Page 28

CHAPTER 28

ASHTON

An odd feeling of foreboding pulls me out of what is probably the most restful sleep I've ever had. Marcus is sprawled out beside me on his stomach, arms tucked under the pillow he's cradling to his head. I watch the soft rise and fall of his breaths, my eyes trailing over every inch of exposed flesh, which is a lot. Only a corner of the blanket is still on him, covering less than half of his muscular bubble butt. The urge to sink my teeth into the firm globes makes my mouth fill up with saliva. The only thing holding me back is how fucking gorgeous he is right now.

I've never seen him so peaceful. I feel pretty peaceful too, considering the heavy topic of conversation last night. What happened at GSU isn't something I like to think about, but it haunts me. Losing Bianca as a friend after I wasn't there to protect her will haunt me for the rest of my life.

I'm a little surprised I'm up before he is, considering I know he's an early riser. A glance at the bits of dark sky peeking around the blinds tells me it's still before dawn. I stretch, and the mostly dried cum on the sheets beneath me sticks to my skin. Last night, laying in the wet spot seemed the chivalrous thing to do, considering there was no part of me that wanted to get up and change the sheets. But now it's a bit itchy and uncomfortable, and I can feel that my ass is still wet with cum and lube. Not wanting to wake Marcus with my restlessness, I carefully climb out of bed, wincing when I first sit up. I frown in disappointment as I cover Marc's perfect body with the comforter. I grab my phone on the way to the bathroom, powering it on and letting the bombardment of notifications load while I take a quick shower.

While I'm under the warm spray, I take inventory of my body and how I'm feeling. Emotionally, I’m a little raw. Not just from spilling my guts about Bianca, but also because last night meant something to me, even if it wasn’t meant to. Physically, there's a dull ache in my ass, but other than that initial twinge of pain when I first sat up, it doesn't hurt much. As I wash, I drag my fingers over my hole, growing hard with the memory of what it felt like to be stretched and filled by Marcus' big cock. I'd worried that something that felt so small and tight when I probed myself wouldn't be able to accommodate him, but I was blissfully wrong.

Tempted as I am to jerk off to the memory of getting fucked by Marcus Vell, I remember he's still here, sleeping in my bed. Maybe I can wake him up with my mouth and then we can go again. Maybe this time he'll unleash and really give it to me, so the next time I'm in the shower, it'll hurt to wash the cum from my ass.

Fucking hell, his cum was inside me. Probably still is . The thought alone is enough to make me jump out of the shower like the hot water went out, and I hurry to dry off, thinking about how to best wake him up so he'll fuck me again. Maybe I’ll wake him up with his cock in my mouth. I’ll get to feel it fill with blood and grow harder on my tongue.

The screen of my phone is flashing. There are over two dozen notifications from both my mother and my father. I'm assuming Anderson called my dad, since they're apparently so close now, and that's why the phone started ringing the moment I stepped outside with Marcus. Deciding to turn the phone off and go back to bed, I see a text from my mother that makes me pause.

Mommy Dearest: Mimi is in the hospital.

Shit.

The look on my father's face when I finally show up at the hospital would make a lot of powerful people cower. I've seen it before. Luckily, I'm used to it enough that I'm able to feign ambivalence.

"How is she?" I ask my mother, looking over at the hospital bed where my grandmother is sleeping, hooked up to half a dozen different machines.

"Stable," Mom replies, kissing both my cheeks when I lean down to greet her. She's seated at the end of a padded chair, ankles crossed, and her hands folded in her lap. Her hair, makeup and clothes are all perfect, of course, but I can see the exhausted bags under her eyes when she looks up at me. "I take it Arthur was able to track you down? I hope you didn't give him too much trouble."

"I came willingly, Mom. Of course I did. I just didn't get the messages until this morning."

My father's lackey steps in right at that moment, as if he'd been summoned. He whispers something in my father's ear, then returns to stand outside the door. Avoiding his glare, I take a look around the hospital room, which looks more like a hotel suite than a medical facility. If there were no machines or florescent lights in the ceiling, it'd probably be impossible to tell.

I walk over to touch my grandmother's hand, the skin soft but paper thin and cold. "What happened?"

"She had a stroke," my mom answers when it's clear my father is going to continue giving me the silent treatment. "We're waiting on some test results to give us an idea of when or if she'll wake up."

