Page 109 of Hash

Chapter

Twenty-Five

AISLING

“Oh… my… God…” I say, my hand coming to my mouth in shock.

My place is trashed.

Completely fucking trashed.

Why?

What did I do to deserve this?

I need new everything. Cabinets, a couch… a fucking door.

My mind is numb as I watch Cyrus vacuum up all the glass that’s shattered on the floor.

“You doing okay?” Hash asks, breaking me from my thoughts.

Am I doing okay?

What a loaded question.

“I’m doing okay in the sense that we’re all okay, but I’m not doing okay that my stuff is destroyed.” I let out a bitter laugh as I place my hands on my hips and tilt my head up. “That sounds so stupid. I should be grateful. It’s just stuff at the end of the day. All of this can be replaced.” I wave my hand around, trying to keep the tears at bay. Sniffling still makes my face hurt.

The swelling has gone down drastically from my icing and the pain pills Doc and Hash gave me, but the bruise is no less faded.

“It’s not fucking stupid. This is your place that you worked your ass off for, and some piece of shit came and took part of that. You’re allowed to be upset,” Hash says as he opens up a trash bag. “And mark my words, baby doll, that piece of shit's days are numbered.”

I know they are, and it feels like a double-edged sword. I want him to get what’s coming his way because karma is a bitch, but I don’t want that bitch to be Hash’s hands. I can’t lose him again.

“Let’s just clean this up. I don’t want to look at it anymore,” I tell him as I grab handfuls of stuffing that’s scattered across the living room from the couch cushions being cut open and putting it into the trash bag Hash is holding open.

“Whatever you want,” Hash says as he helps me.

I’d like to say it didn’t take us long to pick everything up, but it did. I just zoned out through most of it. Cyrus brought a speaker and turned on some music, allowing me to escape into my head.

By the time mid-afternoon rolls around, Cyrus, Hash, and I have the living room, dining room, and kitchen cleaned up. The guys took the cabinet doors off completely since most of them were holding on by a hinge, anyway. Hash told me he would sand them down to get the scratches and dents out, and I wouldn’t even be able to tell they were messed up.

I was okay with that because I’ve been wanting to change the color of the cabinets since I bought the place. It just hadn’t been in the budget. The orangey-brown stain just wasn’t my vibe.

The couch is a lost cause, unfortunately. I can’t go through my homeowner’s insurance because we didn’t report the break in so I can’t claim it because it would start a whole investigation that me or the club doesn’t need. And two, my deductible is two thousand dollars. I would rather pay that money toward a new couch and not have my rates go up. I’m also thinking of telling Frankie I need to go furniture shopping and she can help me pick out everything, which will help butter her up for me not telling her immediately about this entire ordeal.

“Knock, knock,” a deep voice calls out in the backyard, making all our heads turn.

Scotch and Cain are walking through my backyard carrying a sliding glass door, heading toward the patio.

“You didn’t.” I gasp, turning to Hash, who is looking at me with a suspicious innocent look on his face.

“I don’t know where they got that.” He shrugs.

I arch my eyebrow at him, not believing him for a second. “I’m sure you don’t.”

“You needed a door, Aisling.”

“I did,” I agree. “But I didn’t mean for you to buy it. A sliding glass door costs a lot of money, Hash! That one doesn’t look cheap.”