you or Mr. Greenfield present. You should’ve seen her face. Or heard the expletives she spewed at me.”
That raises the hairs on the back of my neck. “She did what?”
“She’s usually a lot more subtle about it,” she says as she retrieves her phone from her pocket, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Her secretary had to interrupt her this time because the other teachers could hear her from the staff lounge. Wanna hear?”
“You recorded it?”
“Oh yeah,” she swipes her screen. “I record everything at Bluegrass. Just audio, though. It’s kind of an obsession of mine.”
What I hear has my blood boiling. No one should ever be put through something like that. Ever.
“How long has this been going on?” I ask her, barely disguised anger.
“Since freshman year.” Another shrug. “It was Dr. Kaplan’s idea. A means for me to reclaim some power. I don’t want to do anything with it, though. And Aunt Bonnie can’t know, or she’ll flip out, and then she’ll sue.”
I can’t believe it. “What makes you think I won’t?”
Her eyes snap up to meet mine, wide and searching. “Don’t. Please. I’m used to it. It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.”
Her lips say one thing, but the vulnerability in her gaze tugs at something deep inside me.
“Ashlynn, I know you’re strong,” I begin, my voice gentle but firm, “but that doesn’t mean you should have to endure it.”
My voice sounds steady, but inside, I’m anything but calm. The tension is palpable, a silent undercurrent running between us.
She shrugs, her expression resigned. “Teenagers can be cruel, but the adults are far worse. I’ve learned to let it roll off my back. I don’t want to ruffle any feathers there, okay? Besides, I have bigger things to focus on, and high school is just a means to that end.”
Her resilience impresses me, but I still feel a pang of frustration at the thought of her facing such harshness. “I wish I could do more to protect you from it.”
“You’re doing more than enough,” she assures me, her eyes meeting mine with a warmth that eases some of my worries. “Really, Gilbert. Your support means the world to me. But I’m eighteen now, and I’d like to have some say in what happens. And what I want is to graduate in peace, then I want to visit Paris with Wyn this summer. What I do not want is to deal with another lawsuit. People already hate me for the other two.”
I look at her, my curiosity piqued. “Why would anyone hate you for things beyond your control?”
Another shrug. “Because I got rich off of them.”
That has to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in a long time. “How is that your fault?”
Her gaze drifts to the window. “I am one of the wealthiest students at Bluegrass. More like a wealthy loner, but I prefer it that way. When people look at me, they see an ATM. Some expect handouts. After all, what could I possibly do with all that money? Others are a lot more sneaky about it, like Principal Richardson. I’m not inclined to give it to them, so they hate me for it.
“The thing is, I’m not desperate enough to buy anyone’s friendship, so I block their numbers and don’t friend them on social media. I don’t do study groups. I don’t do their extracurriculars, academic or otherwise. I have an exemption from sports since I do ballet already. I attend all my classes, do the required group projects, always submit my homework early, and maintain a perfect GPA. And I don’t cause trouble. I’m not sure what else they want from me. Aside from money, which, to which I say, I’m not a fucking ATM.”
“Is that why you didn’t tell anyone at Bluegrass that you moved?”
“No, because it’s none of their business. Not that it matters. If she hasn’t already, queen bee Frances will spread the word at school, with more than a few embellishments. She thinks she can do whatever she wants because her mom’s the coach of the cheer squad, and her uncle is married to Principal Richardson. Who, for the record, will do nothing to stop her vitriol.”
“Ashlynn—”
“Frances has had it in for me ever since we were six. I wish she would give up already. Or keep the drama that happens in ballet out of high school. You’d think it would’ve clicked for her by now that I really don’t care about being liked by my peers. I don’t do teen angst. I’m not interested in aligning myself with petty high school cliques or other childish games teenagers play. And Aunt Bonnie doesn’t care about being liked by other parents either; in their eyes, that’s a potent combination. So they find other ways to get to me.
“That’s why I record everything. It’s all saved to my cloud account. I figured Aunt Bonnie or Mr. Greenfield would want it someday. You look like you want to take a peek at it. Here’s the deal, I’ll turn it over after I graduate high school.”
Or, I could hack into it.
I could call in a favor.
My lips part to chime in, and she pins me with a look. “I don’t want you playing nice with the other parents either. Most of them are two-faced sharks like their kids, and they wouldn’t pass up on the opportunity to circle this wagon.” She waves a finger around the space. “Before you know it, one of the divorcées will sink their hooks into you, and I’ll have to call them Mommy. Gross.”
It’s hard work hiding the smile that forms. “That will never, ever happen.”
“You say that now. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re a catch, and I still won’t call you Daddy.”
She freezes up at that. Her eyes go wide, and she clamps a hand over her mouth.
My. My.
I lift a teasing brow, and the corner of my lip tips upward.
Is she jealous?
The adorable pink flush that crawls up her chest, coats her arms and cheeks, and fills her face confirms that. Her gaze falls to my lips before trailing further down, slowly, sensually, as if seeing me for the first time in the context of the five-letter word.
Fuck.
I’m seeing me for the first time, too, in the context of the word, and my cock twitches in response. A charged silence settles between us as Ashlynn takes her time studying me. It’s so tortuously slow, making my skin flare with heat. Other parts of me do, too, but I keep my expression schooled and my gaze on her.
Her eyes make their way back up slowly, and those big doe eyes, now clouded with undisguised lust, meet mine. She swallows, then licks her lips, and all sorts of things I shouldn’t think about find their way into my head.
The head on my shoulders, that is.
Things Bonnie will have to make good on, particularly her not-so-thinly veiled threats to relieve me of the family jewels. Still, the image forms and takes root, making it damn near impossible to shake. My throat shifts, and I’m pretty sure the sound of my heart thumping in my chest is loud enough for her to hear.
So while my dick says go full steam ahead, my head says pump the brakes for tonight.
Option two wins out.
I shift in my seat, discretely adjusting myself.
“So. Paris?” I ask, forcing my lips not to twitch as I change the subject.
She gives me an I know what you’re doing look, but the relief on her countenance is palpable.
“It’s been my dream to visit someday.” The rosy hue of her cheeks lingers as she delves into it, her eyes lighting up as she speaks. “The ballet culture there is amazing. And the food, the art — it’s all so inspiring. Wyn grew up there, and her late stepdad’s family has tried every trick to entice her to visit…”
She rarely gets this excited about something other than ballet, and I can’t look away. It’s pointless denying it any longer — I don’t just want her; I need her. But before crossing that line, I must be open and honest with Ashlynn first. I need to tell her the truth about Rachel and I.
Seems silly, hanging on to the ghosts of our shared pasts, but I know it would be worse if she heard it from anyone else. It’s the kind of thing that could make or break this, whatever this is, but I can’t afford to break it. I can’t afford to lose her.
When her phone rings — I know it’s one of Bonnie’s impromptu check-ins from the ringtone — she hops off her stool, plants a chaste kiss on my cheek, and disappears to her room. Her old room, not the one next to mine.
That’s how I know.
I have it bad.