21. Ash

TWENTY-ONE

"Goddamn it!" I growl in frustration as I smack my steering wheel with my hand while weaving through traffic. I need to calm down. I need to calm down, but I can't. I can't because the call I just received with Wade screaming for help, and Sunday yelling in the background sent a wave of panic through me. I don't think I'll ever shake off.

Whipping into a parking spot, I'm not even sure I turn my car off when I rush out and push through the crowd of confused women knocking on the door. I pull out my phone and text Wade to let me in before turning to the women. "Ladies, there's been an emergency and Sunday is not going to be able to teach today. I'm sorry." There's a chorus of disappointed groans, but they leave as Wade unlocks the door and yanks me in, locking it behind him. I stare at the ghost white boy. He's trembling, and his eyes look so lost.

"Wade," I snap, gripping his face in my hands. "What happened?"

"He... He was hitting her," Wade sobs. "I tried, and she's… the blood and..." I let him go and rush into the dance floor, to find Sunday unconscious on the floor.

"Fuck." I slide to my knees in front of her and check her vitals. "Oh my god, baby," I choke, looking at her bloodied and bruised body.

"I'm sorry," Wade chokes out as he stands over us. "Ash, I'm sorry, I wasn't here fast en–"

"Your mom has a medical bag in that closet. Get it and bring it to me. Wade, bud, I will comfort you as soon as I get her stable, okay? Did he hurt you?" I ask sternly, even though I feel my body shaking with anxiety and rage. Wade grabs the bag and comes back to me.

"No," he whispers, kneeling down. "I snuck in the back. I saw him hit her through the window and surprised him with the bat." I see the bloody bat in question and nod before finding the smelling salts and putting them under Sunday's nose. She inhales and gasps as she wakes up.

"A-Ash?" she croaks out while trying to sit up. "Wade? Wha... Where is–"

"Gone," Wade says as I keep her down while cleaning her up. "He ran away, and I'm pissed at you for that! He shouldn't have gotten free!"

Sunday groans while looking at me. I'm going to kill this man—the bruising on her slender throat, the blood and handprints on her face. I'm going to kill him.

"Wade called you?" she whispers, her eyes never leaving me. I swallow before nodding.

"He did," I manage to get out while cleaning the drying blood off her lip.

"I figured he'd help me kill him," Wade mutters, sitting down in a huff.

"I'm not helping you commit a murder," I state to the boy. "I'll take care of it myself," I mutter as Sunday's hand grips mine.

"Stop," she begs softly. "Please, don't involve yourself in this. I'm sorry Wade called you–"

"You stop," I snap as I help her slowly sit up. "Wade knows he can call me anytime, and this was definitely the time to call me."

"This isn't your fight." She sighs while trying to stand but isn't steady enough. I hold on to her waist, only to have her cry out in pain. Looking at where my hand is resting on her hip, I see the beginnings of a bruise. "I hit the pole," she groans while gripping onto my shoulder.

"Can you stay with us tonight?" Wade asks as we head out of the dance room. It becomes evident that there"s zero chance Sunday"s making it to my car, so I carefully pull her up into my arms.

"Uh, sure, bud," I say as we walk outside, my eyes scanning the area for anyone.

"You don't have to," Sunday states nervously. "We'll be fine, and I don't want to disrupt your plans."

"The only plans I have are to spend the night with you two, so hush it," I say as I place her in the passenger seat while Wade gets in the back.

"You know,"Sunday says weakly as I hand her a mug of hot tea. Her poor throat must be killing her because her voice is cracking, and she can barely talk above a whisper. "Wade and I will be fine; you're literally right there." She taps on the wall above her bed that butts up to my wall. Scrunching my nose, I shake my head.

"Not close enough." I sit in the chair beside her bed as she sips the tea. "Sunday, I'm sorry," I admit softly. She looks up, raising a brow.

"For what? You didn't kick my ass." Is she trying to make a joke out of this?

"Sunday–"

"Ash," she sighs heavily while looking at her tea. "My baby boy just took a bat to a man after walking in on me being beaten to death. I don't have it in me to stand straight. I will break, and I can't."

"Sweetheart," I move to the edge of her bed and take her tea, setting it on the nightstand. "You don't have to be this way. You don't have to stand straight with me." She lets out a choked laugh-sob as her eyes go glassy.

"Of course I do," she whispers as a tear falls. "I can't trust you enough to be weak around you, charming. And I won't allow my son to think he has to be strong for me." Her words cut me so deep I have to suck in a breath.

