About Time (The Avenue Book 1) Read online

  “But . . .”

  “But nothing, A. I said I wanted this, and whatever you’re about to say doesn’t matter in the face of that, understand me? I won’t have you questioning my choices. You—you—of all people should understand that that’s not okay.” She glared at him, pointedly, knowing that their situations weren’t the same—as Aaron once said, you don’t choose gay, it chooses you—but also knowing that he’d been on the receiving end of the third degree about his lifestyle. She wouldn’t allow him to second-guess her, thereby making her second-guess herself.

  He nodded, offering his apology with his eyes, which she accepted with a small smile.

  “A sperm donor? Really? You couldn’t have found some unsuspecting guy in a club, like any other non-self-respecting single woman in her thirties?”

  “Austin, shut up.”

  “I’m just saying, Ash, you missed a prime friends-to-lovers opportunity here. You want a baby. You tap your best friend. You develop feelings. And then, twue wuv.”

  “I think I saw a movie about that,” Aaron added, his laughter joining Austin’s and making it impossible for Ashton not to smile.

  But just a small one.

  “I see a few problems with that scenario, Aussie. One, my best friend is a girl. Two, we’ve all seen that movie—and it’s needlessly dramatic. Much like you.”

  “And three?” Austin asked, resting his chin on his palm like he was desperate for the scoop.

  “There is no three for that scenario. But there is this—finding some random guy in a club doesn’t give me the freedom of choice I had with a donor. You don’t know because you haven’t done it, and probably never will, but they give you profiles. Like actual sheets of paper with stats and attributes and a little photo of the donor as a baby, and it gives me control. I know they’re clean and not just some douchebag in a club looking for some willing chick to bang. I know that he’s got dark hair and brown eyes and is an electrical engineer. I know details about his family medical history, in case anything comes up with the baby. I know—”

  “I’ll tell you what I know, Little,” Aaron interrupted, “and that’s if you don’t stop talking and take a deep breath, you’re going to pass out.”

  Knowing he wasn’t wrong, and having made her point—for the most part—Ashton drew in a long, deep breath and forced her shoulders to drop. At some point, she’d pulled them up in what could only have been a subconscious act of protection.

  With the sounds of the bar coming to life all around, the three of them sat in silence. Their meals came before either of her brothers had a chance to continue the third degree, but once the food was eaten, they picked up where they left off.

  With more questions.

  The waiting room of her doctor’s office was alarmingly yellow. Though Ashton understood that it was traditionally a happy color, meant to brighten one’s day, the shade was one that never failed to blind her. And, she had to admit, it also made her mildly nauseous.

  Although, maybe the nausea was more to do with her brothers’ seemingly endless queries about her news than the offensively yellow walls and furniture surrounding her.

  As she expected, Aaron had led the post-food conversation, while Austin sat and stared at her for a good long while before asking why she’d not told him—either of them, actually—about her plan.

  “I don’t know.” It was the only answer she could give, but deep down, she knew she hadn’t shared it with them because she neither wanted them to try to talk her out of it, nor to jinx her chances of success.

  “That’s bullshit, Ashton Marie,” Aussie had thrown back at her before, mercifully, moving on to other questions that weren’t quite as stressful, but still not her idea of a good time.

  “Where will you live?” Because apparently her spacious loft above the bar was going to disappear once the baby arrived.

  “How will you support yourself?” That one had bothered her far, far more than she let on, given that she was half-owner of The Avenue with Austin, and it was proving to be one of Madison’s most successful, sought-after places for after-work drinks, girls’ nights and more. Would he have asked Austin that if he was having a baby? The fact he was biologically incapable of being pregnant notwithstanding, she doubted the situation would have been viewed the same way by her should-know-better big brother—like having a child made her earning capability—poof—just disappear.

  “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?” She’d said no in the firmest voice she could muster without yelling at Aaron. They’d had years upon years to reach out to their children and hadn’t, so why should she share anything with them?

  Why should she invite into her child’s life two people who cared more about appearances and bullshit doctrine than they did about the happiness of their son?

  “What about dating, marriage? Don’t you want that anymore?” A harder question to answer than she’d been expecting. Did she want that? Of course—and she’d told her brothers that. But the fact was, she was ready for a baby now, and didn’t want to pin her hopes on the right man not only appearing, but also being willing to come along for the ride.

  That didn’t stop the pang at the idea of her baby never knowing its father, however, or the aching at the thought of never waking up to someone with rumpled hair and sheet creases stamped on their face. Someone to roll her eyes with when their child did something silly. Someone to lean into when she was tired and needing support.

  Someone who would love her, and her baby, from behind that perfect, white-picket fence she’d always imagined she’d have.

  “Ashton Andrews?” the nurse called, a question and announcement rolled into one, breaking though her spiraling thoughts.

  She stood, determined to quiet the questions and the doubts until the doctor confirmed what she—and those fourteen pink lines on seven white sticks—already knew was fact.

  She was going to be a mommy.

  And it was fine that she was going it alone . . .

  With prenatal vitamins in hand, Ashton made her way to the parking lot, her excitement mixed with a nervousness she hadn’t expected, but perhaps should have.

