It was the morning of Ashton’s eighteenth birthday when Roman showed up at my front door wearing a jersey and a baseball cap. Still in my pajamas and without a lick of caffeine in my system, I gawked at him through the cracked door and wondered why he was here this early and, further, why he was here at all.
“I don’t have any more room for flowers and stuffed teddy bears,” I blurted out.
“Don’t have any on me, Ms. Evans.” Roman shook his head and peeked inside. “Didn’t you get the message?”
“What message?” I’d pulled an all-nighter working on the email campaign for the potential Dreamcatchers sponsors and had gone to sleep close to sunrise. The last thing I’d cared about when the doorbell woke me was checking my phone.
“Boss would like to take Ashton car shopping.”
“Come again?” I blinked through the fuzz in my brain and threw an over-the-shoulder glance at my brother, who was scrambling to his feet from the couch.
“Mr. Blade’s present for his eighteenth birthday,” Roman explained.
“No! He’s not getting a car from Mr. Blade!” I snapped, ready to shut the door, but it was too late. My brother, who sported only junk food-themed boxers, pushed his way out onto the deck.
He stared at Roman with wide eyes as he stood there in underwear that was covered with soda and burgers. “Are you for real?”
This wasn’t happening!
My mother and I had found a nice 2005 Toyota Corolla in Glendale two days ago and the owner had agreed to hold the car until tomorrow. We planned to tell Ashton about the present tonight during dinner. Frank and his bottomless pit of a wallet were about to ruin our surprise.
Roman’s gaze darted between me and my brother. “Mr. Blade is waiting in the car.”
My heart sputtered.
“Sick.” Ashton grinned. “Give me five minutes, man.”
“I’ll be downstairs.” Roman nodded and glanced at me.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I told Ashton as he breezed past me.
“Eat me, sis.” Ashton shoved his middle finger in my face and slid back inside.
“I won’t allow this!” I growled to the empty space in front of me.
“I’m eighteen. You can’t tell me shit.”
“Fine! Then I need half the rent before the first,” I countered.
“That’s blackmail!” he screamed from the bathroom. “Besides, I’m already working for free.”
“It’s called internship, asshole!”
“It’s called slavery.”
In my peripheral, Roman was cracking up.
“This is unbelievable.” I gritted my teeth.
“We’ll be in the car, Ms. Evans,” he noted before leaving.
“Do I need to bring my social security card?” Ashton yelped from the bathroom as I shut the door and hurried to look for my phone.
“We’re not going anywhere,” I shouted, dialing Frank’s number. My pulse roared and my hands shook.
His voice on the line was sweet and made me ache all over.
“You can’t do this,” I said. “You can’t just show up here unannounced and fuck up my brother’s birthday surprise.”
“You haven’t returned my calls.”
“You wanted to be alone.”
“Not anymore.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Frank. You hurt me and then send me cheesy presents, hoping a stuffed animal will earn my forgiveness back.”
“You didn’t like the teddy?”
“He’s too big. There’s not enough room for him in my apartment.”
“There is in my house.”
I took a deep breath to defuse the anger rushing through my blood. “I don’t want you to buy Ashton a car.”
“I’m sorry for being an ass.”
“You’re not hearing me, Frank,” I pressed, my voice firm but my legs wobbly. “He needs to learn that nice things only come to those who work hard. Getting him a car right now will undo months of effort. It’s not how you teach someone to be a responsible adult.”
“Please let him have a fun day.”
There was a knock on my door. “Are you ready or what?” Ashton bellowed impatiently and I knew then and there that I didn’t have a choice. It was either let my brother leave with Frank or tag along to ensure he didn’t buy a car he couldn’t drive. Or worse—a motorcycle.
“Okay,” I said into the phone, my tone flat. “You win. I’ll be downstairs in twenty minutes… Actually, make it thirty. I haven’t had my coffee yet.”
“We can buy coffee on the way,” Frank offered.
“I like my home-brewed coffee better.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll see you in half an hour.”
I took my sweet time getting ready, just to piss him off. There were nine hysteric messages from Ashton on my phone when I finally finished with my hair.
Downstairs, the Escalade waited across the street. Roman hurried to open the back door and I slid inside. Butterflies filled my stomach despite all the anger that still ruled my bloodstream.
Frank was seated next to me. “Hi, Cassy,” he said, flashing me his signature playboy smile, the one he used for the crowds during his shows.
“Hey.” I let my eyes wander over his body. He wore a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. A jacket was thrown over his shoulders, right arm in a sling.
We hardly spoke during the drive. My mind was preoccupied with my mother. I wasn’t sure how to tell her about this.
Hey, Mom! The man who may or may not be my boyfriend just bought Ashton a car for his birthday. You can put the money back into your 401k.
Thinking about the range of her possible reactions gave me whiplash.
Ashton enjoyed the spotlight. After assuming DJ duty, he and Frank launched into a lengthy discussion about the lyrical content of Body Count songs.
We eventually arrived at a car dealership in Beverly Hills. The lot stretched over the entire block and looked unapproachable with its glimmering rows of luxury vehicles that my brother had no business dreaming about, let alone driving.
“Frank,” I muttered over Ice-T’s rapping as we pulled into customer parking. “This is too much.”
Ashton killed the music. The door swung open and the hum of the lot poured inside.