"You don't trust me?"

"Not enough to lean on you, no. Don't get upset; I'm not that way with anyone."

"But... at my mom's and the resort with the flyboarding." She nods, looking at her lap.

"Yeah, and look where that got me. Ash, you don't want this mess, and I can't blame you. But don't expect me to open up and let you in when you're so quick to push me away when I open myself to you."

It hurts, and I'm so pissed at her for saying it, but she's right. She did open herself, and I told her no, right after fucking her on all fours. Oh god, with my fingers in her ass like a complete cocksucker. No wonder she hates me.

"I was apologizing for what happened at the wedding."

She stiffens and gives me a tight nod. "No worries, I get it."

"Sunshine," I groan while rubbing my hand over my face. "Listen–"

"Ash," she states firmly. I look over her bruised face and feel the anger and protectiveness surge through me again. "I do understand, and while I was upset, I think it was more so the embarrassment. Yeah, I like you, but Wade comes first, and you and he have this relationship that I... I can't be the cause of a rift between you two. It really means a lot to me that you hang out with him and that, when there's trouble, you're who he calls. I don't want him to lose that security, and I know you, and I would never be more than casual if we continued. So I understand, and you're right."

I hate every word leaving her mouth. Every last one of them, and I have no one to blame but myself.

"So, friends," she gives me a soft smile that is definitely fake.

Friends? Fucking suck my dick. I should be over the moon. Instead, my stomach hurts, and I want to punch something.

"Of course, sunshine," I say softly, giving her my best fake smile. "Always friends."

"Ash,"Janie sighs while pinching the bridge of her nose. "I love you, but if you don't get the fuck out of here, I'll be forced to kill you."

"Fine, Mama J," I grumble, dropping my sketchpad and walking out of the shop. I woke up this morning on Sunday's couch, wrapped in a wet blanket of anxiety, and I'm now fighting off a panic attack or possibly a heart attack. I'm not sure which. But it's enough to make me hide in the break room at Hel's after canceling my last appointment. I didn't have a choice. How am I supposed to fucking tattoo someone if I'm shaking and anxious? Right now, I'm sure I'd fuck up every needle I try to load.

"Jesus Christ! Again, with these panic attacks!"

I can hear Shannon in my mind, scoffing as I climb into my car. She and my father might've came into my life at different times, but they were very similar in their love of tearing me down, and now, it's like some sort of game for their memories to take turns fucking with my psyche whenever I have an attack.

"Let me guess, now you wanna open up and cry? My god, you are so pathetic." Shannon scoffs.

"Celeste, I don't care! No boy should cry that much. You coddle him like that, and you're gonna end up with a fucking spineless pansy." My father shouts.

"Shut up!" I scream and hit my steering wheel repeatedly before slamming it into reverse and peeling out of the lot.

I don't rememberthe drive home or parking in my spot, and I'm not sure how I got into the building. But as I come to, I find myself sitting in the corner of the elevator, unaware of how many times I've ridden it up and down. The elevator dings, and the doors open.

Of course.

Sunday walks in wearing dark blue jeans and a grey crop tank top. Her face is bruised, and I can tell she's attempting to hide it behind her sunglasses and makeup. She looks so fucking pretty. Even with those marks that cause my blood to boil. I've never met anyone as beautiful as her. She spots me, and I watch her purse fall as she rushes in front of me.

"Oh my god, Ash! What happened?" Her hand on my cheek is an odd sensation. It's almost like it's pulling me back. Her touch is so warm and soft, like a hug, and I feel myself wanting to lean into her touch.

"Nothing," I grumble, moving my face away despite my body's protest. "Just got tired of standing."

She removes her sunglasses, and her gaze tells me she's unamused. I watch her eyes as they scan over me. "You don't look sick," she mutters as she touches my head. "No fever."

"See, tip-top shape. Now, off you go," I say as the doors to the elevator open. She looks at the doors and then back at me.

"Nah," she says as she sits next to me. "I wonder how many times we can ride this before I puke." I snort at her comment before resting my head back.

"I'm having a panic attack," I admit, for some unknown reason. I wait for the ridicule about being a man, but it doesn't come.

"Does sitting in the elevator help?" she asks softly, and I can't help the laugh that escapes.

"No, I just ended up here. It's actually making me feel claustrophobic." She reaches up and hits the button for our floor.

"Well, how about we get you out of here and into your place? Do you have medicine to help?" I nod, giving her an uneasy smile as I follow her out of the elevator and down the hall. I watch as she goes to her side to go into her own apartment, and I panic.

