Chapter 11

Ashley

It's been two days since I spent most of the night with Ford. I'd slipped out in the wee hours of the morning, long before Felicity got up to get ready for school. I didn't like that. Not that I don't get it. I do. He's protecting her from seeing things she shouldn't see, including her dad's hookup sneaking out. That's the part I don't like. Being his hook up.

It shouldn't matter. I don't want a relationship. I don't have the time, energy or emotional bandwidth for a relationship. Hell, I'm not even sure I can reasonably manage a situationship. But what I know and what I feel aren't really cooperating with one another.

"Take your break, Ashley."

I look up to see Gina walking toward me. She looks bitchy. Then again, she always does. "I've only been here for an hour."

"And I have to leave for an hour, so if you don't take your break now, you won't get one."

She does that a lot—leaves in the middle of a shift. I'm starting to think Gina has a side piece. Am I gonna ask? Hell to the no. I might hate this job, but I still need it. "Sure. I'm gonna go out to my car and make a few calls." I'm not going to call anyone, actually. I'm going to text Lizzie and Cassie because I desperately need margaritas, even if I can't afford them.

I don't know whether I'll tell them about Ford or not. I don't know that there is anything to tell other than we had hot, amazing, mind blowing, possibly ruined me for all other men kind of sex. I'm not sure I'm ready to share that—not yet. Not until I have my head firmly wrapped around what we are and what we aren't.

I scroll through my contacts until I find Lizzie's shop number. She won't look at her cell while she's working, but she'll answer that number.

"Salon … Lizzie speaking. May I help you?"

I laugh. I can't help it. "Are you practicing your customer‐service voice?"

"Oh," she says. "I thought you were someone calling for an appointment."

"Are you busy right now?"

"Not terribly. I'm supposed to be doing a cut right now, but she's late. My earlier appointment is still processing, and I've got about ten minutes before I need to rinse her. So shoot … what's up in Ashley‐land?"

She's folding towels as she talks to me. I can hear the rumble of the washing machine in the background and the rustling of her smock. It's a dead giveaway. "We need margaritas tonight. Well, I need margaritas and probably for Troy to pick us up. Is that doable?"

"Yes and no," she says. "I can do margaritas. Troy is working the late shift, so he's a no. But Cam or Cassie will come get us. Can we invite Cassie? Or is this something you don't want her to know?"

If I can keep my mouth shut about Ford, it won't matter who is there. "Yeah. The more the merrier. What about Emma?"

"Oh, no can do. She and Mr. Tall, Dark and Loaded are all in on their IVF journey. If it isn't organic, gluten free, antibiotic and hormone free and blessed by a troop of fertile virgins, she won't touch it."

I'm laughing at her even as I ask, "If they're virgins, how do you know they're fertile?"

"Because they always are," Lizzie said. "Keep those bitches away from me. At least for a while."

You and me both. I can barely afford to keep myself going, much less me and a kid. "Alright. You. Me. Some tequila and a metric ton of chips and salsa … seven?"

"Last client is at five, so that should work."

I'm already in my favorite booth at El Fuego when Cassie and Lizzie walk in. They're both laughing, looking carefree. Looking like they don't have to count every last dime they spend. I want that for myself. I don't need to be rich. I just want to know that having two margaritas instead of one won't leave me walking to work because I can't afford to put gas in my car.

Cassie reaches the table first and she's sliding into the booth with a giggle and a wink. "Hey, sexy. You come here often?"

I can feel my eyes rolling. "If that's the line you used to pick up Cam, I'm amazed y'all are together."

She laughs and in her best Blanche Deveraux impression says, "Oh, honey. I didn't have to pick him up. That man worships at my feet. What we need to do is find one who will worship at yours."

"What we need," Lizzie says, "Is a girl's night that doesn't involve us having to wear bras or pants. I'm talking pj's, popcorn, brownies, and a full‐ass marathon of The Golden Girls."

