AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Maybe it was a little radio-personality growly, but I loved it. I always had.
“Ash, it’s been three months. The wounds have healed,” Dad said, giving him the ‘look’ that he was famous for in our house.
Ashton gave it right back to him, equally menacing, then plopped his butt down on the couch by the door. Leaning down, he rubbed at his calf for a moment, then his eyes met mine.
“Holy shit, kid. You grew up,” was the first thing he’d said to me in about eight years since he’d seen me last.
I shrugged.
“You look old,” I threw back, which made him grin.
“I feel old, too,” he told me with a grin, then threw a wink at me before turning to Dad.
“Can you believe she’s twenty-one already?” he asked Ashton. “My baby girl is old enough to drink!”
Ashton laughed.
“Oh good! Now I know who to send on whiskey runs.”
I laughed.
“I guess I can help out an old cripple,” I told him with a wicked grin.
Mom gasped a little, her eyes shooting to Ashton like she was afraid I’d hurt his feelings, and Dad lifted his hand, opening his mouth to probably distract against my faux pas, but Ashton just grinned back, his eyes narrowing.
“Good. This old cripple is going to need plenty of help. You can start by making me a sandwich.”
I threw my head back in laughter, then leaned forward to punch his shoulder, which probably wasn’t the best idea considering I didn’t know the extent of his injuries.
He rolled his eyes at me while I stood.
“Sure, sure,” I agreed while Dad immediately rambled on about something else.
Mom followed me into the kitchen mumbling about needing to be sensitive and encouraging while pulling out sandwich things despite the fact that she’d spent the morning making enchiladas.
“What about this?” I asked, pointing to the casserole dish.
“He asked for a sandwich,” she hissed, hurrying to slap some low fat turkey meat on the whole wheat and seeded bread she kept around because it was ‘healthier’, evidently.
“Mom, why are you guys fussing so much? He’s just Ashton.”
“He’s been through so much, honey. I just want him to feel comfortable and not have to worry about a thing.”
Well, maybe it was Mom’s way of dealing with shit, but I doubted it made much of a difference to Ashton.
After putting the sandwich on a plate, complete with an avocado schmear because Mom didn’t believe in mayo, I spent a minute putting a fat slice of Mom’s veggie enchiladas on a plate then joined them.
Ashton was just thanking Mom for the sandwich when he saw me and my cheesy goodness.
“What do you have there?” he asked, his mouth about drooling over the food.
“Oh, just some enchiladas. Mom made them for everyone, but since you wanted a sandwich—”
“Fuck that, I’ll eat both,” he said enthusiastically, reaching for the other plate in my hand.
I gave it to him with a told-you-so smile aimed towards Mom, who looked tickled pink that he’d want both. Yes, Mom’s love language toward her family was definitely food, though that usually didn’t translate to the quality of said food she produced. She tried her damndest, though.
“I appreciate you guys letting me stay for a little bit, until I’m fit to return to the Raiders,” Ashton added conversationally between bites.
