The mention of Mom throws me, and my grip on my temper slips a little more. I try to beat it back down, but it’s not working real well. I’m just opening my mouth to say something I know I’ll regret—what the fuck else is new—when the doorbell rings.
We both kind of turn to stare at it in surprise. The only people who ever show up here these days are Sarah or my friends, and none of them feel the need to ring the doorbell anymore. Hell, they barely knock before barging right in.
Figuring it’s some door-to-door salesman, I almost ignore it—except I can’t help thinking that if the universe gives you a time-out just when you need one, you should probably take it. Conscious of Logan following behind me in his chair, I head to the front door, without saying any of the things that were lodged in my throat. That are still lodged there, if I’m being honest.
Pissed off, tired and completely out of sorts, I throw open the front door. I’m not sure who I’m expecting to find there, but I can tell you the one person I hadn’t counted on seeing. Tansy Hampton. At least, I think it’s her. Today, instead of a pink haired pixie cut, her blond hair is tipped with blue and spiked up all over her head. And instead of a sundress, she’s wearing ripped jeans, a short-sleeved, off-the-shoulder sweatshirt and a ton of heavy jewelry. In the course of one short week, she’s gone from fairy to rock star. I’m not sure how I feel about the change—or even why I care.
“Hi, Ash,” she says with a bright smile, like I’m expecting her or something. “Can I come in?”
“Uh, yeah? I guess?”
I step aside to let her in, even as I scramble for what to do. Part of me wants to slam the door in her face—she is the stalker who managed to get my address and show up on my doorstep with absolutely no encouragement from me. Plus, I don’t want her to upset Logan. Things have been hard enough around here for the last few days—ever since Logan overheard me talking to Z—and I don’t want to make things worse. Especially since I can’t help partially blaming her for just how messed up things have gotten. If she hadn’t asked me to do that Make-A-Wish with Timmy, I never would have brought it up to Z, and then Logan and I never would have fought and things would be okay.
It’s a childish response, one better suited for a two-year-old than a twenty-one-year-old, and it embarrasses me. Especially when I consider that there’s another part of me that’s glad to see her. I’ve been thinking of her off and on these last few days, wondering if her lips are actually as soft and sweet as they looked the other day. Not that I ever plan on finding out, but it’s a nice fantasy—one that I’ve jerked off to more than once.
“Thanks,” she says, smiling as she steps inside. “I’m sorry to barge in like this, but I haven’t gotten a response to the last couple of emails or phone calls I’ve directed your way, and things are getting urgent. I need to pin down a date for the trip.”
What is she talking about? I know I’m staring at her like she’s a crazy woman, but I can’t help it. I’m wondering if I’ve actually fallen into the Twilight Zone somewhere between work and here. Or maybe I’m being punked. That makes more sense, actually, now that I think about it. I mean, why else would she be here, looking at me like she expects me to have a clue what she’s talking about? The last time we spoke, I very definitely told her no, I wouldn’t go to Oregon with Timmy. So why is she suddenly talking about it like it’s a done deal?
“The trip?”
I’m sure I look as clueless as I feel, because—for the first time—her smile falters. “The Make-A-Wish trip? With Timmy? To Chile?”
Now I know I’m being punked. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that
?”
“We’re going to Arpa. It’s all set up. I just need to know which of the dates I sent you work best.”
“Are you crazy? I wouldn’t go to Oregon for three days and now you think I’m going to Chile?”
“That’s what your manager said. He called me to set up the Oregon trip, but when I let him know about the donation that came in to go to Chile—for real snowboarding—he said you were in?” She says the last part like it’s a question, and suddenly she’s looking as confused as I feel.
“My manager?”
“Alan Montgomery? He called me the day after we met at the resort.”
Now she’s blushing and, despite everything going on, I can’t help but notice. Can’t help wanting to run my hands, and lips, over all that rosy skin. Obviously I’m having some kind of mental break with reality.
“Alan Montgomery called you?” I haven’t talked to him, or my agent, Mitch, in months. They email every few weeks, just to check in, to see if I’m ready to go back to boarding, but at no time have Alan and I ever discussed the Make-A-Wish thing, at all. “He called you?”
“That’s what I just said.” The words start pouring out of her mouth at about a million miles a minute. “He told me you wanted to coordinate everything through him, gave me an email address for correspondence. We’ve been going back and forth for the last few days, but when I tried to get the dates worked out, he said he’d have to talk to you. I’ve been waiting, but I just talked to Timmy’s mom and she thinks the trip has to be sooner rather than later. Which is why I’m here …”
For long seconds, I can’t do anything but stare at her as my brain tries to catch up with what she’s saying. It’s not that difficult, but I just can’t wrap my head around it, especially when I’m pretty damn sure that Alan hasn’t been corresponding with anyone behind my back.
Behind me, Logan clears his throat. “Ash? Can I talk to you?”
There’s something about the way he says my name—and the look on Tansy’s face when she hears his voice—that has everything clicking into place.
“You?” I demand, whirling on him. “You called her?”
I expect him to deny it, or to at least plead his case a little. Instead, all he does is obstinately stick his chin in the air and say, “Yeah. So what?”
“Oh my God,” Tansy says behind me, but I don’t have time to worry about her right now. I’m still in shock that my brother has done this, that he’s gone behind my back and set something in motion that is so crazy, so ridiculous, that I don’t even know where to begin talking to him.
So, naturally, I start by yelling. “Are you kidding me? Why would you fucking do that? Why would you lie to her like that?”
“I wasn’t lying. When I first called her, it was just to get you to go to Oregon. I mean, that kid is dying, Ash, and he wants to meet you. How selfish can you be not to go do that for him?”