The hospital bed, thick covers, and multitude of wires coming out of her mouth, nose, arms, and from under her shirt make her look small and frail. She'd be horrified by how old she looks. Like my mother, she's always a picture of perfection. I've never seen her without her full makeup and hair done, wearing heels even in the house when no one was around. What an exhausting way to live.

My eyes cut over to my mother, who looks to be counting the threads on the corner of a blanket or is simply lost in her own thoughts. I wonder if she's hoping Mimi doesn't make it, so she doesn't have to live under a microscope any longer. If she'd be happy to be free of her judgment and iron thumb. Does it make me a bad person that I wouldn't be that upset if she didn't wake up? Especially if what Marcus told me really is true.

I'm not sure if this is the right time to bring it up, but I spin on my heel to face my father. I have questions and he can't avoid me here.

Or can he?

"Do you care to tell us why you've been unreachable since eight o'clock last night?" Dad asks, before I can get a word out.

"The fraternity had an initiation party?—”

"One that you left early from, yes. I'm aware."

My father gives me a calculating look. Them calling last night might have been a coincidence, but I have no doubt in my mind he's been filled in on everything that occurred last night. He probably called Anderson Hearst to ask where I was and why I wasn't answering, and I'm sure Anderson had lots of interesting information to give him. He'd all but told me straight out that he would be telling my father what happened, at least the parts that paint me in a bad light and connect me to Marcus Vell.

I straighten my spine and brush invisible lint off the sport jacket that was waiting for me on my father's private jet. God forbid I show up to the hospital wearing a hoodie.

"It seems my Alpha Omega Psi brothers have a problem with my boyfriend . Apparently, the Hearst family is under the impression that I've been promised to Anderson's underaged sister? Which, even if I wasn't gay, has no chance in hell of ever happening."

My mother gasps. "Language, Ashton!"

"Which part do you take offense to, Mother? The boyfriend part, the gay part, or the part where there’s no chance in hell I'm marrying a teenager so Dad can collect a dowry, or whatever medieval bullshit he's planning."

"Ashton!"

"Keep your voice down, son."

"Why is that, Dad? Because if everyone finds out I'm gay, you can't marry me off for business connections? I hate to break it to you, I wouldn't do it if I was straight, either."

"No one cares about your proclivities, Ashton. But it's not something you parade around?—”

"That's right. I can be gay as long as I keep it to myself and marry an appropriate woman to bear heirs to your fortune, right?" I cross my arms and look at him dead in the eyes. "Then I can do whatever I want behind closed doors and her back because what’s she going to say? I’m richer than God and never get called on my bullshit. That’s how it’s done. Right, Dad?”

My mother clutches her pearls, as if she doesn’t turn the other cheek at my father’s indiscretions. I suppose it’s easier to be an uptight, frigid socialite if you look the other way and tranquilize yourself to sleep every night.

"If you think I'm going to accept this kind of disrespect from my own son?—”

There's a short rap at the door before a thin man with dark skin and a short, neat beard enters. He's wearing scrubs and a white jacket, with a name tag that says his name is "Doctor J. Zeiss".

He smiles at everyone like he didn't just walk in on the kind of tension you'd expect in a hostage negotiation. "Looks like the family's all here now. Good. I'm Dr. Zeiss." I accept the doctor's handshake and introduce myself as the other Ashton James. "I bet that never gets confusing," the doctor jokes, and I have to chuckle. I like him immediately. His calm demeanor seems to melt away some of the tense atmosphere in the room.

"Well, I've got Mrs. James' test results here. The CT confirmed that she suffered a hemorrhagic stroke, and there is still some bleeding that needs to be addressed. We've already got her started on medications to control her blood pressure, but we'll also need to take care of the current bleed surgically. The good news is that the procedure is minimally invasive. I believe an endovascular embolization is our best option. It's a procedure where we enter a catheter into the brain through a blood vessel in the groin and take care of the bleeding that way. There are some risks to the procedure, of course, especially as Mrs. James is in delicate condition currently, but the sooner we can get this taken care of, the sooner she'll be able to wake up and start the healing process."

Dr. Zeiss continues to rattle off information, answering any questions my parents can think of. I ask about recovery and am given a run-down of the long road of rehabilitation she'll likely need. She'll be in the hospital for a minimum of a week, and then she'll need full-time care, whether it be in a facility or at home with nursing care.

She's going to hate it.

My father signs all the necessary paperwork, and the hospital staff begins preparations for surgery. While the room is buzzing with people coming in and out, I pull my phone from my pocket and look over the texts I sent from the plane this morning.

