“Travis?” I set my phone down and remove my contacts, placing them back in their holder.
“Yeah, he was looking shady as fuck, and when I confronted him, he got pissed. Words were said. Maybe Ashton is dealing with that.”
“Maybe,” I say, upset that Ashton never once mentioned Travis giving him shit. “Wait, you got in the middle of it?” I wet a washcloth and start cleaning my face.
“He’s your best friend,” Brayden says as if him being my best friend is all the reason he needs to have Ashton’s back. My heart does a weird flip-flop and I find myself smiling.
“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” I take the phone off speaker as I walk back into my room and then climb into bed.
“No problem. Wish I could do something to make you feel better.”
“That’s sweet.” I cuddle up into my blanket. “I wish you were here.” I sigh into my pillow, more than ready for this day, hell, this weekend, to be over.
“Me too,” he says, his voice low.
A yawn escapes my lips and my eyes grow heavy. “Can you maybe talk to me until I fall asleep?”
Brayden chuckles. “Sure, what do you want to talk about?”
“Anything. Tell me a story.”
“Hmm, okay. Once upon a time there lived a princess…”
I try to keep my eyes open, but before he even finishes the first sentence, I’m already falling asleep to the sound of his soothing voice.
A real laugh bubbles out of me.
Loud and obnoxious.
Mom’s green eyes glitter with delight. At least she’s a fun drunk. When we’ve both been sucking down the wine, I turn into her dancing monkey that makes her laugh, and Dad glares at us both with that look of disappointment he’s long since perfected.
Mom dabs away the tears of laughter with her linen napkin. We’re at Roadman’s Steaks, an upscale restaurant in Hawk’s Landing, tucked away in a corner. Family dinners for us always turn weird.
“How’s swim practice?” Dad grinds out, trying desperately to keep us on normal topics.
“If you’re asking if I’ve been smuggling in weed in between swimming circles around Brady, then the answer is no. Been too busy,” I deadpan.
Dad sets his steak knife down with a clank on his plate and frowns at me. “Enough with the pity party. We know it wasn’t you. Your drug test was negative.”
“Just like I told you,” I remind him.
“But you did have the drugs on you.” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m the dean, Ashton. I couldn’t let that go.”
“Of course not, Dad. Of course not.” My tone drips with sarcasm. “So, Mom, got any new nose jobs lately?”
This sends her into another fit of giggles. I love my mom, I really do, but sometimes she’s a fucking embarrassment. Everyone in this town kisses her ass, though, because she’s loaded. Long before Dad ever swept her off her feet, she was wealthy beyond means. From the moment he took her out on their first date, he’s been proving to her family that he’s a worthy husband who isn’t reliant on their money.
So that makes us doubly rich.
But when you have a flighty mother and a career-hungry father, you’re left with an emotionally neglected kid with fucked-up genes added to it.
“Kathy, my esthetician, says she has a little brother your age. Offered to set you up,” Mom reveals. “But he’s a bartender.” She cackles. “I told her you were dating someone.”
“Wendy,” Dad mutters. “It’s inappropriate to set your son up on a date.”
“I didn’t set him up,” Mom huffs. “If I did, it’d be with that gorgeous new resort owner. What’s his name, Curtis? I can’t remember.”
“Peter Lombardi. And he’s not…”
My brow lifts, waiting for him to finish that statement.
“He’s not like Ashton,” he finally grits out.
“No one is,” I tell Dad with a wolfish grin.
“I just don’t understand why you get weird about the whole thing,” Mom says after she drains her fourth glass of wine. “It’s just two boys. Nothing wrong with that. You always wanted two sons. Maybe one day you’ll get your wish. All that hard work is paying off.”
Dad’s nostrils flare. “You’ve had enough to drink.”
“I’m gay. I sleep with men. If we don’t talk about it, it becomes a dirty little secret.” I laugh when Dad cringes at my words. “Kind of like that time Mom was getting plowed by her yoga instructor. Remember that, Mom? What was his name? Raul?”
Dad slams his fist down on the table, making all the dishes clatter and the glasses slosh. “Enough.”
“Raul was just a phase.” Mom waves her hand in the air like it’s nothing. “You got your apology.”
A black 1965 Porsche 356 SC Cabriolet.
Apparently, your Latino lover mishap can be forgiven to the tune of three hundred thirty-four thousand dollars. Mom promised to go to marriage counseling. I got dragged into therapy for shits and giggles. Dad got a fucking car.
Fun times in the Carter family.
“Am I excused?”
Dad growls. “You’re shitfaced, Ashton. No, you’re not excused. You’re going to get some coffee in you before you go anywhere.”
That would mean too many hours to sober up while under Dad’s disapproving stare.
Hard pass.
“I’ll call an Uber.”
Mom’s overly filled upper lip curls up. “Lord no, baby. Those things are filled with needles and coke dust and ejaculation.”
I snort out a laugh, earning another glare from Dad. “Where the fuck did you learn that?”
“Esther from the club. She saw a news program about it.”
Mom’s second favorite thing, only slightly behind getting wasted just to piss her husband off, is gossiping with the other Stepford wives at the country club they’re members of.
“Steven can drive you home,” Dad grumbles. “I’ll drop your car off tomorrow.”
I don’t want to hitch a ride from their driver—yes, they have a goddamn driver—because Steven has hated me ever since high school when he had to drive me around to every