"W-wait!" I watch her flinch at my abruptness. "Sorry, just… Can you come over? Indy isn't here, and I…" I don't want to be alone. But I can't get the words out. I'll feel like a loser, a failure if I voice it. Especially after saying I can't be anything to her. "U-unless you're busy. Ah, of course you are," I laugh weakly, though I feel suffocating and want to cry. "I'm sure Wade is–"

"Wade is over at Ren and Atlas' for the night," she says softly. "That's where I just came from. Now, come on, let's get you settled." Sunday's voice holds no judgment as she walks over and opens my door.

Sunday takes the lead when we enter my bedroom, and I follow behind. The room feels suddenly smaller, constricting around me like a vise. I try to inhale deeply, but my chest feels tight as if it"s been weighed down by a heavy burden. Sunday"s cool hands slide under my shirt, gliding over my abs and resting on my chest. My eyes snap open in surprise and confusion, a thousand questions swirling in my mind about her intentions.

Despite the chaos and fear, her gentle touch sends a jolt of electricity through my body, causing my heart to race even faster. My senses are heightened, every nerve on edge, as if anticipating something's about to happen.

"Hush," she warns before I can speak. "Lean your weight against my arms. I promise you won't hurt me." I'm skeptical but do as she says, and I feel the firm pressure on my chest. It's kind of soothing. I furrow my brows and look at her in confusion, wondering how she knew what to do.

She shrugs. "Some people like weight and firm pressure on them when they're having a panic attack."

"How do you know that?"

She chuckles. "Ballet academy, lots of panic attacks were induced there. Where are your pills? Also, take off your clothes."

I stare blankly at her. "Now, I'm no ballet expert…"

"Shut up." She rolls her eyes and begins removing her shoes. "Your clothes are form-fitting; you need something looser." I give her a skeptical look but do as she says because the distraction is nice. I slip into pajama pants and a baggy shirt before looking at her. She's reading the bottle of pills on my nightstand before getting one out and grabbing a bottle of water.

"What's next, madam? Or is it mistress?" I wink as she pushes me back onto the bed. She looks like she's about to say something clever, but her face falls as her hand covers my chest. She looks up at me, her pretty features etched with concern.

"Charming, your heart's pounding so hard."

"Well, I mean, there's a hot woman in my bedroom." Unamused, she narrows her eyes, and I sigh, sitting on the edge of my bed, taking the water and pill, and swallowing it. "When I'm having an episode, a rapid heartbeat is part of it," I admit, almost ashamed.

"I know that, but you're goofing off with me. I thought it was lessening." She looks me over, and I nudge her shoulder.

"I mean, it is some. I'm just really good at hiding it. I have them a lot, but since I'm a man–"

"Stop that," she scolds and shoves me back onto the bed. "You shouldn't have to wear a mask in front of people when you're having a panic attack, and you definitely shouldn't feel like just because you're a man, you have to suck it up or some shit." I cringe slightly at her familiar words as they dredge up bad memories.

"Says the woman who has her mask superglued to her face." I give her a weak smirk, and she rolls her eyes.

"And look where that's got me," she sighs before scooting further up my bed, and I watch in curiosity as she crawls onto the bed and straddles my waist.

"Sunday, it's not that I don't want it–"

"Oh my god, Ash, shut up!" she groans, covering my mouth with her hand. "This is notsexual. Now close your eyes and your big mouth." I snort but do as I'm told. I feel her lay her full body on top of me, giving me her entire weight.

"Are you trying to suffocate me? Because it's not working."

"Are you so terrified of your inner thoughts that you refuse to be quiet?" My eyes shoot open, and I stare up at her, completely taken aback by her words.

"Yes," I admit softly, and I think she's just as shocked by my admission as I am by what she said. I watch her face soften, and I'm about to tell her to stop when she reaches up and kisses my head.

"Okay, I'm going to lay on you. The added weight will help your anxiety. And I'm going to turn on your TV, find a show, and debate you on it, explaining exactly why your viewpoints are wrong."

And she does. Sunday lies on my chest for hours. Talking and laughing with me, all while making sure to check in on me every so often. Never once did she laugh or make me feel bad for having an attack. I've never been so grateful to have a panic attack that caused me to black out and end up somewhere random, because now I'm in bed watching TV with her. And it's making me realize the panic attack was over her and Wade. And the thought I could've lost them last night. I might've blown my last shot with her at the wedding, but I'm going to do everything in my power to try again.