Me: Good morning.

Me: I didn't want to wake you, but I have to go home for a few days. I should be back for the game on Saturday. Keep my bed warm for me ;)

Hot Trash: Is everything okay?

Me: Mimi is in the hospital. I'm not sure what happened yet.

Hot Trash: I'm sorry. I'll keep you in my thoughts, and you keep me posted.

Me: Keep me in your thoughts how?

Hot Trash: …

The next text was a picture of his dick. I recognize the sheets and blankets in the picture, so I know he was still in my bed when he took it.

Me: It'd be a real shame if someone made a mess all over that bed and left it there for me to find.

Hot Trash: That would be a shame.

Me: It'd be so rude.

Hot Trash: …

The next text I got was several minutes later—a photo of my pillow covered in sticky, wet streaks of white. They’ll be dry and crusted over by the time I get back, but I really like knowing it’s there.

Me: So fucking rude.

Me: Do you know how hard it is to jerk off in an airplane bathroom when you're 6ft 10?

Me: I ended up leaving a mess behind.

Hot Trash: Now that's rude.

I smile down at the text chain, firing off a quick update.

Me: Mimi had a stroke. They're prepping her for surgery now.

Hot Trash: Are you sure you're going to make it to the game Saturday? Want me to tell Coach what's going on?

Me: I'll call him once I know more, but I'm expecting to be there.

"Good afternoon, Mr. James."

"Ashton," I correct the nurse for probably the thirtieth time in the past four days. "And good afternoon to you, Ms. Tyler. I assumed you'd be off by now."

"Oh, I am. I just wanted to pop in and check the score."

I look down at my phone, where I'm streaming the CVU game against St. Louis. "Ninety-six to twenty-five. I think they've got this one in the bag."

"Good. I don't want to come back here tomorrow and see you moping and blaming yourself for them losing another game without you."

"We would have beat Tennessee if I'd been there."

"A team isn't all that great if they have to rely on one player."

"Yeah, yeah." I don't have it in me to explain that it is actually my fault that the team played like shit. Because not only did Marcus not have me there to support an integral part of our team's strategy, but the rest of the team, specifically Anderson Hearst and Preston Biltman, decided to revert to their old selves and not be team players just because they didn't like getting called on their bullshit. Coach had to pull Marcus, who is easily the best player on our team, off the court because those two decided to use a major game to showcase their selfish pride. It made the entire team look bad, and it was all anyone talked about during highlights.

"Alright, you take it easy. Have a nice holiday. I'm hoping Ms. James is going to wake up soon so you can get out of here and quit moping around my unit."

"Yes ma'am. Enjoy your holiday."

The nurse leaves, and I lounge back to watch the game. Not that I really give a fuck about it, considering Marcus hasn't touched the court even once. I'm livid that Coach is letting the team get away with this shit, and I'm raring to get back to campus so I can put those assholes in their places again.

It's not that I think Marcus needs me to defend him. He doesn't. But he's too strong for his own good, too stoic, not to let it all roll off his shoulders. What I'd really like to see is Marcus come out swinging.

"Junior."

My grandmother's thick southern drawl sounds as refined as ever, even in her groggy state.

"Get your mother a fresh-up, will you sweetie?" Mimi holds her hand up like she's holding something, giving it a little shake. A drink, maybe?

I stand to push the nurse call button to let them know she's awake, but she puts her hand on my arm and squeezes with impressive strength.

"I know you're angry with me, baby. But it's just how things are." She loosens her vice-grip and pats my arm placatingly. "Trust your mama knows best. That boy will only bring you down. I don't want him leaching off you like that woman is your father."

She thinks I'm Dad. But what boy could she be referring to? Does she mean Roman, his stepbrother?

"What do you mean?" Maybe if I can keep her talking, she'll give me something I can use.

She purses her lips. "You can't hide anything from me, Junior. I'm your mother." She waves her hand dismissively, eyes only half open, like she's not quite all here. "Don't bother denying it, honey. I saw you. You'd think you'd know better than to be so… indiscreet. What would your father say?"

Despite knowing logically that she’s not actually talking to me, I cross my arms over my chest and scowl.

"Why should I care what he has to say?"

"You're the heir to the kingdom, baby. There are expectations."

"What if I don't want it?"

"Nonsense. But don't you worry, I'm going to fix everything."