Normally, I was packing healthy lunches, doing laundry, and carpooling every other free minute, but recently anything that wasn’t completely necessary fell off the radar.
Typically, I dreaded the one weekend per month my ex graced the kids with his company, but not this weekend. Most divorced couples fought over custody, but not Seth and me. He was happy to give up his time with the kids ninety-five percent of the time.
He had his reasons, and I had mine. Either way, it worked in my favor.
But this Friday, I needed the weekend to get my head right.
A man who I’d carried a torch for—for almost fourteen years—is accused of drug trafficking.
I couldn’t wrap my head around that. The very same man I’d dreamed about, night after night. The one I’d convinced myself would eventually come back to me.
In my mind, Aston was nothing short of the most amazing man. If I closed my eyes hard enough, I could picture his large hands cupping my cheek and skimming over my shoulders, caressing my skin before pulling me in for a kiss.
Like he did that first night on the golf course.
I needed to read the articles in the newspapers, the ones stacked up in the garage, and scour the internet for information. I needed to convince myself he wasn’t good for me.
Forget the fact he was married, or maybe not. I didn’t know. He was probably looking at a conviction, and whether I cared to admit it or not, the idea hurt. It ripped through my heart, my soul, my entire being, like a fire through a dry forest. For other reasons, reasons I absolutely never, ever thought about. I’d buried the real reason for it hurting me way deep in my mind, locked it up, and tossed away the key.
Tonight, though, when Seth sent his mom to pick up the kids after school and I had two days to myself, I dealt in the only way I could. I raced to the liquor store at three o’clock on a Friday.
This was my weekend to drink, study those rags, and drink some more. Forty-eight hours to get my shit straight.
Settled in my garage, I lifted a newspaper, thumbing through the pages until my eyes blurred at the local section, my head going hazy, my hand trembling. I shut my eyes tight and reopened them, hoping and wishing what I’d just read was a figment of my imagination.
Nope, it was still there.
Police detain Federal Stars Hospitality Supplies’ CEO, Aston Prescott, overnight on drug trafficking charges. Rumors of additional allegations filtering in. His family is well known for providing the highest quality toiletries and custom amenities to all the five-star resorts on the West Coast, and has been known to donate thousands of extras to local shelters.
I refolded the paper into a neat stack and shoved it back in the pile, walked inside my house, and pretended like none of it mattered.
I wasn’t waiting for Aston Prescott anymore.
My phone buzzed early Saturday morning, drawing me out of my stupor. I’d fallen asleep in the damn window seat again, an empty wineglass discarded by my side, my hair in knots, and my heart and mind equally clouded.
Why do I even care about him anymore?
I slid my finger over the answer call button without looking at Caller ID. “Hello?” I croaked out, my throat dry and my eyes crusty.
“Bex, you okay?”
I leaned against the glass, the sun heating my back. “Hey, Milly.”
“You can’t keep avoiding me,” she said, coming right out with it. There was no chitchat when it came to Milly. She was a straight shooter, even before her husband helped her perfect the art.
“I need to get my head wrapped around this on my own. Please—”
“That’s bullshit. You know it, and I know it. You don’t want to talk to me because you know Mike’s talked to him. We made a deal a long time ago that what happens between him and Mike stays between them. But I love you, and you love me, no matter what.”
I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. “Say his name, for Christ’s sake. Say it!” When she didn’t utter a word, I yelled, “Aston. His name is Aston.”
“We haven’t said his name in almost fifteen years, Bex. I’m following your rules, not mine.”
“Forget it. What did Aston say to Mike? Is he okay?”
“I can’t tell you that, and you know it. They’re friends, and we’ve always kept that separate. I’m here for you.”
On weak legs, I stood and made my way into the kitchen, looking for hot coffee, but I knew I wouldn’t find any. Seth always made sure we had coffee. Sadly, it was the one thing I missed about being married to him.
“This is why I’ve been avoiding you, Milly. Because I want to know about him. I’m desperate to know about him. I’d gobble up the tiniest of crumbs when it comes to Aston right now.”
I held the phone between my ear and my neck, scowling as I stuck the K-cup into the coffeemaker. I hated this kind of coffee. It was never hot or strong enough for me, but it was easy.
And made for singles. Loser lonelies.
“I’m your closest friend,” Milly said. “I want to talk about you. Not . . . Aston. Bexley, I know you’re hurting, and I’m here for you.”
“Well, in this case, it’s impossible to only talk about me and not him. He was in jail, his face and name all over the news, and I can’t decide if he’s guilty or not.”
“It’s not for you to decide. You don’t have to care or even know if he’s guilty. You know that, right?”
“Milly, please. Don’t you think I know that? But he must be hurting, and for whatever fucked-up reason, I can’t seem to let go when it comes to him. Ugh, I need a tougher backbone, or maybe a steel cage around my heart. If I think Aston is
