"Because I was never allowed. He was worried about me becoming some thug's old lady. No offense. I’m Ashtyn. Delilah. Mother. Fucking. Hawthorne. And if you don't get that gun off me, I will slit your fucking throat."
He smiled and lowered his gun, tucking it in his waistband. "You're definitely Rand's kid. Sorry about all that. I'm Beck," he extended his hand and I took it, keeping an eye on his other hand, making sure he didn't go for his gun again.
“Ash?” Remington yelled as he walked out of the clubhouse. He wore a black leather vest over a white t-shirt and a pair of ripped-up jeans. He was flanked by two other guys–one older and one around our age–both wearing leather vests covered in patches. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?” He asked as he approached me, drawing me in for a bear hug.
“I don’t–” I choked up, unable to stop the floodgate release of tears I’d been holding back since the night before.
“What happened? And why the fuck did you blast through the gate like that? Crazy little shit,” he laughed as he squeezed me tighter.
I finally pulled back and admired how healthy he looked. His blue eyes were warm, the whites were white instead of red or yellow, and his chestnut hair looked clean and combed.
It was almost as if the MC was…good for him.
Remington wiped the tears from my cheeks and put his arm around my shoulders. Beck was still standing there awkwardly, kicking dirt with his worn boots.
"You better hope word doesn't get back to our dad about how you spoke to her," Remington grinned.
"Oh fuck, y'all better not say anything. I didn't know she was Rand's kid. He'll fucking gut me and make me wear my intestines as a necklace."
"I was just about to tell him. Where is he?" I asked, looking around pretending to look for Dad.
"Out on a run. He won't be back for a few days," Remington answered.
"Guess I'll have to call him," I lied.
"Whoa whoa whoa! How about I take a look at that death trap of yours and we can forget the whole thing?" Beck asked as he twirled a grease rag, his eyes dancing between me and Rem.
I smiled at him, seeing the fear in his eyes.
"Deal," Remington agreed with a smirk before steering me behind the clubhouse to a patio. It was shaded by a metal roof, which was a necessity in the hot climate. There were outdoor table and chair sets, complete with ashtrays and empty booze bottles all around, evidence of last night's events. It reminded me of home.
Remington chose the cleanest table and chairs and sat down, pulling the other chair out for me. He cracked his knuckles. "I'm shocked to see you here."
"I know. Sorry for not calling first, it's just...I had a bad morning," I said, finally meeting his gaze.
"Are you okay? Did you–"
"Yes. I tried so hard not to but...I couldn't help myself. I'm weak."
"You're not weak. You're hurting," Rem grabbed my hand and squeezed. "Do you want to tell me what happened to make you cut? After you went so long?"
"What made you use again? After so long?" I tilted my head and his eyes hardened. We were fluent in below-the-belt jabs and putdowns.
"We're not talking about me. We're talking about you. And you drove all this way, risked seeing Dad, to see me. I'm going to assume you need to talk. Talk to me Ashtyn."
He ran his hand through his hair and patted around his pocket until he found a cigarette and a pack of matches. He lit it and puffed on the filter, offering it to me while he exhaled the smoke.
I shook my head. "I do want to talk. I just know you're going to be pissed about it."
"Ash," he exhaled. "We've gone our whole lives with you taking care of everything. Taking care of me. Let me be the big brother for once. Tell me what's got you so fucked up."
I breathed deeply, focusing on the trees around us, a bug on the ground, my hands gripping the arms of the chair. I told Remington about the stalker and how they posted photos of me with taunting captions. Then I told him about the posts from last night and this morning. About me and West.
"That motherfucker," Rem spat as he ground the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray. He lit another immediately.
"I mean...we weren't officially together or anything but...I thought I meant more to him. It felt different than anyone else I've been with."
"Which better be no one," Remington narrowed his eyes at me.