Or did she want him? Did she want his attention now that she thought I was fucking someone else? Except Reynolds gave her a ride before the picture of me and Kendra was posted but after the hot tub incident.
Fuck, who knows?
I needed to talk to her and get the real story. Her Instagram account was gone and she still hadn’t read my text.
I looked out the window of Brass Knuckles. It was getting dark and the place was closed, but I wasn’t ready to quit when everyone else left. Now that I’d spent–shit, four hours working out–I was exhausted, ready to shower and go home. Ready to hit a blunt and drink a beer and try to clear my mind.
I got home and Dad was still there. It was some kind of record. He’d been home for two days, which was more than he’d been around in a while. Both Bronx and I spent most of that time hiding out, not wanting to discuss our lunch with Mom.
Mom called Bronx, trying to lock down a time when he wanted to come out to California. She didn’t ask if I planned on going.
Dad was holed up in his home office–I could hear him barking orders on the phone. I poked around the kitchen, looking for something decent to eat. I could go for another piece of Ashtyn’s lasagna, but Axel made me leave the leftovers for him.
“Did you see it?” Bronx asked as he walked into the kitchen.
“Mhmm,” I grunted from the pantry. I pulled out a box of cereal and poured myself a bowl. Dinner of champions.
“Ash said she’s done with her account and she doesn’t give a fuck what he posts anymore.”
“Okay,” I said, pouring milk over the cereal and digging a spoon from the silverware drawer. I sat down at one of the barstools and started eating.
“Okay?”
“What do you want me to say? I’ll probably delete mine too. It’s not like I use it for anything.”
“It’s weird though, isn’t it? That she was with him?”
“I don’t know anymore, bro. Your guess is as good as mine,” I said around a bite of cereal.
I heard Dad stomping down the hallway toward us. Great.
“You’re both finally home,” Dad observed.
“Nothing gets past you.”
Dad sighed and leaned up against the counter, folded his arms across his chest, and stared at his feet. Even being home, he dressed like he spent the day at the office in a white button-up shirt and black slacks. The guy knew how to kick his feet up and relax… "I was expecting Ashtyn to be here in her underwear again," he said smugly.
I dropped my spoon and it bounced off the bowl onto the counter. "What's your fucking problem with her? She's never done shit to you, and you act like you have this personal vendetta against her. Did she turn you down or something? Jealous she won't let your wrinkly cock near her?" I asked with a glare.
The smirk fell from his face. "I don't want anyone from that family around here, around you or Bronx, and it has nothing to do with mywrinkly cock."
"Ash isn't Remington. And she sure as hell isn't her dad," Bronx said next to me, his anger evident in his tone.
"No, but it's the association. It doesn't look good for us to be connected with gang members.”
"There it is!" I shouted. "It's always about appearances with you, isn't it? That's why you want me to go to college. So you can say your son isn't a complete fuck-up because he has a worthless piece of paper."
"Enough with the dramatics, West. She's not the kind of girl any son of mine is going to marry. Why waste your time? People like her are likely to lie and trap you with a pregnancy. That's all we need," he huffed as he poured a glass of milk.
I jumped from the barstool and landed a hard punch to his cheek, sending him and the milk onto the floor.
"Don't ever fucking talk about her again! You don't know her. You're being a judgmental prick and I can't fucking stand to be around you!" I yelled as he held his face.
Bronx stared in shock as I left without another word, storming to my bedroom on the hunt for a stiff drink. I couldn't deal with Dad's shit right now.
He was mean to Ashtyn because shewasn't the type of girl any son of his would marry. I wouldn't put it past him to arrange a marriage for me, even at eighteen years old. I pulled out a fresh bottle of Jack I swiped from the kitchen earlier and popped the top, taking a long pull. And then another. And another.
My phone buzzed with a text message.