  “Congratulations, Ms. Andrews, you’re going to have a baby.”

  Of course, she’d imagined those words coming from her doctor’s mouth for quite some time, but something about the reality of them had her a little bit on edge. To stave off full-blown panic—because what use would that be?—she started picturing tiny hands and feet, sleepy eyes and little pink lips.

  “Ashton?” The soft voice that broke through her thoughts was punctuated with a gentle hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”

  Ashton turned with a smile to face one of her favorite bar patrons, having recognized the warmth in Brighton Figures’ words. “Brighton, hi.” She leaned in for a little hug, surprising herself and Brighton, to whom she’d never before opened her arms, but who returned it with little hesitation.

  Sandwiched lightly between them was Brighton’s baby girl, Stella, who Ashton estimated must be coming up on one year of age.

  “Are you okay?” Brighton asked a second time, stepping back to end the hug, but keeping that one hand on Ashton’s arm in a show of support.

  “Oh, yes, sorry.” Ashton forced her mind to blank, emptying it of nervous thoughts and images of what her baby might look like, so she could focus on the conversation. “I just . . .”

  Brighton leaned in, a move Ashton was sure was designed to encourage her to share, but she stalled.

  Should she share? Or should she wait?

  It was a sad but simple fact that, outside of her brothers, Ashton didn’t really have that many people to tell about her bun-in-the-oven status. She had friends from college, but most of them lived in another state or, in the case of her best friend, Bianca, in another country. She loved them, but rarely saw them and spoke to them only slightly more often than that.

  Her situation was all so fresh—the words of her doctor, the confirmation that she’d longed for and now feared just a l
ittle. And besides, it was Brighton, of all people. They might not now—or ever—be best friends or bosom buddies, but they talked fairly often and Ashton liked her. Trusted her.

  And honestly, she just really, really needed to say something to someone. The news felt like a weight that needed to be lifted.

  “You just . . . ?” Brighton echoed. From anyone else, it might have been needling—an attempt to meddle in her life—but Ashton had come to know Brighton well enough in the time she and her friend, Jade, had been coming into Ashton’s bar. She knew this was a person who genuinely cared.

  “Imhavingababy.” It was a run-together sentence that barely made sense but Ashton saw the moment Brighton figured it out.

  “Oh, oh, my God. Congratulations,” she exclaimed, wrapping Ashton up in a second hug, careful as always of the baby attached to her chest. “Ashton, that’s amazing. How far along are you?”

  “Six weeks. I—well, I know the exact date.” Don’t say anything else, Ashton Marie, she warned herself, already anticipating that the verbal diarrhea that had plagued her at one point in her life was about to make its second appearance of the day. “I used a sperm donor, you know? So, I know exactly when it happened. I had to, like, be patient and not force it, but I swear I’ve been wanting to pee on all those sticks since about an hour after I got home from my appointment at the clinic, but I marked this date in my calendar as the day and somehow I made it without giving in and now I’m going to have a baby, surprise!” She was aware that, at some point during her word vomit, Brighton pulled back from the hug. So, to cover her growing embarrassment, Ashton decided to do what any normal, calm, definitely-ready-to-be-a-mother woman would do.

  Jazz hands.

  And on that note . . . “I’d better get going and you must have an appointment you need to get to, right? How is the baby?” She began backing up and away from the conversation even as she asked a question that invited more talk. “She’s looking good, you’re looking good. You should come in soon, with Jade, we can talk about stuff and, you know, or whatever.”

  “We’ll be in later this week, actually.” Brighton offered a radiant smile—the smile of someone who was genuinely happy for her, and not, as Ashton might have expected given her recent explosion of words, the smile of someone who wanted to escape the bartender having a nervous breakdown in the parking lot. “And yes, Stella’s pediatrician is in this complex, too”—she gestured to Madison’s Medical Park, which sprawled over several buildings and had all manner of doctors and specialists—“so, I’d better get going. I’ll see you later, Ash.”

  Once Brighton disappeared into another building, Ashton let out a long breath and made her way over to her car. When she and Austin had bought the bar, taking it over from the previous owners, she’d downsized her car to a black Kia Soul. It wasn’t the prettiest of cars, in Ashton’s opinion, but she loved how zippy it was, and how much cheaper it was on gas than her previous car, a Ford F150 that she’d bought when she’d finished college. Settling into the driver’s seat, she rolled her shoulders and attempted to find her chill. Lord knew she’d lost it at some point during her “chat” with Brighton.

  Chat, meltdown. Potato, potahto.

  The enclosed space offered a little comfort. Enough, at least, that when her mind started reminding her of that time in her life when word vomit was her norm—all because of one tall, dark and handsome man—she welcomed the memories instead of pushing them aside.

  Fifteen Years Ago

  The man standing with her brother at the trunk of a small, crappy-looking Toyota sedan had the serious look of someone who was maybe hearing something he didn’t want to be hearing. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and while one hand rested on the raised lid of the trunk, the other swept through the chocolate-colored strands, drawing them away from a face that Ashton thought was the most beautiful one she’d ever seen.

