My mom comes out of the bedroom with her bag packed. “I'm ready when you are,” she states.
“How long has he been there?”
She purses her lips. “I’m not sure. I found him there this morning when I went to get the mail for you.”
“So that’s what you were trying to tell me? I should hear him out?” I didn’t tell my mom the whole story. I wasn’t ready to get into everything about my dad. That information affects her just as much as it does me, but I need to figure out how I feel about it on my own first. Maybe that makes me a hypocrite, but it’s not like I’m going to wait a whole year to tell her. I’ll give her the same details I have, and she can decide what she wants to do. But I have to make my own decision first. Plus, she’s still recovering from this last relationship.
All I told her was that Ashton lied to me and that I couldn’t forgive him.
“I wasn’t trying to tell you what to do, sweet pea. Second chances are tricky. Sometimes they give you something new that you would have missed out on. They can also lead to cycles you can’t break. I can’t tell you what’s right. It has to be your choice. And it’s a hard one.”
I nod. “Let’s get you home.”
By the time we walk out the door, Ashton is awake, sitting up against the wall of the house, his legs bent in front of him.
I walk by, ready to go straight to my car without even sparing him a second glance, but I halt in my tracks. My mom looks over and gives us both a soft smile.
“I’ll be in the car,” she says, walking ahead of me.
“I know I don’t deserve anything from you.” His voice is still rough from sleep. “I’m going to try, though. You don’t have to talk to me today or tomorrow, but I’m not giving up. I’ll sleep here every night until you kick me off your property and the cops drag me away.”
I don’t say anything. What is there to say? I stare straight ahead, still not willing to look at him.
“It’s okay,” he says, reading my mind. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”
At that, I walk toward my car.
Of all the emotions swirling in the pit of my stomach—anger, resentment, frustration, sadness—it’s the one I’m not expecting that outweighs all the others.
Relief.
Because he didn’t give up like I thought he would.
He’s on my porch fighting for us.
That scares me more than anything, because what if that’s enough for me to give in?
36
ASHTON
I’m rubbingthe crick in my neck when a shadow covers my face. It’s been five nights. Five nights I've slept on this porch. I leave in the morning to go to work. A job I hate, but it was worth it. Then I go back to my house, change, and come here to sleep. I’ve thought about bringing a blanket or pillow these last few nights, but I don’t deserve them. My neck hurts like a bitch, though.
I look up to see a large polka-dot sphere in front of my face. Turning my head, I see it’s attached to a woman with short brown hair, a scowl on her face, and her hands planted firmly on her hips.
Emory’s foot starts tapping on the wooden floor.
“Hey, Em.”
“Don’t ‘Hey, Em’ me,” she snaps. “What happened?”
“It’s complicated.”
“So uncomplicate it, Ashton. That’s my best friend and you broke her fu—” She flattens her hands on either side of her swollen belly. “You broke her fucking heart,” she whispers.
“Are you covering her ears?”
“His ears,” she corrects me.
