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Thing was, none of us believed that he was going back. He’d sustained several huge injuries, including debilitating headaches, or at least, that’s what Dad said.
“You’re always welcome here,” Dad murmured, more emotion in his voice than I’d heard in a long time. “You’re my brother.”
Ashton grinned. “Oorah!”
“Oorah!” he hollered back, then we dissolved into relative silence as Mom brought back a plate for Dad and I, then went back for her own.
“Karma, this is so good!” Ashton said, settling deeper into the couch while he ate. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had home cooking.”
“You’d better get used to it,” Mom told him with a cheeky smile. “We’re going to fatten you up!”
“Worked on you,” he said, pointing his fork at Dad.
My father just nodded happily and held his pudgy gut.
“So, we talked about that job,” Dad said, moving on to a subject other than his weight.
Seamless, Dad.
“Yep,” was Ashton’s simple response.
“When do you want to start that?”
“Soon as I can. I’ll be slow, but I can get shit done.”
“Let’s start Monday, huh?”
He nodded.
“Sure, Tommy Gun. It’s a deal. You only get me for the next few weeks though, so give me your toughest jobs.”
Nobody said anything.
Was it cruel to let him keep believing?
Hell, maybe he was right, and he’d be right as rain in a month or two when he finished his recovery. Guess we’d find out. Meanwhile, we had a houseguest and I was going to make sure that his stay was pleasant. At least, I’d try. And I’d start by going out and getting that whiskey.
The house lights were off, and my heart was beating so fast my chest hurt and I was breathless. Still, I was armed with whiskey and I didn’t want to be a pussy about Dad’s friend.
Sure, he was hotter than hell, and sure I’d had a crush on him basically since puberty, but that didn’t matter. He was a human being, going through a lot of shit, and I wanted to help however I could. Which was what led me to stand in front of his temporary room at one in the morning.
I could barely hear the TV on, voices droning quietly while lights flashed in his dark room from the crack beneath the door. Did he fall asleep in front of the TV, or was he still awake?
“Your feet pound like a fucking elephant on that tile. Come in already,” came his voice through the door.
Whelp, there was my answer.
I slowly creaked the door open, peeking my head through the crack.
Ashton’s face was cut into sharp angles with shadows, colorful, then bright white that flashed to black as the scenes changed on his show.
“What the hell are you doing up at this hour?” he asked, using his hands to sit upright on his pillow-stuffed bed.
Ok, maybe Mom had gone a little overboard trying to make him comfortable. There wasn’t much space left for a body after she’d put on all those pillows.
I pushed in through the door and held out the bottle of cheap spirits.
“Girl, you’re about two shakes from becoming my favorite person in the world,” he said, reaching out for the bottle.
