The line goes dead.
I stand in the middle of my kitchen as I pull up my mom’s number and hit dial. She answers on the half-ring, her voice breaking through before I can even draw a breath.
“Aston. You have something you want to tell me?”
“Mama, just listen?—”
“Ace called me,” she interrupts, and I can hear the concern in her voice. “He’s upset, Aston. He saw those pictures online.”
I bend over at the waist and rest my elbow on the counter. “Fuck,” I say, my forehead pressing against my knuckles. “I didn’t know how to tell him.”
“First of all, watch your mouth when you’re talking to me,” she says. “Second, you better make this right with your brother right now. But you and I need to have a long talk about this later. You need to explain it to me. All of it.” She sighs. “Is it serious?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice thick but not defensive. “She’s mine, Mama. I love her.”
A long pause hangs on the line. “Then you go give your brother the respect he deserves. You can’t let this sit.”
“I won’t. I had planned on talking to him today as it was.”
She clears her throat. “Well, the media beat you to it. I love you. Call me later.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up the phone and call Ace.
The call goes straight to voicemail. I don’t bother leaving a message. I create a chat with Aiden and Archie so I can hit both of them at the same time.
Aston: I know about the pictures. I’m taking care of it.
Aiden’s reply comes through first.
Aiden: Looks like you waited a little too long. Make it right, dumbass.
Archie’s drops a second later, dripping with sarcasm.
Archie: Way to go, kid. Really loved the one on the porch. Very dominant looking.
Archie: But seriously, you need to get on a plane down to Florida. Talk to him in person. Go make it right.
I don’t reply. I set my phone onto the counter and walk up the stairs to my room. I grab my duffel bag from my closet and toss a few shirts and jeans in the bag, then get a few things from the bathroom. I don’t know if this will be an in-and-out trip or if I’ll need to beg, so I'd better be prepared for both. If I’m missing anything, I’ll get it down there. Right now, I just need to get moving and find a flight.
I called Eva on my way to the airport and told her my plan. She told me to take care of my family, and she’ll take care of the media, and told me to call her later.
My flight to Florida was short, and I reached his house within a few hours of leaving New Jersey. When I step out of the car, the oppressive humidity of South Florida is like breathing in mud. Even in February, the air is thick with the smell of sea salt and damp earth, and the sun is brutally hot.
I knock on the door, but when there’s no answer, I type in the code to Ace’s front door, and it opens. I walk through the house and see him through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall leading out to his pool.
He’s sitting on a lounger, his shoulders hunched forward, hisforearms resting on his knees, staring at the blue water of the pool. He’s wearing black athletic shorts and no shirt, and he looks exactly like me. Same hair, same eyes, same mouth, but his tattoos on his chest are a mirror image of mine.
He doesn’t look up when my boots hit the concrete pool deck. Not even a blink.
I walk over, the heat making the sweat break out along my collar, and I sit down on the empty lounger next to him. The space between us is charged.
“Acer,” I start, my voice sounding rough to my own ears. “It’s fucking hot down here. Even in February.”
He doesn’t move. He keeps his eyes locked on the water, his jaw set in a hard line that makes his profile look like it’s carved out of granite. No response.
I let out a slow breath and pull off my jacket. Small talk isn’t gonna break the ice here. I need to just dive in and lay it all out there.