"Umm … no. Bridgerton. The first season. With the hot Duke!" Cassie corrects her.

"Right now, I just need a margarita. And a taco. I can always use a taco."

The conversation flows as freely as the margaritas do, at least for me and Lizzie. Cassie is being good since she's our designated driver. We're on our second pitcher when the physical embodiment of all my trauma walks in. Shitty father of the year award goes to—Doogie. What a stupid fucking name for a grown‐ass man.

He spies me instantly and smiles, but it's not warm. It's not fatherly.

"Ashley, baby," he calls out. It's all performative. He just wants everyone there to see him reaching out, to see him making the effort to mend the rift between us. What most people don't understand is that there never hasn't been a rift. This isn't something. It's just something I stopped trying to hide.

"Don't. Just don't," I mutter.

"Don't what?" he asks, that same reptilian smile curling his lips. Lips that appear to have been augmented.

"Did you get lip fillers?"

The smile disappears. "There's no need to be insulting, Ashley. I just came to tell you that your job is still open. You can come back to the office anytime you want to. You've got a better head for numbers than Lisa ever did."

Now I get it. His girlfriend of the hour is fucking up his very cooked books. "Is she being too honest with the customers? Or is it the IRS you're worried about?"

"Lower your voice!"

"I think you should go," Lizzie says. "Or do I need to call Troy and have him make you go?"

Doogie looks at me and his eyes are colder than ever. I'm gonna pay for this. The only question is how. But none of that matters as he turns and walks away. I finally feel like I can breathe again.

"What the fuck is his deal?" Lizzie demands as she refills our glasses.

I shrug. "He likes to control people … and he can't control me. Not anymore. That makes him scared and when he gets scared, he gets mean."

—-

An hour and a half later, buzzing from the tequila and the company, I stumble out of Cassie's pink caddy and up the rickety steps to my front door. I've got the key in the lock, waving her away before it registers that something is wrong. The key went into the lock but it's not turning. Because it's already unlocked.

I can't yell, I can't grab my phone out of my pocket. I'm not hammered, but I'm not exactly sober either. As the door gets yanked open from the inside, I stumble, falling inward and landing on the newly laid linoleum.

"What's the matter, Ash? Did the cat get your tongue or are you afraid to mouth off to me without your friends around?"

I roll onto my back and start scooting backwards away from him. Being on the ground leaves me vulnerable and being vulnerable in front of Doogie is always a mistake. "Get out of my house!"

"House? Nah, kiddo. This isn't a house. This is a shitbox of a trailer and you're the trash living in it. Your choice, if you remember. You could still be working for me. Still living in your grandma's house."

My shoulder blades touch the wall and I push back against it, using it to leverage my way to at least a quasi-standing position. "Oh, yeah. And I could still be robbing people blind on your behalf … it was one thing when I didn't know. But now I do, and I can't be a part of that. I won't."

It was the wrong thing to say to him. I know that immediately. I'm not being appropriately subservient the way his narcissistic ass demands and his temper is explosive.

"Are you threatening me, girlie? He demands. "You got to anyone and run your mouth then you're an accessory. You'll go to the pen just like I did … But I won't be going back there. If you try to make that happen, you'll never see the light of day again."

"They can't arrest me for being your daughter."

"Oh, I wasn't talking about you getting arrested," he replies coldly. "If you run your mouth, Ash, the only thing it's going to get you is an early grave. You understand me?"

He turns to leave and the minute he's gone, I sink back to the floor. It's like that every time I have to deal with him. I'm back to being that little girl hiding in the closet while he and my mom scream at one another.

I don't even realize I'm crying until I hear the door open again. I'm scrambling to my feet, that flight‐or‐fight response he triggers in me coming to the surface. But it's not him. It's Ford. He's standing in my open doorway, and he's got murder in his eyes.

"Who hurt you?" he says. "Tell me, and I swear to God, they won't do it again."