He nods. “Of course.”
“Thanks for the lift,” I say and rush out the door.
When I get to the front, I wait for him to drive away before going inside. If any of the kids see …
I can’t believe I left them all night.
Going to Jasper’s reunion was one thing. I knew they had supervision. This … I just walked out and didn’t come home.
I can’t do that.
The sun’s up now, but as I check each of their rooms, it’s obvious none of the kids are awake. So, I do what any parent does when they fuck up—I pretend it never happened.
I close myself in the bathroom and grab a quick shower. I notice the hamper is overflowing, so after I’m fresh and clean, I take it down to the basement to start the never-ending process that is laundry.
The basement doubles as the laundry and Asher’s bedroom, and when I get downstairs, I notice he’s not alone.
Hey, at least it’s not Ezra this time. Though, the dirty-blond hair seems famil—
“Fucking hell,” I mumble.
Just like that, all my suspicions are solidified. He’s in bed. With Kole Hogan. I guess I can’t claim ignorance of their relationship anymore. My boss is going to kill me.
I’m barely keeping it together when Asher wakes and tries to talk his way out of this one, but I’m exhausted. Last night was emotionally draining in so many ways; the last thing I can deal with is him and the fact the first relationship he wants to pursue could easily threaten my career.
Before we can get into it completely, one of the twins calls out to me, and I take the easy out and leave.
I’m immediately thrown back into the fray, and even though I’m still overwhelmed and feel like I can do nothing right, spending the night with Jasper gave me a boost. Somewhat of a recharge.
Then Asher appears in the kitchen, and it’s as if all my energy zaps again.
“Kole gone?” I ask.
“Yup.”
“You two aren’t suited for each other.”
“Why?” Asher asks, voice heavy with sarcasm. “Because I’m so pleasant and he’s a total pain in the ass?”
“Pleasant isn’t a word I’d ever associate with you.”
“Feeling is mutual, big brother.” He grabs a water from the fridge and heads back toward his room.
I follow him to the top of the basement stairs. ”I’m not convinced you didn’t do this because I left last night.”
“Wow. Someone’s conceited.”
“You’re saying you weren’t pissed at me?”
“Oh no, I definitely was. You left the kids with no one when you know I would’ve only been a phone call away, but if you honestly think I’d date Kole for months, just waiting for the perfect moment to rub it in your face, then maybe you have less respect for me than I originally thought.”
He has me there. I have suspected it for a while. “It’s not that. I just … I already have to deal with so much shit. Why are you always putting shit on top of shit?”
“When will I ever not be a fuckup to you? News flash, the world doesn’t revolve around Westly fucking Dalton, as much as you may have been told otherwise. I like Kole, and what we have is real. You and Coach Hogan are going to have to deal with that.”
And it’s a sign of how much Asher really has changed that he manages all that without epically blowing up at me. He actually sounds more resigned than mad. He pulls open the door to his room and disappears down the stairs.
Guilt hits me. I should be used to the emotion by now, but it catches me off guard every time. I go to follow Asher to apologize when—
There’s a loud crash in the kitchen.
I close my eyes and mutter, “I don’t want to look. I don’t want to look.”
“I’m okay!” one of the twins calls out.
“What happened?”
Bennett—I’m fairly confident it’s Bennett—looks up at me from the other side of the counter with glassy eyes. “I-I tried to make myself breakfast like you tell me to, but I dropped the plate … and then my glass of juice.”
“Have you got shoes on?” I ask softly. I can’t be mad because he’s trying to do something for himself for once.
He shakes his head.
“Are you hurt? Did you cut your feet?”
More head shaking.
“Don’t move, okay? I’ll go get something to clean this up.”
Ben’s bottom lip trembles, so I go to him even though I don’t have shoes on either. As predicted, a shard of glass pierces the sole of my foot, but I grit my teeth and breathe through the pain.
I pick Ben up—the twins are smaller than the average nine-year-old—and carry him to the living room, limping all the way.
The pain in my foot is more annoying than stabbing, but when I look down and see blood, the whole room spins.