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Shit, I shouldn't have been doing it. I knew better than to try and get involved with Ashton. He’d practically destroyed me two years ago when he’d fucked the absolute hell out of me then up and disappeared without a trace or a single phone call. Only a couple months in of leaving messages or texts on his phone, he’d changed his number.
Changed. His. Number.
Now, I was staring at a lifeline that could maybe give me answers…but should I? Was it worth the heartbreak?
Oh hell…
I started punching in numbers. Mom’s birthday, mine, Dad’s. None of them worked. Not until I put in the birthday for Mom and I combined did his phone open to a picture he’d taken on Mom and Dad’s latest ski trip to Colorado.
Knowing that I’d regret it, I clicked on the call log, then the number that stared back at me with the name King. Who was King?
With shaking hands, I pushed the number down and lifted the phone to my ear until that familiar static sounded as a ring cut short.
“Just couldn’t say goodbye?” came an amused male voice.
Somehow I was infinitely disappointed that I didn’t hear his voice, but also kind of relieved because I wasn’t prepared for that, anyway.
“I don’t got all day, Tommy.”
“Uh, hi,” I blurted, afraid he might hang up.
“You’re definitely not Tommy,” the voice said back.
“Uh, yeah… No, I’m not Tommy. Who is this?”
“You’re the one who called me,” he countered. “I’d prefer if you’d tell me who you are first.”
“Oh, right. This is Freya—”
“Aw shit,” was his only response.
I could tell from his tone that he was two seconds away from hanging up.
“I’m sorry, but I heard you talking to my dad about Ashton, and I had to call. I had to find out how he’s doing.”
“Probably not a good idea, kid.”
His use of ‘kid’ irritated me immensely, but I wasn’t about to snap at him and ruin my tiny chances of getting some sliver of information from him.
“King,” I said in a small quiet voice, “If that’s even your name…I need to know. I need to know how he’s doing. Last I saw him, he was still having these PTSD blackouts that only I was able to pull him out of.”
“Ash is ok. He’s been seeing a therapist and that’s helped with the PTSD a lot.”
There was a long pause before he gave a gut-deep sigh.
“That whole day was messy, Freya. It took Ash a while before he… It won’t be good for either of you to dig this shit back up. Let sleeping dogs lie.”
My chest squeezed as all the old things I’d thought I’d buried came barreling back to the surface.
“I can’t,” I choked. “I need to see him. I never got to say goodbye and he just fucking disappeared. He disappeared!”
“Yeah, I know. I was the one who convinced him to get out of there.”
It had been so long, but I remembered a man there who held me back as Dad beat the hell out of Ash. That was who Dad was getting his information from.
“You need to tell me how to get ahold of him,” I demanded.
He gave another long sigh.