  Without alerting Aaron or his friend, Ashton rounded the front of the car where it sat idle next to the curb and climbed in through the open back door. She set her worn canvas duffel bag at her feet and waited.

  They’d realize she was there soon enough.

  Through the still-open door, scraps of their conversation filtered in.

  “A, you know it’s not a problem . . .”

  “You have no fucking idea . . .”

  “I just want to make sure . . .”

  “Dunk, let’s just go already . . .”

  The pain she heard in her brother’s words were a sharp blade to her heart. He was hurting, no doubt still reeling from the rejection and the judgment of his parents, their parents, who were supposed to love him unconditionally.

  Well, screw that, Ashton was going to love him enough that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

  “Ash, what the hell are you doing?” Aaron’s voice was right next to her, his shadow falling across her lap as he stood in the open door and stared down at her. “You need to go back inside.”

  “No.” She didn’t bother to elaborate. Why would she? Her answer wasn’t going to change.

  “Yes, Ashton. Now.”

  “You don’t get to boss me around, A. I said no. I meant no.”

  “Little, I—” Aaron began, only to be cut off by the storm of words Ashton had been gathering inside.

  “No, no, no. I won’t go back in there and play ‘happy family’ with them. Not when they would ask you to leave, exclude you. You’re my brother, and I love you. I won’t stay here. It’s not fucking fair—and you aren’t going to change my mind, so don’t bother.” She crossed her arms, the movement catching the low neckline of her stretched out T-shirt. She plucked it loose, straightening herself as she felt another pair of eyes staring at her from the front seat.

  Deep, rich, liquid brown. Chocolate, like his hair. “What are you doing in my car, Kitten?” Oh, damn, even his voice is like chocolate.

  “It’s Ashton, not Kitten. And I’m catching a ride. Thanks.” She smirked at him, hoping that if she maintained a strict level of sass, he wouldn’t question the fact she’d just invited herself along on his road trip with her brother.

  It worked. He shrugged, turning back around and putting the key in the ignition. Ashton felt every click of it sliding into place, as if he was doing it as slowly as possible, ensuring that every movement he made was one that reverberated around her and through her.

  “Aaron, man, get in the car and let’s get the hell out of here.” He spoke loudly as he revved the car, but Aaron didn’t move.

  He was still staring down at her and, though she tried to ignore him, Ashton couldn’t help but look up at her big brother with pleading eyes.

  Please don’t leave without me.

  “Ash,” he said in a whisper, “you should stay. There’s no reason for you to be on the outs with them, too.” He smiled at his own inadvertent pun, since he’d literally just outed himself to his parents, but it faded quickly as he leaned in, speaking ever more fervently. “It’s just a hump. They’ll get over it, and when they do, I don’t want you to have missed out on anything.”

  “Except I will have missed out on something. Time with you. You’re the one in the right—there’s no question of that. If Austin could get away with it, you know he’d want to come too.”

  It was true. So true that Ashton felt a surety in her bones that didn’t come around often. Ever, really. Aussie was the youngest of them, seventeen to Ashton’s nineteen and Aaron’s twenty-one, and so couldn’t be dragged along on this trip. But the siblings were close, and it was something Ashton relied on more than she might have been willing to admit.

  At least, before today. Before the ultimatum that was sending Aaron away.

  Now, she didn’t care who knew. Her brothers were important. And she wouldn’t turn her back on Aaron. He didn’t know he needed her, but Ashton knew.

  And she wasn’t going to let him down.

  “How do you plan to get back to school?” Aaron’s question was a logical one and she could tell from the look o
n his face that he thought he had her cornered.

  But he was wrong.

  “Bianca lives about an hour from your campus. She’s going to pick me up when she drives back down there in a couple of weeks.” She smirked, trying to convey her triumph at overcoming his logical but surmountable obstacle.

  “And all your stuff? That old bag can’t possibly have everything you need for the next two weeks, let alone the entire school year.”

  “I’ll worry about that later.”

  “Worry about it now.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  The siblings glared at one another, a battle of wills that both were determined to win and neither was willing to concede any ground in.

  “Jesus Christ, you two. Aaron, get in the car. Ashton, put your seatbelt on. We’ll figure this out when we aren’t being watched though the window by your fucking parents.” The voice that broke the standoff rippled across her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake as she clicked the safety belt into place. And though Aaron made a point to slam the door—hard as he could, Ashton could tell—before skirting around the trunk and climbing into the passenger seat, he too acquiesced to his friend’s command.

  While Aaron was still outside, Ashton leaned forward, as far as she could while buckled in the back seat and whispered, “Thank you, whatever your name is.”

  He nodded. It was a curt, precise motion and Ashton found herself bizarrely attracted to it. “Dunk.”

  A lightning-bolt moment. In all the confusion and anger of the fallout between Aaron and their parents, Ashton didn’t put two and two together, except now . . . “Ah, you’re Dunk.” She didn’t quite mean to put so much flirtatiousness in her tone, but she’d been hearing about her brother’s roommate and best friend for quite a while, though she’d yet to meet him, and she really should have known it was him.

  “Guilty,” came the reply in a tone that matched her own, which was accompanied by a blatant up-and-down look that made it clear he was checking her out.